CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE Chip
“Chip,” Van yelled from the mudroom. “Can you come here, please?”
The cabin was designed in such a way that the mudroom was the first area a person entered when coming indoors.
There was a second door that separated the room from the cabin’s interior as well.
The small, enclosed area was used to store muddy boots, hang jackets, and had space for snow shovels, rock salt, and other inclement weather supplies.
Mudrooms were common features in homes built in heavily wintered regions.
I peeked my head around the corner of the living room. “Wassup?”
Van moved to the side, revealing John in the doorway. “We have company,” he said, motioning for John to come in out of the cold.
I’d rehearsed this moment for a year. The early weeks and months after the breakup were spent fantasizing about how happy I’d be when John came running back to me.
The subsequent months were about going through the stages of grief.
His standing in front of me twelve months later landed me right in the middle of the stage known as anger.
“What are you doing here?”
Van appeared less than pleased with my question.
He hadn’t witnessed this side of me. A side so full of anger toward the human who’d crushed my heart to smithereens.
I inhaled deeply and then quietly released as much rage as possible.
I was facing a critical test in front of the man I now loved. Behave, Chip. Act mature.
“I’m back in town,” John replied, hesitating to come in further. “I was hoping we could talk.”
I’d bet you do. I’m happy and working on a new relationship, and yours went to shit. Of course, you came knocking. My internal dialogue was preventing me from giving him a dose of my pain. I wanted him to know how much I hurt after he did what he did.
I didn’t respond. Instead, I glowered at him.
“Ouch,” John reacted, glancing toward his truck in the driveway.
There you go. Back the fuck up and leave me alone.
I crossed my arms to let him know I had no time for an unannounced visit from a man who’d abandoned me a year ago.
“Would you like to come in?” Van asked.
Pooch was nearly having a heart attack once he remembered who John was. He jumped all over his true owner, spun around several times, and then tore off into the cabin.
“Well, at least Pooch is happy I’m here,” John said.
“Whatever,” I muttered, feeling a level of anger I hadn’t seriously considered possible.
I watched as Van tapped John’s elbow, nonverbally asking him for his jacket. John gave me a worried look.
“You sure?” he whispered to Van.
“I insist.”
John gave Van his outer jacket and the thermal vest he wore inside that. His expression told me he was having second thoughts about entering his former home. You’d be correct. Leave. Leave. Leave. I backed up and waited just inside.
“Maybe I should go.”
I glanced at Van, unable to disappoint him. “You may as well stay. You’re here anyway,” I said, suddenly feeling naked in boxers and a worn T-shirt. “Excuse me.”
After changing into sweats and a T-shirt, I returned to find John and Van standing in the middle of the room. I probably imagined it, but I swore John gave Van the once-over, raking Van’s body with his eyes. You’re insecure, Chip. Calm the fuck down.
“Please put some clothes on, Van. At least until John leaves.”
Van moved past me and disappeared into the bedroom. He found the robe behind the door and reappeared in less than ten seconds, just in time to witness me pointing toward the front door. He stepped beside me and gently pulled my arm down.
“Let’s hear why John stopped by,” Van appealed. Fire lit my face like a furnace. I was completely pissed by this point. “Please?” Van added.
I didn’t respond, but instead headed to a bar stool and then motioned for John to sit on the couch. “Two minutes,” I gruffed.
Uncomfortable silence fell like a blanket of snow on the room. No one dared to make eye contact with anyone. Van went to the kitchen to work on the stew in the hope he’d allowed enough space for us to speak privately. I didn’t want privacy.
“Van, can you please come next to me?” I asked.
He glanced back and forth between John and me, avoiding locking eyes with either.
I’d recently watched one of those old western movies where gunslingers held a duel in front of the saloon, dust swirling off the dirt road.
I recalled the stirring music and a hawk’s screech filling the speakers just before the gunfight. This felt like that movie.
Van made his way to my side, where I slid my hand into his. My desire to be discreet in front of John, while not disappointing Van, fucked with my anger DNA.
John smiled at us. “So, the news is true,” he said. Damn right it’s true. “I saw the BMW out front when I drove up. I figured as much.”
“I’m sorry,” Van said.
Him apologizing pissed me off further. Sorry for what? His kindness and respect for others were his motivation, but I was disappointed in him for saying sorry. So once again, I inhaled deeply and swallowed more of my nasty attitude.
“Don’t be sorry, Van,” John replied. “Chip is a single man.”
Hearing John use Van’s name with some familiarity troubled me. My need to protect Van from this bullshit was now disadvantaged, in my opinion. The two of them had met previously. My brain hated the fact. Every molecule in my body hated the fact. Not sure why, though.
I cleared my throat. “Was. Was a single man.”
Van signaled his displeasure with my attitude with a let’s try to be pleasant squeeze of my hand.
Here he was yet again, finding an ability to maintain civility, no matter the environment.
Admitting I was proud of his behavior was difficult.
I supposed, like any person, I wanted him to prove his loyalty to me by being shitty to John.
But I also adored him because that wasn’t who he was.
Pooch, who’d had an overly excited meltdown at seeing John again, had settled at Van’s feet. John took note. I wondered how he felt seeing his dog bonded with another man.
“How was your trip home?” Van asked.
“Uneventful,” John replied, moving a pillow from behind his back. Don’t get comfortable, buddy. “Roads were basically clear. The pass was icy, but no issues.”
“Will you be staying with your folks?” Van continued.
You ain’t fucking stay here. I internally raged.
John focused on his hands, hesitating with a response. “Mmm, well, my folks don’t exactly know I’m here.”
His confession didn’t sound correct. According to Van, Mrs. Hatfield said John’s parents were coming to Christmas Eve dinner with John. How the hell did that old woman know John was returning to Missile if his folks didn’t?
“What a nice surprise for them when you go home tonight,” I quipped, failing to soften my tone.
John remained silent, and a look I recognized well settled on his face. Not exactly guilt, but the behavior of regret, or distress. He’d found himself in a pickle, and I remembered the body language oh so well. That’s when a light bulb went off in my mind.
“Not a fucking chance,” I stated flatly. “No way!”
Van startled at my eruption. “What?” he asked, glancing back and forth at me and John.
“He doesn’t have a place to stay,” I pointed out, dismissively waving toward John. “He doesn’t have a relationship with his parents, so he never calls them. Or visits them.”
“Then you will stay right here with us,” Van insisted. “You can have the loft for as long as you need.”
“No, he can’t!” I exclaimed. “That is not happening, Van. That guy… that… he… No fucking way!”
“John needs a place to stay, Chip.”
“And that’s our problem, how?” I pulled my hand away, crossing my arms, attempting to dig my heels in.
“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and we’re not the type of people to turn our backs on those in need,” Van contended.
My blood pressure shot up instantly. “That man over there,” I seethed, gesturing toward John, “stole your ex! Do you think he gave a rat’s ass about your whereabouts last Christmas Eve?”
John slowly stood, his hand held toward us in a gesture of understanding my rage. With his head down, looking like someone had shit in his Cornflakes, he headed for the front door.
Van hurried across the room and placed his hand on John’s shoulder. “Please, John. Don’t leave. You are welcome here, and we want you to stay.”
Even from a distance of twenty feet, I couldn’t miss John’s shoulders heaving. He bent over, holding his knees, and began sobbing. Nice try, fucker. That shit won’t work with me.
Van moved in front of him and assisted him in standing upright. And then he stabbed me directly in the heart. He pulled John into his embrace, holding the back of John’s head while he cried on his shoulder.
“Shhhh,” Van soothed. “Everything will be fine.”
I should’ve been proud of Van. Should’ve admired his amazing capacity to help the very person who’d fucked him over. But I was too consumed with anger to be proud of, let alone admire him.
“I’m going to bed,” I announced.