Chase dropped his hands from his face and stared at the ceiling. I could feel the words creeping up in him and I waited. He sighed then opened his mouth—
A gentle knock on the door speared through me like a gunshot, and Chase was immediately bolt upright, one arm over my chest, leaning to put himself between me and the door. I clawed at his back. "No, no!" Not again.
But the door didn't open. A moment later a voice—Jerry, I thought—came through it, muffled.
"Uh, I'm sorry for that guys. But, um, I think you should, er, get dressed and come downstairs. There's some stuff we need to sort out."
Chase took a deep, shuddering breath and leaned forward on his knees, face in his hands.
"Give us a few minutes," he called a second later without lifting his head.
