Chapter 18 Chase
Chase
Just like that, she falls apart.
Frays at the seams.
I stand there frozen as the room tilts around her collapse. The audience murmurs. The song cuts off prematurely. Snickers echo from one corner, a slow-clap from another.
Everything in me screams to reach for her, to pull her close and hold her together. She’s breaking. Crumbling in plain view.
I set the mic back on the stand as Annie drops to a crouch, covering her face with her hand. The other goes slack, the microphone slipping from her grip and rolling across the stage. Her sobs slice through the static of the bar.
I hesitate. I’m not the guy who should be comforting her.
But I can’t just watch her break like a useless bystander.
Lowering beside her, I stroke a hand down her back, soft and gentle, as if she’s a frightened animal ready to scratch or bolt.
Once, twice.
But that’s as far as I get.
Alex charges onto the stage with murder in his eyes. “I got it.” His voice is all bite as he hauls her upright and into his arms with reckless force.
I rise to my feet. The outlier once again.
Kenna hovers near the steps, eyes wide and tearful, ushering me toward her. I move on autopilot, watching out of my periphery as Alex drags Annie toward the bathrooms, his grip too hard. Possessive.
Annie’s panicked voice floats into my ears. “Don’t. Please. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
A headache flares behind my left temple.
I press my fingers to it as I reach the table for my leather jacket. Noise floods back in. Chatter, laughter, the DJ apologizing, a grungy ’90s song cutting through the speakers.
I jab the heel of my palm against my head.
“She will be, you know.” Kenna’s voice penetrates, pulling my gaze to her.
Her face blurs. I teeter in place, the migraine stabbing deeper. “She’ll be what?”
A small smile. “Fine.”
Tension coils around me.
Fine.
That’s not good enough. It never has been.
But who am I to say otherwise? To challenge it with wisdom, experience, or hollow hope? I’ve been coasting on fine for years.
My job? Fine.
My house? Fine.
My music? Fine.
I’d only be a hypocrite. A hypocrite with no claim to her, no right to want more.
“Yeah,” I manage, shoving my arms into my jacket sleeves. “Take care, Kenna.”
The headache hammers in time with my pulse. I need air. Space. A second to breathe without feeling like my ribs are a noose.
I push toward the door.
But a figure steps into my path.
Alex.
His smile is all teeth, a lazy stretch that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Heading out?”
My muscles lock. “Yeah. Tell Annie I said goodbye.”
“Annie?” His dark brows lift, a crude laugh slipping out. “That’s interesting. Yeah, I’ll tell her.”
I turn to leave.
But he moves with me, blocking the way. His cologne clings to the stagnant air, his presence a wall I’ll have to scale just to get the fuck out of here.
My eyes cut down to his. I’ve got five inches on him, but he doesn’t seem fazed. “Did you want something?” I ask, tone flat.
His mouth twitches. “Just curious why you picked that song. Felt a little out of place, you know?”
“It was just a song.”
“Right.” His lips press into a thin line. “That all it was for you?”
The headache claws deeper, turning the bar lights into razor wire.
I roll my shoulders, forcing my muscles to loosen. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
His gaze flicks to the bathroom door, to where Annie hides inside. “I mean, there was just this…” He gestures vaguely. “What do they call it?”
I blink. Waiting.
“Harmony.”
I exhale sharply, shaking my head. “Glad it resonated. Have a good night.”
As I move to step around him, a solid arm slams into my chest, shoving me back against the wall.
The smarmy smile is gone. In its place, something colder.
Alex leans in, voice a low snarl. “Stay. The fuck away. From my girlfriend.”
Our eyes lock.
My blood simmers.
The headache explodes behind my eyes.
Then a door creaks open, and Annie steps out.
Quickly, Alex backs away, slapping a too-friendly hand to my shoulder. “Good chat,” he says. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Swallowing, I glance over at Annie in her retro blue dress, her eyes red and swollen, complexion ashen. A frown creases. She looks between us, searching for the context. The missing pieces.
But I have nothing to give her.
I drag my eyes away, pull up from the wall, and make a swift exit out the front door.
You don’t bring your heart to a battleground and expect it not to bleed in the same way you don’t bring a stick to a swordfight.
It only ends one way.
You lose.