Chapter 17 Annalise #2
My throat tightens through a swallow, and I place my hand on Alex’s knee, giving it a small squeeze.
Chase watches us as he takes his seat, grip firm around his whiskey glass.
“Um, I just want to sing a song or two first.” I reach for the Jack and Coke and slide it over. “Have a drink. Enjoy yourself.”
“I’d be enjoying myself more if you were riding me.” He flicks his tongue against the mole below my ear. “Tell me I can have you tonight.”
Embarrassment prickles my skin. He’s not being subtle or quiet. The bar lights blaze from above, sluicing me in sweat. “Of course,” I whisper.
We haven’t had sex in over a month. I realize I’m to blame for that.
My libido thrives on intimacy and emotional connection, and things with Alex have been so tense.
A disjointed black hole. But I can’t help but wonder if that’s only adding to the disconnect, the chaos.
Maybe I just need to block out the noise and suck it up.
After all, men are wired differently. I can’t say Alex isn’t trying when I’m not putting in one hundred percent either.
I clear my throat, glancing across the table to where Kenna is doing her best to distract Chase from the aggressive PDA.
“Are you a plant daddy?” she asks him, stealing one of my cherries.
Alex scoffs, disentangling himself from me. “What the fuck is a plant daddy?”
“A man who appreciates the quiet dignity of houseplants,” Kenna snipes, low-key offended.
Chase takes a sip of his drink, masking the flickering smile. “I do have a rubber tree.”
“No shit?” She twirls back around to face him, eyes alight with enchantment. “Rubber trees represent resilience. I love that for you.”
I prop my chin in my hand, watching my friend ramble on about the history and symbolism of a rubber tree.
I watch Chase too. He’s polite but uninterested.
His attention sweeps to me every few beats, like we’re having our own silent conversation on the sidelines.
I wonder if he’s writing poems and lyrics in his mind like I am. My fingers itch for a napkin and a pen.
Instead, I reach for a cherry. It’s sweet and distracting as it pops between my teeth, and I use my tongue to twist the stem into an easy, practiced knot. Chase does a double take, his gaze dropping to my mouth the moment before I pluck it out and set it on the table.
A perfect little bow.
His eyes lift to mine. No longer uninterested.
A text pings.
Flustered, I look away and fish my phone out of my purse, noticing Kenna’s name glowing on the screen.
Sneaky.
I go to read the text, and on autopilot, swipe down with two fingers, triggering the Speak Screen function that I left on after using it on the treadmill earlier.
A robotic voice erupts from the phone: “I would ride him like a stolen bike down a steep hill with no brakes.”
All three heads snap in my direction.
Kenna chokes on her drink.
Mortified, I fumble to mute my phone, but the voice keeps going.
“Again. And again. Fire emoji. Eggplant emoji. Sweat—”
Why is my volume all the way up?
I slap the screen like it vehemently assaulted me, then chuck the phone under the table. I’m tempted to crush it beneath my shoe, but the voice finally goes silent, along with everyone else.
Chase rubs a hand over his face, scratching at his stubble.
Alex shakes his head, downing his drink in one go.
My cheeks are every shade of red as I grab the karaoke booklet and start flipping through pages. “Well, we could sing now. Any suggestions?”
Kenna—inherently shameless—smirks around her straw as she slurps up the rum. “‘Bicycle Race’ by Queen,” she suggests. “Or ‘Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)?’ That song slaps.”
“Mm,” I hum, the titles blurring into the pages.
“Hey, you two should sing a duet.” Kenna glances tentatively between me and Chase. “That would amp things up. It’s rare to find actual talent in this place.”
“You sing?” Alex eyes Chase, body stiffening.
He strokes his chin, glancing at the book of songs. “Not really.”
“But you—” Stopping herself short, Kenna appears to recalibrate. “I mean, you sang that one time. To me. NSYNC.”
“That never happened.”
“Maybe it was One Direction.”
“I don’t mind a duet,” I say, more to remove ourselves from this smothering furnace. This was a terrible idea. The worst I’ve ever had, bar none. “We can put in an oldie. Something up-tempo.”
Chase considers it, his eyes narrowing, hand combing through his hair. “Yeah. Sure.”
Alex looks at me, then at Chase. There’s a recognition there that breathes cold air along the back of my neck.
I’m on my feet before Alex can intervene, the motion automatic as I head toward the DJ booth, the weight of Alex’s gaze heavy on my back.
The DJ gives me a distracted look as I lean in and ask him to cue up “Good Vibrations” by the Beach Boys.
This will be fun. Easy. A much-needed break in the tension.
We’re geared up to sing next, and as I move onto the stage with a chest full of lead, something stops me. Chase ambles up on my right, hands in his pockets, a look of dread in his eyes.
“Wait.” I turn to Chase as he grabs one of the two microphones. “Do you want to sing ‘Hallelujah’?”
The suggestion slips out unbidden. Twists my stomach into a cherry stem.
I should have stuck with the oldie—upbeat, free of deeper weights. His tattoo flickers across my mind, an ode to his late sister.
This is too much.
But Chase swallows. Falters. Then nods once.
Mind spinning, I traipse over to the DJ and ask him to change the song.
It takes a minute before the haunting opening chords of “Hallelujah” reach the air.
As I return to the stage and move in beside Chase, my arm brushes his as I take the second mic.
For a moment, all I hear is the rush of my heartbeat, a thundercloud of nerves and doubt.
I can do this.
This is what I’ve been working toward. A pinnacle of all my midnights.
I open my mouth and sing the first verse solo, grasping for that secret chord. A hush washes over the room, the voices dying out, the echo of glassware fading into raw poetry.
Surely nobody expected this song, a melancholy hymn thrown into a divey pub filled with pop songs and overplayed classics. But I think this is what people search for. A voice that moves when they least expect it. A song that connects. Stands out.
Maybe that’s the secret chord.
I don’t look at Alex, but I know he’s watching. Studying our dynamic like he’s waiting for the right moment to pull the strings tighter, just enough to remind me of where I belong. But I already know where I belong.
Alex is my home, even when it hurts.
And yet, standing on this stage next to Chase, I’ve never felt more grounded. More indelible. More like myself.
Chase enters at the chorus, his voice intertwining with mine, the harmony both fragile and euphoric. Our voices rise with the words, with the lyrical poetry, pure and profound. A threaded tale of faith and purpose and tragic love.
He takes the second verse, and I grip the mic harder, my palms slick. I stare straight ahead, faces blurred and color muted. My eyes close. I drink in the sound of his voice like sustenance. This feels too natural, too kismet. His voice doesn’t waver, steady in its sorrow.
Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like a song anymore. It’s a story.
His grief. My burdens. Losses that linger like smoke-steeped air, each note a confession.
My throat burns, the tears gathering before I even realize they’ve ambushed me. I blink rapidly, try to eviscerate them, but they bloom and swell, stinging the backs of my eyes.
I sing with him. Dips and crescendos. Brokenness and hope.
I can’t tell if it’s an exorcism or a possession.
Maybe both.
And it hits me like a rogue wave, how deeply I’ve been avoiding my own feelings. Shunned them like trespassers. My purpose, my dreams, everything that makes me…me.
It all breaks free.
The sobs I’ve been holding back for so long burst like a brittle dam cracking. Hot tears pour out, one after another, and I can’t stop them.
Embarrassment and despair bleed together.
Clarity too.
I’m drowning. Lost at sea.
Chase stops singing, leaving the final verse unfinished. He turns to face me, stares like he doesn’t know what to do. What to say. How to help.
Not with an audience. Not with Alex storming over to the stage.
I cup a hand around my mouth, my arm dropping to my side with defeat.
I’m not sure what hurts more…
The pain I see in Chase’s eyes, or the fact that I’ve spent so much time running from my own pain.