Chapter 38 Chase
Chase
On a Tuesday night in mid-March, I was back at the bar. Imagine that.
I’d been going there at least twice a week since we’d met, and my corner booth had become my second office.
The Morrisons probably wondered why my billable hours looked so good despite me leaving by six most days, but the answer was simple: I’d discovered I could focus better with the ambient noise of Barbacks than I could in the silence of my townhouse.
Or maybe I just wanted to be near Finn.
The truth was probably closer to that second thought, but a win’s a win.
On that particular night, the Lightning faced off against Boston. Again. The bar was beyond packed, and the energy was electric. People cheered, groaned, and shouted at the TVs. I’d given up on actual work about twenty minutes after entering and decided to just watch Finn work behind the bar.
He was in his element, moving with purpose, laughing with customers, and pouring drinks with practiced efficiency. His auburn hair was messed up from running his hands through it every five minutes, and there was a slight flush to his pale cheeks from exertion.
God, he was beautiful.
During a commercial break, he brought me another beer before I could ask for it.
“You don’t have to keep doing that,” I said. “I can come to the bar.”
“I know, but I like bringing them over.” He glanced around. “Plus, it gives me an excuse to check you out . . . I mean check on you.”
I grinned. “You can check me out all you like, Irish boy.”
“Aww, are you tryin’ to give me a nickname?” He rolled his eyes. “Try again. That was awful.”
“I’ll work on it,” I said, taking a sip. “Shouldn’t you be working?”
“I am working. This is customer service.”
“I’m not a customer anymore, am I?”
I was sure he knew I’d meant that playfully, but the words still hung in the air between us, much heavier than I’d intended.
Finn’s expression shifted as something vulnerable crossed his face. Without a word, he slid into the booth beside me, close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with the faint scent of lime and beer.
“You’re . . .” he started, then stopped. His eyes searched mine. “You’re . . . to me . . . you’re important.”
My heart did some kind of backflip, lost its balance, then fell on its ass.
“You’re important to me, too,” I said.
The Lightning scored, and the bar erupted around us, but for that one boisterous moment, it felt like we sat in a bubble, just us, sitting close, saying things that mattered.
Then reality crashed back in.
“I should get back to the bar. Benji’s drowning,” Finn said, something regretful in his voice.
“I know.”
But he didn’t move right away. He just looked at me with wide, bright blue eyes. I wanted to pull him closer, to kiss him right there in front of everyone, to tell him he wasn’t just important, that he was everything.
Instead, I squeezed his hand and let him go.
The next day, Diego ambushed me at lunch.
“Out with it,” he said, biting into his sandwich.
“Out with what?”
“Whatever has your head spinning like a top. You think you’ve got a poker face, but you’re about as transparent as a window.”
I pushed my salad around my plate, debating how best to respond. I didn’t want to get into everything with Diego, but he was my best friend. If I couldn’t share with him, who could I talk to? “So . . . I kind of asked Finn a question last night.”
His brows shot up.
“Not that question, idiot.” I shook my head and grinned.
“Okay, fine. What did you ask him, and why is it disturbing my lunch?”
“I asked him what I am to him. I asked if I wasn’t just a customer anymore, then what was I?”
Diego set down his sandwich and fixed me with a father’s gaze, the one when he knew the answer but needed to hear his son say it aloud. “And what did he say?”
“He said that I’m important to him.”
“Okay. That’s good, right?”
“It is. It’s just . . .” I fumbled again, not even sure what I meant to say, much less how to say it. “We’ve been dating for almost two months. I go to his bar multiple times a week. We text constantly. We spend every Sunday together.”
“I hear the but in your voice.”
“But I don’t know that much about him. I mean, I do, sort of.
I know about him, but I can’t decide if I know him.
Fuck, I’m not making any sense.” I folded my arms on the table and buried my face.
Diego remained silent. Finally, I looked up, my voice tiny.
“I haven’t met his friends, not properly.
I mean, I see them at the bar. They know my name and are friendly and all, but I don’t know them. ”
“So get to know them. What’s the problem?”
“I guess? I mean . . . I don’t know.” I straightened, then slumped back in the booth.
“It’s like we exist in this bubble, and life doesn’t even exist outside that space.
It’s him at the bar, me in my booth, and the occasional dinner and late nights at my place; but we don’t . . . I don’t know . . . overlap.”
Diego went quiet again, studying me. “Do you think he’s keeping you separate on purpose?”
“No,” I said too quickly. Then I drew a deep breath and said, “No, I don’t think it’s intentional.
We’re both just so busy. We’re taking what time we can get together, trying to make something work.
” I paused. “But sometimes I wonder if he sees me as part of his life or just another decoration in his bar.”
Fuck, that felt terrible to say aloud. I hated myself the moment the words left my mouth. Still, I couldn’t deny their ring of truth. At least, how they made me feel.
“Have you told him this?”
“Not exactly.”
“Chase.” Diego’s voice was gentle but firm. “You need to communicate. If you want more time, more visibility in his life, you need to say that. He’s not a mind reader.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because you have a tendency to just accept whatever situation you’re in instead of asking for what you want.”
I hated that he was right. Diego was always right.
“What if he’s not ready?” I asked. “What if this is all he can give me right now?”
“Then he’ll say so, and you’ll have to decide if that’s enough for you; but you won’t know unless you ask.” Diego thought a moment, then leaned forward. “Can I ask you something?”
“When have you ever asked permission? Would it even stop you if I said no?”
“Fair.” His smile was smug. “Are you in love with him?”
The question slammed into me, a wall of feelings no amount of lunch or alcohol could prepare me for. The urge to crumple beneath its weight, right there in that booth, was almost too much.
Was I in love with Finn?
We’d known each other for the lifetime of a bug, and already Diego was pulling out the L-word like a sword from a stone. I wished he’d just stab me with that damn weapon and get it over with.
Then I focused on the question, on trying to answer it, at least to myself even if I couldn’t admit it aloud.
I heard Finn’s laugh echo in my mind, saw the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, felt the way he fit against me when we slept.
Then I thought about the way my chest felt tight every time I saw him walk through a door, or the way I wanted to tell him about my day and hear about his, to be part of every mundane moment of his life.
Dear God, I was in love with him.
I loved Finn O’Brien.
I had to remember to breathe.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I think I am.”
“Have you told him?”
“God, no.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . . well . . . because we’ve only been dating for a hot minute. It would be nuts. Love isn’t grits. You can’t just add water.”
“You are hereby banned from use of analogies.”
I let my head fall onto my arms again.
“And some people fall in love within minutes, others in days, while some poor souls refuse to ever admit what they feel.” Diego picked up his sandwich again.
“Which are you, Chase? What do you feel? I don’t care what you think or what others say is appropriate.
What does Chase Sullivan want? And more importantly, what are you going to do about it? ”