Chapter 11 Annalise
Annalise
A heavy arm is draped around me as daylight tickles my eyelids.
I blink myself awake, my gaze trained on the half-open blinds as the sun crests over a line of lush green treetops.
Birdsong floats into my ears, chasing away the dreams, and I release a slow breath, snuggling closer to the man pressed against my back.
“Morning,” I say, voice cracking with sleep.
Alex stirs, squeezing me tighter. “Does it have to be?”
“The birds have spoken.” Kicking my feet, I shove the blankets away and roll onto my back, my white tank top inching up my stomach as I stretch through a yawn.
Alex mimics my position, his hair mussed, bare chest inflating with drowsy breaths. He props both arms over his head and stares up at the ceiling. “You were out late last night.”
“Oh, sorry. Did I wake you?”
“Little bit.”
I cant my head, blinking at him through the dimly lit room. “Tag and I were in the zone. I lost track of time.”
He purses his lips, then changes the subject. “I was looking into flights. Thailand is a haul.”
My eyes round as warmth fizzes in my chest, my belly. “You’re serious about taking a vacation?”
“You want to, right? We have the time. I’ll have Maurice take over for me while we’re gone. And I’m sure Kenna won’t mind a few extra shifts. Jess too.”
“Oh my God. Yes. That would be incredible.”
“Still need to work out the finances. Airfare isn’t cheap.”
“We can do it. We’ve been saving.”
“Yeah.” Sighing, he shifts slightly, turning to glance at me. “Maybe we can go over an itinerary tonight.”
The familiar coil of anxiety invades me, slithering around my heart. “It’s Thursday,” I remind him. “I’ll be at the café. You know that.”
His jaw tenses, face going hard. “You can’t cancel one night?”
“I…I guess I can. But it’s open mic night, and I was planning on singing. I’ve been practicing a few covers. Oldies. What about tomorrow? I only have a morning shift, and we can—”
“Sure. Whatever.” Alex tosses off the blankets and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
I sit up straight, pulse spiking. “No, wait, it’s not a problem. I’ll reschedule.”
“I said it’s whatever. We’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Alex, don’t—”
“Jesus, calm down, will you?”
All the air sticks in my throat. “I am calm.”
“No, you’re freaking the hell out.” He stands abruptly, veering toward the dresser and swiping a clean shirt from the drawer. “It’s too early for this.”
I scramble out of bed, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. “Alex. Hey.”
He leans forward on his palms, gripping the edge of the dresser. His shoulder blades flex. “It’s not a big deal.”
“I don’t want you to be upset.” I step closer, inching along the tightrope I’m constantly walking. “This vacation is important. The café isn’t going anywhere.”
“You’re just…always gone.” Long, tense fingers twitch against the wood. “At that damn coffee shop, out all hours of the night doing God-knows-what. Bar hopping with Kenna. I hardly see you anymore.”
“I only went to the bar that one time.” When he swivels around to face me, eyes dark and unreadable, I reach for him, pulling him into a tight hug.
I feel his heartbeat pounding between us, both a weapon and a comfort.
My head dips, my temple resting on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry. You’re so tired after work, and that’s when I get a second wind.
But you’re right. I’ll make more time for us.
We can wake up earlier and go for a run, or have a breakfast picnic, or—”
“Yeah,” he murmurs into my hair. “Sure.”
But I can tell he’s only half listening. His body is still rigid, his mind elsewhere.
I loosen my hold, giving him space. He untangles himself from me and slaps the T-shirt over his shoulder, pivoting toward the en suite bathroom.
He gets halfway before he falters. Teeters in place.
I hold my breath.
Not a second passes before he spins back around, grabs my wrist, and tugs me to him, crashing our mouths together. The shirt tumbles to the floor. The air is yanked from my lungs.
I cup his face with both hands, sinking into the kiss. His stubble tickles my chin, fingers dig into my cheeks. Our tongues dance and twine, his teeth nicking my bottom lip. Then he pulls away, skin flushed and eyes glazed.
His grip on me tightens, just for a second, before he lets out a sharp exhale and eases up. “I don’t want to fight.”
“Me neither.” I press my lips to his jaw, to the tip of his nose, swallowing down the weight of memories clawing up my throat. The screech of tires, the shatter of glass, the shrieking horn.
The blood.
His hands slip to my hips, grounding himself. Or maybe grounding me. “I’ll make you breakfast when I’m out.”
“Okay.”
Alex’s arm lifts, his thumb grazing my cheekbone and lingering. “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
When he disappears into the bathroom, I touch my fingertips to my puffy lips, still tingling from his kiss.
It wasn’t a lie.
I hope it never will be.
***
It’s the first Thursday of May, and the weather is a refreshing balm to my frazzled mind.
The sun sits low in the sky, painting the remaining blue in a canvas of color, like a melted rainbow Popsicle.
A light breeze dances across my skin, filling me with new life, the second wind I crave after a long day of taking orders, entertaining customers, and blocking out Alex’s endless tirade of pressure-infused wrath.
I love open mic nights at the café. Anyone with an instrument and a voice is invited to take the stage, to fill the room with lyrics and harmonies. It’s often an assortment of wannabe musicians, college girls looking for karaoke, and some newbies eager to get a taste of the spotlight.
It’s just me and Tag tonight, since Kenna is holed up in her apartment with the flu.
Entering the café, I stroll past what looks to be a father-daughter duo. A teenage girl is perched in a wheelchair, her coffee-dark hair framing a rosy-cheeked face. I send her a smile as I pass, and she returns it twofold.
But as I move closer to the familiar table in the back of the room and spot Chase, I notice there’s something different about him. He looks rattled, on edge. Like he’s just seen a ghost.
“Hey,” I greet him, his back to the table I just walked by. “Everything okay?”
He rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah. Can’t stay long, but I said I’d drop by.”
“Do you have plans?”
Glancing over his shoulder, he starts tapping his feet in opposite time, scratches at his scruff, heaves in a shaky breath. “Something like that.”
“Fill me in?” I plop down beside him and scoot the chair closer. “You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine.”
My instincts prickle with worry. “Does this have to do with the no-context breakup you mentioned?” With ten years of being Kenna’s friend under my belt, I’ve basically taken a masterclass in post-breakup pep talks. Irving was the last one; now she’s already talking to a new guy.
“What? There was no breakup…” Frowning, he shakes his head, my words registering like cakey mud. “No, nothing like that. I just have somewhere to be.”
“Sure. Of course.” I look up as Tag mumbles something offensive under his breath and purposely finds a separate table across the room.
My eyes swing back to Chase, then dip to the tabletop.
No coffee today.
Over the last few weeks, Chase has always been waiting with a vanilla late, no foam.
Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I lean back in the chair. “You should sing something.”
A blank stare. “Zero chance.”
“It’s not so bad,” I say through a smile. “I’ve witnessed a lot of questionable talent over the years, and I doubt you’ll even come close to that.”
“Sorry, Annalise.”
“Um…yeah. No worries.” I curl a strand of hair around my finger. “Did you want me to move? I know I can be too much sometimes. If you want space, I’ll just—”
“No.” His response is sharp, immediate, startling me into stillness. He finally looks at me, and his eyes fill with a sadness that makes my chest ache. “You’re not too much. Never. Not at all.”
Those words shouldn’t hurt.
They shouldn’t wash over me like a storm-charged tidal wave and steal the breath from my lungs. But they do. Because I’ve spent so long believing the opposite, being told the opposite, that hearing him say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world feels foreign.
I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t.
As the first person takes the platform—a mid-thirties dad looking to impress his preschool-age twins with a lively rendition of Frozen’s “Let It Go”—I stand from my seat and approach the counter, ordering three drinks: a latte for me, an Americano for Chase, and a decaf Frappuccino with extra chocolate syrup and a gazillion cherries for Tag.
After depositing two of the drinks on my table, I breeze over to my brother and slap the cup in front of him with a napkin note that reads, “Something sweet to awaken your dead soul.”
“Hilarious.” He pushes it aside as if it might come to life, levitate off the table, and force its way down his throat. “Are you singing next?”
“Eventually. Chase seems distracted, so I’m going to keep him company for a bit.”
“He’s probably just busy plotting out his next crime.”
“You’re literally dreadful.” My eyes wheel to the front of the room, where the suspender-clad father belts out the iconic chorus. “Hey, you should take notes.”
“Hey, what does your boyfriend think of these secret meetings with your abductor?”
My eyes slant with scorn. “He’s unaware.”
“Clearly.”
“It’s not a big deal. But it would be to him. You know how he gets.”
“As do you. Which begs the question: What the fuck is a sensible, intelligent woman such as yourself still doing with that asshole?”
Anger crawls its way under my skin, making me flush.
“I’m taking this back.” With a kill-on-the-spot look, I snatch up the faux coffee and whip around, hightailing it back to the less-caustic table.
Chase sits there, fidgeting in place, glancing around the room like something might jump out and bite him.