Chapter 18 Lee
LEE
Mom wasn’t a morning person, so when I got up on Thursday morning and found her awake, sitting at the kitchen table and nursing a cup of coffee, the first thing out of my mouth was, “What’s wrong?”
She showed me a sleepy smile as she rose to her feet. “Nothing. I just wanted to see you before you went to work.”
“It’s five in the morning, Mom.”
“My friend Emily does yoga,” she said. “She gets up every morning just so she can stretch and see the sun rise. She says it helps her prepare for the day. You know what helps me prepare for the day? As much goddamn sleep as I can get.”
I snorted and said, “Then what the hell are you up for?”
She gave me a look, and I knew.
We’d had a lot of late nights and early-ass mornings in this kitchen, Mom and me, back when Sam was sick, when neither of us could sleep much for worrying. I didn’t miss them at all. And now Mom was worrying again, for me this time.
“I’m fine,” I told her. “Honestly.”
It was mostly the truth. I’d be fine, just as soon as I adjusted to the idea that Chase and I had broken up.
It wasn’t as though we had much of a relationship to mourn, but it had felt like the potential was there.
So that was the part I was missing, I guessed.
Not what we’d had, because we’d barely had anything, but what we could have had.
And, okay, I was mourning the sex. We’d sure as hell had that, and I was definitely going to miss it too.
I didn’t regret not settling for it, though, because I couldn’t imagine going back to Chase and fucking him but nothing more than that.
And the more I thought about his offer of going back to no-strings sex, the more annoyed I got that I couldn’t tell if it was me that Chase thought so little of or himself, if he couldn’t see any more value in what we’d had than getting off.
But then I thought of Cash and the story he’d told about Optimus Prime, and my heart ached for eight-year-old Chase, who’d lifted his chin when his toy was smashed up—I didn’t need Cash to have included that detail to imagine exactly what his expression had looked like—and declared he’d never wanted it anyway.
And I’d bet that Chase had never touched another Transformers toy after that, just in case anyone saw and figured out how much he was hurting.
To build walls as high as his, you had to lay the foundations pretty fucking early.
Mom studied me for a moment, like she was searching for a lie. Then she said, “Sam’s making dinner tonight.”
“Shit from a jar?”
“Actually, no. She wants to make gnocchi. From scratch.”
“That’s ambitious,” I said. Not like I was doubting her, but—okay, I was doubting her.
“She said to tell you to be here at six, and not to be late,” Mom said. “I’m taking bets on whether or not it’ll be ready by bedtime, and at what point she’ll throw in the towel and we’ll order pizzas.”
“I’ll make the garlic bread,” I said.
Mom gave me a hug. “Are you sure you’re doing okay, hon?”
I hugged her back. “Getting there, yeah.”
And really, that was the best I could hope for.
What had Mom said about the woman at her salon sleeping with the guy from the business next door?
Don’t shit where you eat. Which was solid advice, except I hadn’t been looking for advice when Chase had come on hard and fast. I’d been looking for anything he could give me, which, it turned out, hadn’t been enough.
I should have known from the start that he’d never invite me behind the walls he’d built.
The whole point of them was that there was no room there for anyone except him and Cash.
Just another thing that made my heart ache, and not just for me but for them too.
I just wished things were different, for all the good that did.
“Get Sam to text me if she needs me to stop at the grocery store on my way home,” I said.
“I think she’s got it covered,” Mom said, “but I’ll let her know. Have a good day, hon.”
“You too.”
The drive to Goose Run wasn’t a long one, and I was starting to know it pretty well by now.
Each bend, each turn, each dip in the road, and each pothole.
Goose Run didn’t have a lot going on, especially so early in the morning, but Main Street, with its old shop fronts and its white church, was pretty.
Maybe Bobby should have put a nice photograph of that on the postcards he sold at the gas station instead of the cartoon goose giving the thumbs-up that Tyler had shown me with astonished glee.
I pulled into the parking lot at the back of the bakery. Tyler’s truck wasn’t here yet, and I checked the time. I was running a little early, so I figured I’d sit here and listen to the end of the song on my playlist.
Which was right when a hooded figure loomed up in my window. My heart kicked up a few frantic beats, and I was sure I was about to be mugged. Who knew the criminal underbelly of Goose Run wasn’t just Lucille?
Then the figure pulled back the hood and glared and said, “Hey.”
“Jesus Christ,” I said. I opened the door. “You scared the shit out of me, Chase. What are you doing here so early?”
He shrugged. “Thought we could talk.”
He was curled in on himself and it was still cold and dark out, so I said, “Get in.”
He got in on the passenger side and stared at the floor, practically vibrating with tension. It took until the song wound down before he spoke.
“My parents were pretty fucked up.”
I wasn’t sure what he expected me to say to that, so I stayed silent.
Chase fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. “I’m kind of fucked up too.” He glanced across at me and then looked away again. “I’m not good at trusting people.”
That wasn’t news, but it surprised me that he’d said it out loud.
“I’m not good at admitting when I’ve messed up,” he said. He pressed his mouth into a thin line, then added, “And I’m not good at apologizing.”
I nodded to encourage him to keep talking, except then he turned the full force of his glare on me like he was waiting for a response and was pissed that I hadn’t given him one. “Oh,” I said. “Shit. Is this an apology?”
His glare, impossibly, grew more intense.
“You’re right,” I said. “You’re not good at apologizing.”
Look, even if he murdered me after I said that, it was still worth it because it was hilarious. And maybe Chase thought so too, just a little bit, because the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Well, I’m sorry too,” I said. “I’m sorry your parents were fucked up and I’m sorry you and Cash have been through some awful shit. That really sucks.”
Chase’s expression morphed into that one I’d rarely seen, and only in fleeting glimpses. His eyes widened and he looked achingly vulnerable. And for once he didn’t look away or bury it under a glare or an insult. “Yeah, it did.”
He fiddled with the zipper on his jacket again, pulling it up and down in short, rasping increments. I resisted the urge to reach over and put my hand over his, to stop what had to be a nervous reaction.
Rasp.
Rasp.
Rasp.
And then he said, “I got scared.”
“What scared you?” I asked him softly.
“You did,” he said, and his voice sounded raw.
He turned his head to look out the windshield at the brick wall in front of us.
“Cash did. I did. You can’t—you can’t want things.
If you want something, someone’ll wreck it.
And I know it’s messed up to think that way, but also, it’s true.
So.” He shrugged. “So that’s how it is.”
The words hung between us. I wanted to tell him that wasn’t how it was meant to be, at least not every time, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate me spouting some bullshit platitudes.
He played with his zipper again.
Rasp.
Rasp.
Rasp.
He caught me looking. “It’s Wilder’s. He loaned it to me.
He’s a good guy. So is Danny. So I know, okay?
I know there are decent people out there.
I know that not everyone is just going to fuck you over.
I know you’re not an asshole, but that doesn’t stop me from being scared.
” He pressed his mouth into a thin line.
It trembled. “I don’t know how to stop.”
This time I couldn’t keep from reaching across to him. I brushed my hand against his, and he let go of the zipper pull and gripped my hand.
“I’m sorry I broke up with you,” he said. “Or made you break up with me.”
I squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry too.”
He swallowed. “I wish it had worked out different.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, why can’t it?”
Chase turned his head to look at me again, his eyes wide and wet. “What?”
I squeezed his hand again. “Why can’t it?”
“You’d give me a second chance?” he asked, his voice full of doubt.
“I’d give both of us a fresh start,” I said. “If that’s what you wanted. But it’s up to you.”
Chase scrubbed the edge of his sleeve over his face and his throat bobbed. “What if we did, and I messed it up again?”
“What if I messed it up?” I asked him. “People mess up, Chase. Everyone does. But I miss you being my boyfriend. It feels like it could be something good if we let it. If we tried, even if we’re scared.”
“You mean me, not you.” There was a hint of his usual sharpness in that. “You weren’t scared.”
“Chase, dating you was terrifying,” I said. “Ask me how many times I thought you were gonna murder me.”
That won a snort of laughter out of him. “Fuck you. I’m all talk.”
“Well, maybe I’m just easily intimidated. Or maybe I like the thrill. Dating you is like riding a roller coaster. Except there are no seat belts, and it’s also on fire.”
This time I got an actual laugh. “Asshole.”
I shrugged. “I’m still here lining up for another ride, though. If you’re willing to put up with me. So what do you say? A fresh start?”
He was silent for a minute before he gave me a smile that was real and fragile, stripped of its usual sharp edges. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest. “Me too.”
I leaned toward him and he leaned in as well, and we kissed.