Abandon All Hope Read online

  “As a matter of fact,” he cleared his throat, referencing notes, “I just set up an interview with you for tomorrow morning with a…Hope Creswell, of The Chicago Globe News. I agreed to let her shadow you for a week or so. It will be good publicity because of the paper’s wide readership. Later in the afternoon, we have to get started on the video shoot…”

  But Chase had tuned him out.

  Hope. He had abandoned all illusions of hearing from her years ago, and now this. She had requested “an interview” with him. He was dumbfounded. After all these years, why had she contacted him? Just for a newspaper article? Or could there be something more behind it? He stood and stared blindly out of the windows of his penthouse, awash in memories. Some tugged at the corners of his lips, making him want to smile; others twisted his stomach in knots.

  Hope was coming here, to his penthouse? Hal glanced up from his schedule when Chase didn’t answer. “Chase? Did I overwhelm you? Does it sound like too much?”

  Chase turned to face him. “No, no, Hal. It sounds fine. I guess I’m just tired is all.”

  “Okay,” Hal gazed at him thoughtfully, then gathered up his things. “I’ll just head back to my room for now then. I’ll come by at 8:45 or so for the interview—”

  “No, it’s okay. I actually know Hope. I’ll be fine on my own.”

  He frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I’d prefer to see her alone, at least at first.”

  “All right, then.” He sounded doubtful and seemed to weigh the matter for a minute before his face relaxed into a smile. “See you in the morning then.”

  * * *

  Hope stumbled in her front door, much the same way she had stumbled out of it earlier, with a sense of confusion and anxiety. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, as if trying to keep the rest of the world from getting in. Exhaling loudly, she dropped her purse, keys, and notebook, which all seemed to weigh about fifty pounds apiece, at her feet, one at a time. Three satisfying thumps. She reached up and yanked the clip from her hair, shaking it loose and letting it fall all around her, so that, for a minute, it blocked her view of the room.

  Meow.

  Hope stuck a lip out and blew air up her face in an exasperated way, clearing a few strands of silky brown hair from her eyes. Reaching up, she pushed the rest back. Despite her bad day, the cat’s greeting cheered her. “Hello, Mr. Mewford. How’s my kitty?”

  A black ball of fur uncurled from a plush, off-white couch, which she had come to regret purchasing. It was constantly covered in Mewford hair. The cat trotted across the room, mewing his hello and wrapping around her feet. As he circled, he began to purr loudly. She reached down and picked the cat up, cooing, “And how was your day today, sir? Mine sucked!”

  She ran a hand over her companion’s back in long strokes meant to comfort them both as she crossed the apartment. She strolled past the fur-laden couch to the windows on the far side of the room. Her place was tiny, but she figured that left less to clean. The surroundings bordered on sparse, as she liked nice clean lines without a lot of clutter. A set of four arched windows, running nearly floor to ceiling, was one of her favorite features, as they flooded the small space with light. Hope set Mewford down on his velvet paws with a soft thud, and the cat continued his trek around her legs as she stared out the windows. Stretching one hand out, she touched the cool pane before her.

  Traffic bustled far below her, silenced by distance and glass. She watched the tiny cars, which somehow looked fake from this height. They reminded her of the lost pieces from her childhood board game, minus the blue and pink plastic drivers. The cars blurred in and out. She switched her hand to steady herself against the edge of the brick that ran between the windows, her stomach pitching. The simplicity surrounding her was a foil for the turmoil she now felt inside.

  Tomorrow she’d be face-to-face with Chase.

  Hope closed her eyes for a second or two, and then deliberately turned away from the windows. She surveyed the mess left at the door, and considered picking it up. Instead, she headed for the bedroom. She needed a bath.

  The bedroom was also small and cozy. It was dominated by a white, wrought iron bed, covered with a downy comforter, also with its fair share of cat fur. In the far left corner, another window let in abundant light, which fell across the floor, climbing the bed and reaching halfway across it. It spread along the sheets, still jumbled from her crazy morning. In the right-hand corner of the room, on the wall between the living room and bedroom, a large, white armoire sat diagonal to the corner, a necessary piece of furniture, since the designer had forgotten to add a closet to the room. Most women would have found this an impossible situation, but Hope generally dressed as simply as she decorated, so it was not a problem. She frowned at the delinquent alarm clock before turning to head to the bathroom.

  Mr. Mewford followed. He stretched up Hope’s leg, emphasizing his need for attention and gazing at her with his aren’t-I-good-do-I-get-a-treat eyes. “Did you keep all the bad guys out? Huh?” Hope entered the bathroom, bending to retrieve his kitty treats from underneath the sink just as he jumped up on it. He stuck his paw out and tapped her on the head in a friendly way. She laughed at his transparent attempts to butter her up. “You know you’re getting your treats, don’t ya, fellow?”

  As her feline friend munched on the treats she had placed in front of him on the counter, Hope turned the water on in the tub. This was another one of the things she loved about her place. In fact, it was the main reason for her renting from “The Claw-foot Condominiums” in the first place—that, and its nearness to the L. Each apartment in the building held a big, claw-foot, porcelain tub. When the owners renovated the old building, instead of removing the heavy, old-fashioned tubs, they had, quite successfully, turned them into a theme for the entire building. Hope loved everything about the tub, from its hardware, which felt sturdy and solid in her hands, to its depth, in which she could completely submerge herself.

  She went to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine, grabbing a butane-lighter from the drawer on her way out. After returning to the bathroom, she lit the four thick candles, which sat at different levels on individual stands surrounding the tub. She enjoyed the commingled smell of melting wax and shampoo. She turned the dimmer switch, and smiled to herself as she pulled out thick towels and stripped her clothes off to step into the steamy water. Her day may have started out bad, but she’d be damned if it would finish that way. She lowered her weary body into the hot water with a sigh, entering her own personal oasis. Closing her eyes, she laid her head back against the smooth, cool, porcelain lip of the tub, letting her hair spill over the edge. Her arms melted along the sides.

  Phillip would be halfway around the world by now, but strangely, she hadn’t thought about him since his taillights had vanished in the parking garage. Her mind was filled to overflowing with her apprehension over meeting Chase Hatton once again.

  When they first met, he had been a welcome playmate. His warm, brown hair and ready smile were complimented by his gray-green eyes, which would alternately appear thoughtful or full of mischief. He had the cutest set of freckles, sprinkled like fairy dust, just at the edge of his cheekbones. But what drew her to him like the pull of gravity was his relaxed air. Like he never let anything ruffle him. Like he was simply content with his life. She longed to dip her foot in the tranquil waters of his world, to let it offset her life, which had often been visited by chaos. She was attracted to Chase’s perpetually unperturbed spirit, by the ease in which he moved and breathed. When they were together, she wished only to immerse herself in his pleasant calm, just as she now submerged herself in the soothing bathwater.

  Hope let herself slip under the surface, allowing the water to fill her ears and block out the noise of her day. The sound of Phillip’s goodbye, the memory of Liz’s condescension, the abrupt importance of Jack Delaney, all blocked out and replaced with the singular sound of “Chase.” She would only think of the good times they h
ad together, not permitting her thoughts to slip back to the night of prom, when her heart had been wrenched away for good.

  In the beginning, she thought of Chase merely as a neat kid, a good friend, fun to be with. But somewhere along the line, her vision of him began to morph. She tried to figure out just when her feelings for Chase had changed…maybe during her freshman year.

  She remembered seeing him sometime during that first week on campus. Sidelined all summer with a broken ankle, the same one she had injured at Chase’s house the night they first met, she had seen neither hide nor hair of her young neighbor the entire time. But she recalled running into him that day.

  She stepped into the shade of a tree, getting out of the traffic along the intersecting sidewalks that crisscrossed the main quadrangle, to again retrieve her schedule. She had missed orientation the day she got her cast removed, and the layout of the buildings turned out to be more complicated than she had initially believed. When she looked up again to get her bearings, she saw Chase approaching with a group of his friends. When their eyes met, he stopped abruptly, causing one of his buddies to run into him.

  “Sorry, Chip,” she heard him say.

  The other boy followed his gaze.

  “No problem, buddy. Hey, who’s that?”

  “Nobody you need to know,” Chase responded vaguely. “Hey, take my books, would ya?” He handed them over without even looking in his friend’s direction. “I’ll catch up to you in Mrs. Kelly’s class.”

  “All right,” his friend replied, clearly disappointed.

  Hope watched Chase as he strode toward her across the grass. He had put on weight over the summer, and his broad chest was beginning to look a lot like his brother, Jeff’s. His hair was longer, and his eyes more startling than she remembered, but he still had a killer white smile.

  “Hey, Hope. How’s it going?”

  She allowed herself to bask in the richness of his voice for a second as a gentle breeze fingered through his hair. His voice had what could only be described as a seductive smoothness. A bit flustered, she tried to form a coherent answer to his oh-so-ordinary question. “Oh, um…not so good, I guess. I can’t seem to find the music building.”

  “That’s because it’s kind of off the beaten path. Come on, I’ll show you. Let me carry your books.” Without waiting for a response, Chase lifted the load from her hands and they fell into step together. “Do you have a lot of classes in the music building? I’m taking guitar from Mr. Stalwart after school, but that’s the only time I’m in there.”

  “I just have mixed chorus with Mrs. Flasher.”

  “Ah. I heard she plays favorites, so try to get on her good side.” He grinned and it reminded her of how much she had missed seeing him.

  “What other advice do you have for me?” she queried, handing him the printout of her schedule.

  “Mrs. V. is cool. Jeff had her and even he liked her class.”

  “A high recommendation, indeed.”

  He chuckled. “Yes. Mr. Johnson’s supposed to be really cool, too, but A.P. history is tough. You’ll have to work your butt off.”

  “Mmm.” She frowned, somewhat concerned.

  “Are you going out for volleyball? I heard they’re having tryouts already at the end of the week.”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  “You should. I remember you had a wicked serve in Mrs. Nalaway’s gym class.”

  “I did?” Hope responded, surprised but pleased. She grinned, sliding in a quick peek in his direction.

  He nodded, grinning in return.

  All too soon they found themselves in front of Hope’s classroom. They stood awkwardly for a few seconds.

  “Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “This is it.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear, suddenly nervous. “Thank you for—” The bell sounded loudly, cutting off her sentence.

  “Better go,” Chase suggested, urging her toward the door.

  “Oh no! Won’t you be late?”

  “I don’t care,” he said with the same wonderful grin he had shot her earlier. He turned and started to walk away. “See ya around,” he called over his shoulder.

  She watched him saunter away, admiring the way he looked in his jeans. Hot was not a strong enough word for it. Sizzling, searing, blazing…

  That was the first time she remembered her heart skipping a beat in Chase Hatton’s presence. Since then, she couldn’t remember a time when it hadn’t.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Later that evening, after Hal left, Chase found himself in a nostalgic mood and threw on a “Property of Lincoln High School” t-shirt he frequently wore without even thinking of its connection to home and Hope. Now, he found he could think of nothing else as he stood with arms crossed over his chest, gazing out the windows of his penthouse at the twinkling lights of the big city. They reminded him of the scads of fireflies he and Hope collected in jars over the summers back in Lincoln.

  Chase caught his reflection in the glass, and wondered if he had changed much since then. Whatever his reflection told him, Chase felt the same on the inside as he had eight years ago as a high school senior. Had Hope changed? Was she still the same ponytail-wearing beauty with the wicked jump serve? His mind drifted back to a game near the end of her volleyball season their junior year.

  At the time, Chase was dating number seventeen, Susie McNamara. As he sauntered in with his friends, Susie looked up and saw him. She waved just as the opposition served. Hope, who was playing behind Susie, dove to save the ball as it was about to drop at Susie’s feet. She made an incredible play, popping the ball up in a position to be spiked over the net by another teammate to score a point.

  The crowd went wild, but Chase had eyes only for Hope. She lay writhing in pain on the floor; blood was everywhere. She held her elbow and rolled from side to side. Whistles blew and coaches and officials rushed out onto the floor, blocking his view. He was reminded of the first time they had met, when Hope sat clutching her ankle in the middle of a cornfield. His friends had already climbed into the stands, and Chase hastened up behind them, hoping to obtain a better view of the court. As he took a seat, he heard someone address Chip Carter, who was presently dating Hope, and sitting right behind him.

  “Hey, Chip, it looks like Hope is hurt.”

  Chip, who was stuffing his face full of popcorn, glanced up, mumbling, “Serves the little Ice Princess right.”

  Chase felt his jaw tighten at the sound of Chip’s callous response.

  “What? She’s not that good a kisser, or something?” his companion teased.

  “Oh no! She’s a good kisser. A fantastic kisser, in fact. That’s the problem. She gets you all worked up and then can’t finish the job. I had to practically take her hand and show her what to do.” He snorted derisively.

  Chase could feel his face, ears, and the back of his neck get hot in anger, but he concentrated on making his voice sound casual as he turned around to say, “Ever think maybe she’s just not that into you, Chippy?”

  Chip’s face turned a bright shade of red, a hue deep enough to coordinate with the cheerleaders’ uniforms. Other boys around them hooted and slapped Chase on the back, and he felt good about having embarrassed Chip…until the next week.

  The following week the same scene played out again, Chase at the volleyball game, finding the only seat open to be right in front of Chip. Hope was in the middle of serving for about a ten-point run, an Ace bandage covering the elbow she had broken open in her previous game. She drew her arm back like an archer extending the bow string. With a loud smack her hand met the ball as she twisted her wrist to one side, putting such a spin on the ball, it made it nearly impossible to return. When an opposing player would try to pass a ball she had served to their front row, no matter how squarely they hit it, the ball would careen off their hands in an unexpected direction, generally out of play.

  “Geez, did you see that serve, Chip? Your little Ice Princess is kickin’ butt tonight.
”

  “Yeah,” Chip said proudly. “Only, she’s not really an Ice Princess,” he added, loud enough for Chase to hear. “Last night when we went out, well, let me just say she did things to me with her mouth I ain’t never had a girl do to me.” His friends “oohed” and “ahed” in appreciation. Chip leaned forward and whispered in Chase’s ear. “Maybe you were right, Hatton. Last week, Hope was off her game. But this week, she couldn’t keep her hands off me.”

  Chase contemplated planting a fist in Chip Carter’s overly large mouth, but the principal walked by right in front of them just at that moment, and he had to resist. A second later, thunderous applause filled his ears, and students began rushing out onto the court. They had beaten their longtime rivals, Southeast Lincoln, 25-11, to take the conference championship.

  Chase followed the mob as it oozed out of the stands. He searched the floor for Hope. He saw her near the net, being congratulated by someone. Her face was flushed with excitement, but when she glanced up and caught his eye she stilled, her smile broadening. He grinned, gliding toward her, but Susie cut across his line of vision and came running to him. She jumped up and Chase caught her, surprised.

  “Hey,” he offered, “great game!”

  “Yeah! Wasn’t it awesome!” she screamed over the crowd.

  He hugged Susie, but was hunting over her shoulder for Hope. He saw her familiar ponytail as she threaded through the crowd in the opposite direction. “Hey, Suz,” Chase said hurriedly, “I’m gonna go congratulate Hope before she leaves, okay?”

  But Susie was already in mid-squeal as one of her girlfriends approached. She nodded to Chase even as she was engulfed in an embrace.

  Chase maneuvered through the mass of people on the gym floor, keeping Hope’s bouncing ponytail in sight. He saw her entering a doorway at the far side of the gym. He picked up his pace, banging his hand on the metal bar to open the door. He found himself in the long corridor that led to the locker rooms, his nose assaulted by the smell of stale air and sweat. Hope was halfway down the hall, pulling the rubber band from her long hair and shaking it loose as she walked.