THERE are a lot of things that Brooklyn Williams feels guilty about; getting Jenna blind, lying to her parents or even just being with Ezra. But there was nothing like this, nothing felt like her heart was about to jump out of her chest, her head spinning. Was she really that desperate? Or why did she have to contact Logan's father ? However, this was the worst betrayal she had made, the worst lie she ever told.
There was nothing that she would do to hurt Logan, she would probably die for him. But love isn't supposed to hurt. But then why, she felt like everyone was pushing her, like no one was listening, she was alone ....
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MEETING Chase Hart in one of the skeeviest pubs in Rosewood wasn't the typical thing she would do on a school morning. Well, here she was, desperate. "Thanks for meeting me here," she said, her voice a soft melody in the hushed atmosphere. The pub smelled faintly of stale beer and old cigarette smoke, a scent that had long ago seeped into the very fabric of the place.
"It's been quite a time, indeed," Chase said, his tone warm and familiar. He slid onto the stool right in front of her, the leather groaning under his weight. His eyes searched her face, a silent question lingering in their depths.
Brooklyn took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest "Chase," she began, her voice low and serious. "This stays between us. You can't tell Logan."
"And what exactly does this get me?" Chase leaned back on his stool, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. His question hung in the air like the faint scent of a forgotten candle, lingering and unanswered.
Brooklyn's eyes met his, and she saw the storm of emotions brewing behind them. She took another deep breath and whispered, "I will keep your little secret."
The silence that followed was thick and heavy, like a woolen blanket that had been draped over the bar. Chase leaned closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "What do you want ?" His voice was low and measured, hinting at the weight of his curiosity.
"I want you to be my alibi," Brooklyn said, her voice firm but her hands trembling slightly as they gripped the edge of the counter.
Chase's expression remained unreadable. "Alibi for what?" he asked, his tone even, as if he was simply inquiring about the weather.
"For the night when Wilden was killed," Brooklyn replied, her voice a barely audible whisper that seemed to echo in the small, shadowy pub.
Chase leaned back on his stool, his expression unreadable. "That's a serious thing to ask," he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Why not ask one of your friends? Or even Logan?"
