16. Chase
Three days before their flight, Chase managed to make it through all the lyrics to Saint of Spades’ backlist without screwing any of them up. It shocked everyone, including himself. Not even Zak had set the bar that high. She had just wanted to make sure he could get through their audition song and a few backups without any hiccups.
Knowing every song on the set made it concrete, though. He was a singer for a band. Albeit a highly underqualified one, but enough of one that he now stood a chance of not ruining things for everyone if by some miracle the producers of Amped still wanted them on the show.
“Figures you’d be a savant at this, too, but shit, Chase. Fifty-two songs?” Zak wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her arm and took a sip of water. “I’m seriously impressed.”
They’d been at it for over three hours straight, bringing them up to a total of fifty hours of practice this week.
“Might be your teaching style,” he said, knowing damn well the real reason he had an easier time learning the songs was because he’d studied the demo tapes and copies of the lyrics every night until he passed out between a CD player and a stack of papers. “Hearing someone yell ‘flat,’ ‘sharp,’ or ‘wrong’ at you like a drill sergeant is the kind of thing that really sticks.”
From one of the stools in the living room, Edge chuckled. Dallas and Alex had rushed off to work after they were done, and Zak herself was getting ready to leave for her shift as well. Though he was pretty sure her shift had already started… fifteen minutes ago.
“Happy to help.” She gave him a mock salute before packing up her equipment and heading to the back room.
Truthfully, her methods were nostalgic. Striking up a friendship hadn’t made her any less of an authoritarian during practice, and he was glad. She reminded him of his favorite coaches over the years—tough on the rink, but only because they cared about the game, and they cared about unwasted potential.
“Hey, you,” Edge said in a low voice once the two of them were alone in the room. “Be careful with my best friend.”
Chase turned to face the other guy. “Careful?”
“You heard me. And you know exactly what I’m talking about.” No elaboration, no reasoning, not even a thinly veiled threat. Edge shot him a perceptive smirk and left the room.
Sure, he had a general idea, but the real fun part about it all was that he thought he was being careful already. He had a lot of practice, having been infatuated with her since he was thirteen, probably.
The fact that he liked Zak, really liked her, wasn’t ever a secret to him—he was as aware of his feelings for her as he was of his lungs filling with air. And it wasn’t something he necessarily tried to keep a secret from anyone else either, it was just something he didn’t mention. Because having a heart-pounding, consuming crush like this was juvenile and uncalled for, but he was stuck with one.
Moving away had made it easy to leave the idea of being with her behind, because where there was no possibility there was no temptation, but it turned out the way he felt about her wasn’t so much a choice as it was a habit. The second she reentered the picture, wanting her had kicked in like muscle memory.
Being careful was him acknowledging they worked together now, and Zak cared about the band exponentially more than she cared about him—if she even cared about him at all. Being careful was him going straight home after their lessons and practices instead of spending the rest of his nights there, catching up on everything that had happened in her life when he was no longer a part of it. Being careful was him keeping his hands to himself, for the most part, and doing his best not to think about her smartass smile and the curves and movements her body made when she played the guitar. The way she always fussed around with the mess of fluffy black hair he wanted to get his hands tangled in.
Not thinking about the way she’d felt pressed up against him on the balcony the other night, or the way she’d shot him those hazy glances while he sang his heart out about making love to a bunch of strangers at the night café. As if she knew it was her on his mind.
Except, he was thinking about those things. All the fucking time.
“… film schedule and we could meet up next week to go over—Chase? Did you hear me?”
Zak stood at the hallway entrance, wearing the work uniform that never failed to test the very convictions he had been reminding himself of. Not that it mattered how much skin she did or didn’t cover, when two days ago he’d forgotten the words to a chorus he’d already sung twice because he was too distracted by her in a baggy T-shirt and jeans.
“The film schedule?” he guessed, hanging onto the last thing she said.
“Yeah, the producers sent over a rough outline. I thought you might want to see it to get a better idea of the logistics of the competition, now that you’ve got the singing part down.” She grabbed a packet of paper off the kitchen counter and handed it to him. “And we need to meet to decide what to bring and pack everything up. Will you be free?”
He couldn’t help but notice she still talked to him like she didn’t expect him to be there for things, like it wasn’t an obligation for him the way it was for everyone else. Like she’d be okay with whatever time he gave up for now because at least it was something. “Of course. Give me a call, I’ll be free whenever.”
She tucked her thumb under the strap of the little backpack that hung over her shoulder and looked back and forth between him and the door. Probably trying to figure out how to slip away from him and his overly aggressive eye contact. At this rate, it was either lock eyes, or not look at her at all.
Careful.
“Okay,” she said. “You should probably go get some rest or something. It’s been a long week. You’re sure you’re good?”
“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” He gave her a smile, the only natural, unrestrained action he could manage around her, and followed her out the door and down the stairs. “See you soon.”
“See you soon,” she said apprehensively.
He wouldn’t be getting any rest. He’d be going to his parents’ house for dinner because he was taking a flight to New York City this weekend, wouldn’t be back for three months, and they still had no clue about any of it. Lucky for him, he had a thirty-minute drive to contemplate their reaction on the way there.
It wasn’t like he needed approval from his mother and father. He was an adult. He’d had to become one instantly, considering he’d been thrown into that stage of his life shortly after his eighteenth birthday. But he’d always had their approval. He’d always done exactly what was expected of him, and while he wasn’t worried about rebellion when there was nothing to rebel against, he also wasn’t looking forward to having to explain himself.
For once, he just wanted to be. Without question, without rigidity, without waking up every day at the same time to live the same routine in hopes of accomplishing a goal his parents had spoon-fed him since they realized he was tall, competitive, and good on skates.
In true Lydia fashion, she knew he wasn’t looking forward to lasagna and Monopoly the minute she answered the door to their parents’ house. An Aperol Spritz dangled between her thumb and pointer finger, and a slice of bruschetta toast was wedged between her ring and pinky finger on the same hand.
“Bad day at the club?” she said, her bangle bracelets clattering against each other as she took a bite of the appetizer.
Chase hadn’t told Lydia he’d joined a band yet either, so she had jumped to the next logical conclusion to explain why he was gone all the time: him becoming a male stripper. He wasn’t sure he even had all the body parts required for that kind of profession.
He rolled his eyes.
“I’m just saying, you paid me your half in cash last week.”
“I’ve always paid you my half in cash.”
“You haven’t always snuck around all the time like—” Lydia’s mouth formed an O as she peeked over his shoulder at the driveway. “Is that what the face is about? You have a girlfriend? Is she waiting in the car? Are you introducing her to Mom and Dad?”
That one gave him a good laugh. If only a secret relationship was the news he needed to break tonight. They’d be overjoyed, considering they only ever saw him with women on the back few pages of obscure tabloids and never at home.
He had casually dated when he was living in Washington, but the constant travel, practice, and games had sucked up all his time and made it impractical to have any relationships outside of hockey. Even his own family only heard from him for the occasional check-in call during the season.
She lowered her voice. “Is it Zak Parker?”
Seriously? Was he that transparent?
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Lydia pressed her lips together and made a humming sound.
“Are you going to let me in? Or would you rather stand in the doorway and interrogate me?”
“Is that Chase?” their mom called out from the kitchen.
Knowing her, dinner was finishing up right now. She was the kind of host who always managed to time everything perfectly. A drink and snack in hand upon entrance. Music playing, conversations flowing without unsightly gaps, fresh flowers decorating the center of the table.
“You two looked cozy at the reunion.” Lydia stepped aside to let him in.
“She’s a friend,” he told her. But on some level, he was really reminding himself.
Holly Payton placed a massive tray of food on a ceramic trivet next to a sheet pan of garlic bread. The aroma of fresh herbs, butter, and broiled cheese swelled from the oven, and was enough to remind him he hadn’t eaten a home-cooked meal since the last time he visited.
Chase’s mom was a phenomenal chef and an even better baker. From the time he and Lydia were born to the time they were old enough to supervise themselves, she ran her own cupcake business from home. Over the years, the kitchen here had expanded to make room for an island with a wine cooler, a second oven, and a second refrigerator that was constantly stocked with desserts, pastries, and frostings. Separated by French doors was a dining room big enough to seat both sides’ immediate family members, though reunions only happened on rare occasions.
Chase waited until the oven mitts were off to give her a hug. “How’re you doing, Mom?”
She launched into a story about how she found a great deal on a used camping trailer only an hour and a half away, but Richard, Chase’s father, still wouldn’t green-light it. Her second favorite thing in the world besides baking was being outdoors, and while Chase’s dad loved sports—these days, he preferred to watch them from the comfort of his couch. Exactly where he preferred to do everything else.
Mid-gripe, Chase’s father walked in through the garage door.
Holly conveniently remembered she had made Chase a drink, too, and seamlessly switched over to talking about cocktail garnishes as she poured it into a glass from the shaker.
His dad came over and gave him a pat on the shoulder, a gesture that had gotten noticeably lighter after his time in the hospital. Like he thought Chase would break or lose his balance from anything firmer than a tap. There was a “hey there” and a chat about the weather and the upcoming preseason—which was the absolute last thing Chase wanted to talk about—as they transitioned to the dining room, where they sat spread apart at the long wooden dining table as everyone started in on an apple walnut salad.
“So, what have you been up to, son?” his dad asked. Code for: Have you gotten a new job yet?
It didn’t matter that he’d netted nearly ten million dollars in four years, saved most of it, and lived modestly long before he’d been kicked off the team. There was no such thing as unemployment, a sabbatical, or early retirement in the Payton household. Richard Payton hadn’t ever used his full six weeks of annual paid time off at the engineering firm he’d worked at for three decades.
“Well,” Chase started. He finished the bite he was chewing on and took a breath in and out. Now was as good a time as any. Better to get it out of the way, right? “I joined a band.”
His dad started laughing, which made his mom start laughing because Richard’s laugh was rare and famously contagious to anyone who wasn’t the object of it. But Lydia froze. Chase could see the very few pieces of information his sister had gathered fitting together behind her eyes.
“Oh my god. Zak’s band. That’s why… I knew something was going on with her, I just never thought—” Lydia slapped a hand over her mouth. “The karaoke. You were amazing up there.”
At this point, he decided to spit the rest out before this moment got any more awkward. “We’re flying out to New York on Sunday to star in a TV show. You might have heard of it, Amped? Anyway, I’ll be gone for twelve weeks if all goes well.” He nodded to Lydia. “But don’t worry about rent, I’ll pay you in advance.”
The laughter faded, and in its place, his parents initiated a silent conversation across the table from one another. Chase got an immediate sensation of déjà vu from all the times Lydia had asked to have sleepovers with her friends and all the times he’d asked to ride his bike to the park to play soccer or basketball. They were deliberating with nothing but eyes, brows, and head bobs like a pair of telepaths.
Chase’s dad opened his mouth again, and he could tell something that sounded genial—but was actually judgmental—was about to come out of it before his mom spoke instead. “Oh really? When did you decide to do that?”
And why?
“At the beginning of summer.” He set his fork down, sensing this wasn’t going to be a case of surface-level examination like most of their conversations, and told the entire story. When he finished, they were still staring blankly at him, waiting for any of it to make sense. He summoned his best smile. “So, I have a job now. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”
Both of Chase’s parents seemed significantly more worried about him than they had been before.
“What happened to coaching?” Chase’s dad said at the same time as Holly said, “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”
But Richard had a more overpowering voice, so he won round one and kept going before Chase could answer. “Since when were you interested in this sort of thing?”
Now that everything was out in the open, Chase realized he didn’t care how the rest of the conversation went. He’d done his piece. He’d let them know why he was going to be unavailable, and for how long, and the rest was out of his control. So, he relaxed in his chair and went back to eating his dinner.
“I don’t know, Dad. Was I ever really interested in hockey?”
The creases of shock on his dad’s forehead only deepened. Confirmation that Chase had never said anything controversial or disobedient to his parents in his almost twenty-four years of life. Confirmation that Zak had been right about at least one thing where he was concerned.
Richard’s fork screeched as he scraped it against the bottom of the ceramic bowl. “No one forced you to do anything, Chase.”
Chase sighed. He did make it sound like that, and in some ways, he meant it. He’d spent a long time in a hospital bed cycling through every possible what-if leading up to the moment where he woke up missing a leg, listening to a doctor with mediocre bedside manner tell him his organs were still failing, too. But as pushy as his father was, he was also the man who’d instilled this drive in him. This hunger to do everything with all his effort, to never settle for goodness when he could have greatness.
“I know you didn’t. I just—” Chase paused. “I need to do this.”
I need something in my life to make me look forward, not back. I need a reason to get out of bed in the morning. I need to feel capable again. I need to figure out who the hell I am.
Their family didn’t talk like that. They conversed in smiles and small talk. They kept things light and airy and fanned out darkness like fumes through an open window. And for the past year, he’d thrown off their balance by being the darkness they couldn’t get rid of.
His parents may have reached a point where they could fall back into the fa?ade and ignore the ugly scar in the room—Chase’s scar—but he could never do the same. All he could do was show up and pretend. The least they could do for him was return the favor by pretending to accept the one thing that made him happy.
“Mom. Dad. You have to hear him sing.” Lydia reached around the centerpiece and squeezed his wrist. “He’s a natural, honestly. This is going to be awesome.”
As encouraging as Lydia was, their parents still weren’t swayed. He didn’t expect them to be, so their silence was the next best thing.
Chase would take it. After a childhood and young adulthood of him and Lydia doing everything according to the rigorous family rulebook, he was fine with the victory finally going to his sister. The pressure of being the golden child didn’t seem like it was worth the praise.
“I guess we’ll hear him on TV, won’t we?” their father said disparagingly.
Their mother gave a forced smile and kicked Richard under the table, a gesture she still hadn’t learned to do subtly. “I’m sure you’ll be great, hon. Are you sure you’re ready for all the publicity again, though? That must be difficult to deal with. All those cameras on you all the time. So much stress. No privacy.”
Funny. She’d never asked him how he felt about fame before he signed with the Kodiaks, and it was never a concern with the coaching jobs.
Chase was about to point that out, too, but candor hadn’t gotten him very far, so he found himself thinking, What would Zak do? After all, radical honesty was the first page he’d ripped out of her playbook in an effort to be more bold, to give less of a fuck about what anyone thought of him.
He plastered on a pleasant face. “Dinner’s delicious, Mom. What’s for dessert?”