Returning Your Love (Pippen Creek #1)

19. Jamie

Chapter 19

Jamie

F or the next three weeks, Chaz ignored my text messages and everyone else who reached out to him. With how he shut himself off completely, the town grew concerned. A few people besides myself had attempted to interact with him outside of his shop, but he refused each and every invite to get out of the house during his downtime. Rather than starting at the beginning stages of grief, he’d jumped straight to the end with immediate acceptance before sliding backward, seemingly stuck in depression from what I’d seen and heard from Babs and Dad.

I found myself still bogged down in self-loathing for wishing Shelly was gone and anger over her death draining Chaz of life along with hers. Dad told me everyone grieved differently, that each stage passed as a person slowly came to terms with their new reality.

Wanting to push Chaz along made me feel even more like a shit friend, and the fact I couldn’t do a goddamned thing to ease his suffering created more bitterness in my heart for a woman whose body now rested in a cold casket.

Powerless, I stood on the sidelines, only allowed to offer encouragement to Chaz via text—if he even read my messages.

My football team was another matter. They heard me loud and clear. Listened and attempted to stride toward victory. We continued in our season’s losing streak, but at least we’d managed to tack points onto the board in recent games thanks to Gabby and her golden foot. The lack of talent otherwise lay like a stifling blanket over my already shitty mood, even though I’d known what I was getting into when I agreed to take over Coach Bernard’s job. I told myself daily “I’ve got this.”

I’d begun to feel like I lied to myself.

Waiting for Chaz to decide he could live again wore me down. I’d never been a patient man, always proactive, and with how every part of me ached for him, those steps Chaz needed to get through in order to move on dragged like molasses in winter.

Slow. As. Fuck.

How the hell had Babs survived all those years without losing her shit?

Unlike those Hallmark movies I longed to live in, weeks didn’t leap forward with scene breaks. A blink left me standing just as lonely and helpless as a second earlier when I’d wished to be transported into the future where Chaz was willing and ready to love again.

Where guilt and shame no longer shrouded every thought and action.

Needing to do something , I bought a bunch of gym equipment and set it up in Dad’s garage, dedicating most of my free time to getting into the best shape of my life. While I had no say over Chaz’s emotions nor could I steer the journey he was on, I was able to control my own forward progress. But I knew better than to push myself too hard, too fast. Modifications for some weight training I used to do while in the NFL had to be done, but at least I made gains toward losing the pesky pounds that I’d put on due to lack of motivation since my return to Pippen Creek.

I sent my usual daily text to Chaz after practice on Thursday night, but rather than begging for him to hit up Frenchie’s for a beer with me, I simply informed him that was where I would be. Maybe his not having to please someone else but rather be prompted on his own to socialize might get his ass in gear. Less pressure, which had afforded Chaz to make decisions easier in the past.

Iris manned the place by herself, and rather than spilling my woes to her like needy patrons usually did, I asked questions to keep the focus off me and my misery. She leaned on the bar, eyes twinkling while she told me about her and Frenchie’s “meet-cute” as she called it. The whole damsel in distress on the side of the road with a flat event. Frenchie had come riding in on a black stallion—Harley Davidson style—and changed out her tire. She had insisted on repaying the bad girl goddess with dinner, but it was realizing they shared a similar tattoo on the same body part that had her tumbling head over heels.

What that was exactly, I didn’t ask because the flush on her cheeks and hint of shyness in her gaze made it clear I would be better off not hearing details.

One of the town drunks sat at the other end of the bar nursing his beer while listening in on Iris’s tale, two couples sat at high tables, oblivious to anyone around them and making me envious as fuck, and a few newly-legal drinkers hung around the pool tables, shooting the shit and attempting to sink balls into pockets while buzzed.

It was the perfect night for Chaz to show up. No nosey people to get in his space and cause him discomfort. Just me being my anxious self and a smiling bartender who wasn’t known to judge a single soul.

The door opened behind me, and Iris smiled. “Welcome to Frenchie’s!” She called out the usual greeting over my shoulder.

Tingles of awareness crept down my spine, and I stayed put, my focus on my beer rather than drawing even more attention to the man who’d stepped inside. Relief swept through me along with a shot of adrenaline that had my heart racing. I’d made the right call in not pushing.

“This seat taken?”

I chuckled and glanced over at Chaz, my pulse thrumming regardless of his appearance.

He was too pale, dark circles beneath his eyes, but not as closed down as last time I’d seen him at the wake. The terrible, too-large suit had been replaced with his usual worn T-shirt and baggy jeans. Still damned edible as always.

“It’s all yours.” As am I. My chest fluttered as I attempted to calm my racing heart.

Chaz slid onto the barstool.

“Good to see you among the land of the living, Chaz.” Iris poured three shots of Shelly’s favorite whiskey, passing one to both of us and holding up the third. She didn’t need to speak a word.

We slammed back the drinks in a moment of silence, the burn I wasn’t used to causing my eyes to sting. At least I didn’t land in a coughing fit. Then again, that would have probably put a smirk on Chaz’s forlorn face.

“Now that’s out of the way, what can I get for you, sweetheart?” she asked Chaz, her tone soft and empathetic while setting her glass aside.

“Just a Sam Adams OctoberFest if you have any?” Chaz said.

“Sure do.”

Iris retrieved a cold bottle, popped the cap, and set it in front of him. “Give me a holler when you’re ready for another.” She patted his forearm on the bar before ambling off to check on the guy at the other end. She leaned onto the counter to occupy his attention and ears.

I could have kissed the woman.

“I’ve missed you.” I decided on honesty about my feelings in the hopes he would follow my lead.

Chaz grunted and took a long pull from his beer. He immediately went for the label once finished, picking at its edge.

Spinning a quarter turn on my stool allowed me to semi-face him. His hair hung over his eyebrows and ears, and my fingers twitched with need to brush the dark, soft-looking waves back so I could get a better view of his face.

“How are you holding up?”

“Okay, I guess.” His brow furrowed, and he still wouldn’t give me his attention.

Maybe it would be best to steer clear of any topic focused on his recent loss. “Busy at the shop?” I asked.

“Always,” he answered without hesitation and immediately cringed at the word.

“What’s that look for?” I asked, unable to help myself because I hated the disgust crinkling his face.

“Nothing,” he muttered as his brow smoothed over. He sucked down another third of his beer and leaned forward, elbows on the bar.

“Chaz.”

“Hmm?”

“Christ, man, would you look at me? Please?”

He closed his eyes, lips in a thin line. “I’m not doing well, Jamie. Need numbness to return before I lose my goddamned mind. Didn’t show up here to spill my guts or evaluate how I’m feeling or what I’m doing to cope.” Chaz drank the rest of his beer and reached for the bottle of whiskey Iris had left sitting nearby as though knowing he would be wanting more.

I held my hand over my shot glass when he offered. It took three shots back-to-back and another five minutes of absolute uncomfortable-as-fuck silence before he finally gave me his eyes.

Their hazel depths swirled with a toxic brew of pain and deep sadness I ached to ease for him.

“Want to get out of here?” I asked, my voice low.

He glanced away immediately, started to shake his head.

“Not for that,” I hastened to correct the way I realized his brain had gone. “I just meant…shit.” Scratching at my scruffy jawline, I eyed him, simply wishing to protect him from embarrassment in the event he broke down in public. “This isn’t the place to get drunk, Chaz. If you’re in the mood to get wasted, then let’s crash at your place. We can talk—or not. Whatever you need. And I’ll make sure you don’t do anything stupid and that you fall asleep in bed rather than hugging the toilet.”

“Not ready to have what happened in the kitchen last time,” he said, sounding broken far beyond his loss.

My entire body ached to soothe his obvious guilt over the best night of my entire existence. “I’ll keep my hands to myself. Promise.”

He stood and went for his wallet, but I clasped his wrist to stop him. “I’ve got it.”

I tossed a couple of twenties onto the bar, called a “see ya later” to Iris, and followed Chaz out the door.

Stars hung low in the cold air, a million pinpricks flooding across the expanse overhead, disappearing behind the mountains to the south. My breath fogged on a deep exhale of thankfulness for Chaz taking a step in the right direction in allowing someone to be a part of his life. Thank fuck it was me.

“Hop in,” I told him, motioning toward my SUV in the front parking spot.

“I’m okay to drive,” he muttered.

“The fuck you are. It might only be a mile down the road to your house, but you slammed back four shots and one beer all in a matter of what? Twenty minutes? We’ll get your truck tomorrow.”

He climbed into my passenger seat, and we drove in silence to the southernmost end of town. My heart beat heavy the entire time simply from being with him. The close proximity was right in ways nothing else ever had been.

Chaz was it for me. Always had been, always would be.

Telling myself I could be as patient as necessary, that I would honor his boundaries, I pulled into his empty driveway, determined to keep shit on friend level rather than lust and fucking.

Chaz and Shelly had bought a small ranch-style home, and when we walked through the side door into the kitchen, rather than smelling like lemon and chicken when I’d been invited for dinner, staleness met my nose.

The house felt…vacant. Completely abandoned of life.

Like a tomb.

A fine layer of dust covered the curio cabinet on the right, dishes piled in the sink to the left, and a few articles of clothing draped over the chairs half-pushed in around the table. I didn’t bother mentioning the mess Chaz hadn’t cleaned up. Doing so would make me sound like his nagging wife, and he didn’t need another reason to drink more than I already expected him to in the coming hours.

We kicked off our shoes, and he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers from a cabinet, nodding toward the living room.

I sat on one corner of the couch and nursed my drink while he swallowed down a couple more shots, the quiet oppressive like a too-heavy barbell across my shoulders.

Chaz slouched on the other end, body wilted and head downturned. He focused on the empty glass clutched in both of his hands.

“I don’t want to be here anymore, Jamie,” Chaz whispered, his voice ragged and slurred from all the alcohol he’d drunk. “I’m not strong enough to do this.”