Chapter 7 Annalise #2
He moves in behind me, and I get a whiff of something smoky and earthy, like leather and burnt sandalwood, fused with a touch of citrus.
When he rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie, I sneak a peek at his guitar tattoo, a warm, kismet feeling coiling in my chest.
“We’re moving closer to the person who wants me dead,” he notes, his posture stiff as he shoves his hands into his pockets and follows me toward the table near the platform.
“Kenna would never. She’s a lover, not a fighter.” I shoot him a teasing grin. “Actually, she’s both. But something tells me you’re safe.”
I nearly get a smirk out of him.
Maybe I’ll get a real smile one of these days.
Dragging a third chair to the table, I peer over at Tag, who furrows his brow and shakes his head through the chorus, silently asking me who the hell the guy is.
I spin away and reach for my lukewarm coffee as Chase settles into his seat, his head bowed.
“So, Chase, tell me about yourself. Are you a musician too?” Kenna’s vape pen materializes out of nowhere, and she points it in his direction like a mini microphone.
“Put that away,” I scold, shoving her arm back. “You’re not allowed to have that in here.”
“We’re a table of rebels. It’s fine.” She tosses the vape back into her purse.
Chase folds his hands on the table, pursing his lips. “I build guitars. Just sold my first one on Reverb.”
“No shit?” I hop onto the seat and swivel to face him. “That’s impressive.”
“It’s something. Still a long way to go.”
“You and Tag should start a band together.” Kenna’s espresso-tinged eyes light up. “That would be something, wouldn’t it?”
We both stare at her, waiting for the third arm to appear.
“I mean, I didn’t say it was a good idea. Just that it was something.”
Chase scratches the back of his head. “Right.”
I clear my throat. “I’m not sure if that’s—” I’m cut off when my phone starts vibrating from my purse. “Sorry. One sec.”
Fishing it out, I glance at the screen.
Alex: Hi my love. I cooked your favorite dinner. Spicy salmon and Brussel sprouts.
My chest tightens, my thumbs swiping across the keyboard.
Me: You’re so sweet! But it’s Thursday, and you know I’ll be home late tonight… ?
Alex: So you’re not eating with me?
Me: Kenna and I usually grab food here at the café, remember? But I can skip that tonight and head out early. Maybe keep it warm for me? Just give me an hour. Muah!
The anxiety flourishes as I watch his bubbles come to life, pause, then start dancing again.
Finally:
Alex: Forget it. I’ll toss it. Have fun.
My eyes burn.
Dammit.
Blowing out a breath, I glance between Kenna and Chase as my friend fills him in on her extensive collection of rare succulents, her soft Spanish lilt quieting the unease barreling through me.
Chase pretends to act invested as he nods at random intervals, but I can tell he’s not paying attention.
He’s focused on the music. His eyes close, long lashes fluttering as if the acoustic strings are cutting through the sound of Kenna’s voice and resonating deep inside him.
A hand taps against his uninjured thigh.
His leg bobs in perfect time, body swaying slightly to the beat.
For a moment, Alex fades away. The text messages dissolve, and my anxiety peters out like smoke curling from a snuffed out candle.
He’s moved by it.
He’s moved in the same way Tag is moved.
The same way I’m moved.
It’s clear he didn’t come tonight because of me—he came for the music.
Heaving in a breath, I finally turn back to my phone.
Me: I’ll leave now. Thank you for cooking and I’ll see you soon.
Alex opens the message but doesn’t respond.
Swallowing the bone-dry lump in my throat, I glance up and pocket my phone. “Hey, listen, I need to head out early. I know I suck. I’m sorry.”
Kenna jolts from her seat. “I got you.”
“No, please stay. Enjoy the show. Tell Tag I’ll catch him next time.”
“I drove you here. I’m not making you pay for an Uber back.” Collecting her purse, Kenna does some sort of hand gesture to Tag to alert him of our departure.
She knows why I need to go.
She always knows—we just don’t talk about it anymore.
Chase studies Kenna for a beat before his gaze shifts to me, searching. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Yes, of course. Something came up.” I muster a small smile, though my heart wilts like a sad, sunless petal. The truth is, I don’t want to leave. Chase finally showed up, and I’m walking out before my brother’s even finished his second song.
I don’t know if he’ll show up next week.
Once again, I wonder if this is the last time I’ll ever see him.
His eyes flicker with something. Curiosity, concern. “You sure?”
“I’m sure. Thank you for coming tonight. I’m sorry to cut it short.”
“You never have to apologize to me.”
I hesitate. “I just feel like…” My sentence trails off. For once, I can’t catch any words.
As Kenna moves toward the exit, I snatch up my purse, loathing the hot pressure that swells behind my eyes.
Before I retreat, I pause, placing my hand on Chase’s shoulder, feeling his muscles tighten and strain. “Come back next week.”
He meets my eyes and holds before looking away and palming the nape of his neck. “Yeah, I don’t know. I think—”
“Please.”
Another glance. Another hold.
Finally, he relents with a single nod.
Relief spirals through me, golden and warm. I shouldn’t want to see him again, not after everything that happened between us. But I think he needs this. This music, this outlet.
He needs it like my brother needs it.
And I’ve always been a sucker for a person in need.
I look over my shoulder as I waltz away, smiling a mournful goodbye to Tag and watching as Chase stands from the table, preparing to leave.
Then I stick my hand inside the pocket of my skirt and head outside, my fingers curling around the napkin.