Page 47 of All of My Life

I looked down at my lap as I ran my hands through my hair. “This is so fucked.”

“It’s not as bad as you think, Jett,” he lied. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if your parents are packing up to leave as we speak.”

That had me looking up at him. “You’re underestimating my parents, Chasin.”

“Once they get a hold of their emotions, they’ll see that they can’t win,” he replied. “My father made his position clear on the matter.”

I was afraid to ask. I knew that whatever Randall Carver had done, he’d done it for his son and for his son’s future. Mr. Carver had no vested interest in me, so this wasn’t personal for him on my behalf. He just probably knew how headstrong his son was, so he had no choice but to ride this tumultuous wave with us. Even though Chasin was responsible for his own choices, some parents didn’t see it that way. Whenever their child strayed from their path, they loved to blame it on outside influences. No parent wanted to admit that they might have screwed up their child, and Chasin was about as screwed up as a teenage boy could get. He feared nothing, and that wasn’t normal or healthy.

“What’d he say to my father?” I asked, though I really wasn’t sure if I wanted to know.

“Your dad said that you weren’t strong enough for this battle, and my dad told him that you didn’t need to be since we’d be fighting it for you.” Tears appeared in my eyes instantly. “Your dad also said that you belong to him, and that’s when I kind of lost it again. My dad stepped in to make it clear that you belonged to me now, and if your parents went anywhere near his family-which includes you-then he’ll make them regret ever putting their hands on you.”

“Why?” I asked, stunned. “Why would he do that?”

Chasin reached up to wipe the tears off my face. “Because he knows that I’m serious about you, Jett,” he answered. “He even asked me if you were going to be his daughter-in-law.”

I shook my head, forcing Chasin’s hands to return to my legs. “What did you say?”

“I told him that I was going to marry you as soon as you admitted that you loved me and said yes,” he replied, making my head spin.

“Chasin, we’re only eighteen,” I stated numbly, not sure what else to say to his craziness.

“So?”

“We…can’t get married,” I said, trying to bring some sanity to this conversation.

“Why not?” he challenged. “Give me one good reason why not?”

“I’ll give you a dozen, but how about the simple fact that my life is a mess right now,” I shot back. “The very last thing on my mind is marriage.”

“What would marrying me change?” He didn’t let me answer. “It would change nothing.”

“Except that I’d be tying myself to you for life when I’m in no condition to make such a decision,” I argued. “I’m not in a stable emotional or mental state to be accepting a proposal of marriage from you. In fact, I don’t have enough sense to make any long-term decisions right now. I can barely manage a decent night’s sleep, Chasin.”

“Christ, you give me whiplash, woman,” he swore as he ran his hands through his hair, the bandages from the hospital gone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His blue eyes were like beautiful flames of emotion. “I have no idea what version of you I’m going to get when we’re talking, and it’s enough to make a man crazy. One minute, you’re meek and pliable, then the next, you’re spitting daggers at me, arguing just to argue.”

“First of all, there’s a difference between being meek and tired of your crap, Chasin,” I huffed. “Second, I’m not arguing just to argue. I’m pointing out how getting married at eighteen is insane.”

“Look, no matter what, we’re getting married,” he said, reminding me that he was Chasin Carver. “’So, what the fuck difference does it make whether we do it now or later?”

I didn’t have an answer for that. “I’m not marrying you, Chasin.”

“Yes, you are,” he countered.

“Not today,” I shot back.

“Tomorrow works just fine for me,” he replied, not skipping a beat.

“Chasin-”

“It’s not enough for me that you’re my girlfriend, Jett,” he said, taking us from enemies-with-benefits to whatever the hell this was. “I want my ring on your finger.”

“We’re eighteen,” I repeated.

---