Chapter 3
I thought that Chase was going to show me around, give me a tour of the local sights.
Abilene is a tiny West Texas cattle town that I scraped off an old map Peter had lying in his study.
Peter and his love of poetry. He probably found this place in a sonnet somewhere and marked a map ages ago.
When I needed a place to go, it popped into my mind.
No Ferro would ever come here for anything.
It’s too remote. Nothing is walkable. And it’s fucking hot.
It’s like God went out and left the sun on too long.
I planned to tell Chase I’d already seen the sights, but once the motorcycle was winding down backroads, I didn’t care where we were headed.
The ride was thrilling. He could drive over the Singing Bridge fifty times, and I’d love every second.
My heart was racing in a good way, and my arms were wrapped tightly around this super beautiful, sandalwood-smelling man.
We don’t talk during the ride, apart from him reminding me to lean with him when he takes a curve on the road.
His face shield is down, and he rides the bike like he’s done it all his life.
He’s confident even when we turn, and he tries leaning further, taking us lower, but I’m sitting straight up at a ninety-degree angle from the ground.
Chase shifts his weight to compensate, and when we come out of the turn, he pats my knee and shakes his head. I think it means, Good job not jumping off.
The thought makes me grin. I’m going to start laughing every time he mentions getting off the bike now.
The oddness of the moment strikes me hard.
I’m smiling. I’m laughing. I feel like the sky isn’t going to fall in on me at any moment.
Even if the moment is fleeting, it’s noticeable.
I haven’t felt an inkling of safety in a long time.
It’s not that I think a random is going to try and kill me.
It’s more of that unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach, the sense that something isn’t right.
The feeling that says to be alert. Even with Lizzie.
That feeling is always on. I just don’t feel like this anymore. Calm. Happy.
Maybe I shouldn’t be reveling in the sensation.
That always-on-alert feeling grew there because I needed it.
Especially now. Someone sent that email.
Someone knows I’m down here, at the college where Chase and I work.
The threat laces its way up my spine, and I tighten my grip on Chase.
Outside of a life that already imploded, he’s the one thing that feels right.
Life’s been so messy, so chaotic, and so horrible. There are no words. So, in this space, it’s nice to just breathe and feel the wind on my skin. It’s good to stop worrying that my parents already pinpointed my tiny house and sent an extraction team to drag me back to New York.
Oddly enough, I don’t want to leave here. Not yet. There are things I love about this place. The smell of the air. The sweet taste of the water. The way the sun shines for an extra two hours a day. I’m a plant. I need sunny days, and there are a lot of them here.
After a few more curves in the road, we emerge in a tiny town of Buffalo Gap.
A banner hangs across the road that says TRADE DAYS & MUSIC FESTIVAL.
Chase pulls the bike up to the fairgrounds and turns off towards the parking lot, making a parking spot by the dirt path to the tents nestled between the trees.
When Chase cuts the engine, I dig my fingers into my chin strap to loosen it and ask, “What is this?”
“It’s a country fair.” He tugs off his helmet as he waits for me to dismount first. “I thought a city girl might get a kick out of it.”
“If I’m a city girl, then you’re a city boy.” I counter as I hop off the back of the bike. After I hand him my helmet, I add, “I’m ready for my survey.” I grin up at him. At all six feet with that mop of dark hair.
Chase barks a loud laugh, then leans in close to my ear. “Not yet, you’re not.” He takes my helmet, brushing my fingers as he does it. “And yes, a city girl much more than I’m a city boy.”
“Oh? Where are you from?” Turning from me, he takes both helmets and locks them one at a time onto the bike. “You must be from a city,” I announce my conclusion like I’m Sherlock, “or you wouldn’t be locking your bike.” My finger is wagging in the air, pointed at him.
His gaze dips to the digit between us. He grins. “True.”
“So,” my hands fly to my hips, “spit it out. Where’d you live that made you lock up your stuff?” Some place that values confident men, music, manhands, and sandalwood.
Oslo? Aspen? Tahoe?
“Austin.” He smiles over at me. “I went to college there. While you don’t need to lock everything, when you’re strapped, you need to lock up everything. Helmets aren’t exactly cheap.”
Reaching toward the soft saddle bag, he unlocks it and pulls out a hard case. It looks like a tiny violin could be inside. Or a machine gun. He flicks the latch and withdraws his baton, tucks it in his shirt pocket, and then rummages through the bag for something else.
I nod. “I can see you there. In Austin. And that explains your accent.”
Chase pulls out a black square. He unfolds it and shakes it out before tugging it on over his pale blue shirt, hiding the baton beneath. “Accent?” He buttons up the vest, not looking at me.
“Yeah. You sound a little country. A little city. A muddled mutt.” I’m starting to wonder why he’s putting on a vest. Maybe he just wants to look more Western. If he pulls out a bolo, I might have to nope-out on him.
“You, on the other hand, Bree,” he looks up when he says my fake name, as if questioning it, “aren’t from Texas at all. From where do your people hail?”
“All over, but mostly big cities.” I shrug, not really lying but not telling the truth either. “We moved around a bit.”
He seems to believe me, nodding as he touches the skin on my bare forearm, lightly brushing it, and points towards a copse of trees. “Let’s head that way, Weird Girl who hails from nowhere.”
“It’s mostly true.” I make a noncommitted sound and roll my head back and forth. “Okay, it’s not totally true. I did move. God, why do I feel like I need to lie to impress you? It’s like I can’t be myself for the first five minutes I meet someone. It’s hard.”
Chase lets out a rough laugh like he thinks that was totally absurd, but he agrees.
He rubs his chin and offers, “I think it’s nature.
Let’s call it the Law of Strangers. When people first meet, they are the furthest from their true selves.
We have to be. It’s part of survival. We try harder, dress nicer, and behave differently than normal.
It’s perplexing. But it’s also human. So, what I’m saying is, we can play.
I don’t mind. There’s no reason to cut away all the non-truths today. ”
I stop walking abruptly. Squaring my shoulders, I turn to him. “But I hate lying.” I feel my eyebrows lift as the expression on my face becomes too sincere to guard. “Chase, I hate liars,” my gaze leaves his, drifts to the ground as I admit, “But I am one.”
“So am I.”
Wow. I manage to look up, and we stare at each other.
My eyes rove his face, looking for truth, for something real.
This man, I don’t understand him. And since when do I like discussing philosophy?
What is happening here? It’s like a teenage crush, but we’re being honest?
I’m staring at his mouth when he speaks. Wondering how soft his lips feel.
“So, where shall we go from here? Should we change human nature in one afternoon?” Chase asks me, in a serious but playful way.
“I like that idea.” Nodding slowly, I commit to the idea forming in my head.
“New rules. No lies. No omissions, either.” I can do this for an afternoon.
It might be fun. I lift my hand, adding a hasty provision, “But you don’t have to answer.
Let’s call it a blank spot. Something to come back and fill in later. ”
“When we trust each other a bit more?”
“Right.” I bump his shoulder as we walk. “After another round or two of tasers. Assuming you’re up for it.”
Bumping me back gently, he smirks. “The thing with sticking around after getting tased was weird, right?”
“Probably.” I nod, wondering where this is going.
Chase looks at me, stops walking. The dust clings to his boots. “Blank spot. For now.”
“Alright,” I agree, nodding. Now I’m curious and wonder what secrets he’s hiding.
“So then,” Chase glances down at me as we start walking again past vendor stalls. Someone has BBQ. The smoky aroma is filling my head and making my mouth water. “Where are you from?”
I think about whether I want to share this with him. If it’s safe. I’m leaving here soon, and with over eight million people living in New York, I don’t see any harm in telling him. “New York.”
“Ah,” he lifts a finger as he asks me, “do you know a guy named—”
Laughing lightly, I shove him sideways. “Why? Why do people do that? What are the odds I’d know anyone they know?”
Chase staggers playfully and then falls in step with me again. He glances at me out of the side of his eye. “Pretty good, depending on the situation, I’d think.”
Before I can ask him to elaborate, we are standing in front of a rustic wooden stage nestled between two old Mesquite trees.
There’s a semi-circle of chairs with music stands flanking a conductor’s stand in the center.
There are some blankets laid out. People are sitting on them with fair food, waiting.
Behind them are a few logs where more people wait.
Curious, I ask, “What is this?”
“I lied when I said I had today off.” He runs his hand over his head and down his neck.
He seems to do that when he’s nervous. “I have this one little thing, and then I’m yours for the rest of the day.
Besides,” he leans in and whispers, “I remember how much you like to watch.” His gaze meets mine and holds it.
The innuendo hangs in the air, but even more so—he’s daring me to say I was there a few nights ago—watching him at the university.
“True.” I breathe, letting it wrap around my lips. “So, you saw me there, skulking in the auditorium?”
His dark brows lift slightly. He rubs his jaw for a moment.
“Would you be referring to the night I threw a fit and tossed sheet music all over the floor? No, I didn’t see you, not really.
I did see neon red hair stop and then move on.
” His gaze sweeps over my bright red hair, then back to my eyes.
His chest rises and falls swiftly, like whatever he’s about to say is difficult.
“When I went to the bar later, sorry I was such a dick—I didn’t—” he breaks off. I can hear the tightness in his throat.
“You don’t have to tell me anything. Blank space.”
Chase’s pale blue eyes bore into mine, looking for something. Then he pushes his dark hair away from his face and runs his hand down his neck. “I’ll tell you. Soon. But not right now. Let’s just say I had a piss-pot day.”
“Same here. Except for listening to your music. That’s one of the highlights of working on campus. I stopped to hear you play.”
“You did?” He seems genuinely shocked.
I nod. “Yes. There’s something about you—the way you sway with the music. It’s hard to look away.” It’s always hard to look away from this man, whether he’s holding an instrument or not.
His gaze is locked on mine. Lips slightly parted, he breathes, “I know what you mean.”
“Mr. Desparaux!” A student who barely looks eighteen bounds up behind him.
She’s got olive skin, deep-set eyes with tons of liner, and a tight white shirt with a pair of black shorts.
Concert dress for country folk. In Manhattan they’d be wearing ballgowns, tuxedos, and sitting on beautiful chairs in a concert hall.
The girl beams at him. Crushing. “Can we get ready?”
Chase turns and gives the kid directions—totally ignoring her infatuation—pointing toward the stage. When the girl runs off, her inky hair shining in the sun, he explains, “First chair for the first time.”
“That’s exciting. Especially getting to sit right in front of a hot conductor. She practically swooned.”
There’s a moment where he doesn’t know what to say. He glances back at the girl and his brows pinch.
Inching close enough to elbow him, I add, “I was kidding. There’s no way you play favorites. Besides, you didn’t even notice her doe-eyes. It’s fine.”
There’s something between us. Tension lines Chase’s shoulders, and that wrinkle still sits on the center of his forehead.
“Chase,” I go on, “all joking aside, I know what that means—first chair. How hard a musician works to get that seat, even out here.”
“Right,” he replies, voice flat. He tips his head toward the stage. “I better get over there.”
For a split second, I see him in my memory that night, clutching his head, bent over on the floor as if his world was blown away.
Maybe it was.