28. Summer #3
“Nice song choice,” I comment.
“Yeah,” Simon replies. “Sarge loves this song. Plays it on rotation constantly. Pretty sure it’s his favorite.”
“Sarge?” Addie asks.
“Oh, sorry—the boss. His name isn’t really Sarge.
I just call him that.” Simon waves me toward the office.
“Let me get your paperwork sorted.” He rifles through a pile of documents, spreading pages across the desk.
“Have a read through and sign at the bottom. We’ll call you in a few days once we know what we’re dealing with and take it from there. ”
He passes me a pen. I begin reading the fine print and sign my name. “Thanks, Simon.”
“Simon, that Volkswagen come in yet?”
That voice strikes me like thunder and I turn to stone.
It’s deep and raspy. I’d know that sound anywhere, across any lifetime.
The cold starts in my fingertips and bleeds through me.
“Ah.” Simon glances over my shoulder. “Here he is now.”
Heavy boots slap against the concrete, getting closer.
“Oh, crap,” Addie mutters.
I say nothing but slam my eyes shut like a child hiding from monsters, hoping—wishing—this were a nightmare. I’ll wake up any moment now, tangled in my sheets, safely at home.
This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.
“Sorry for being late,” he rasps. “I was with Rachel—”
He cuts off his sentence, and the floor drops out from under me.
Rachel.
Addie’s elbow jabs me in the side. “Good thing you didn’t wear that stupid scarf, hey?”
Ever so slowly, I lower the pen, lift my shoulders, and turn to face the ghost from my past.
My pulse trips over itself.
I’ve tried to brush off the thought of Chase never going to UCLA, but now that he’s standing in front of me, the question picks at me like a scab.
He’s a mechanic?
There’s nothing wrong with that—not at all. But I don’t understand what happened. He isn’t supposed to be here. He was leaving. He was always leaving. That was his plan.
He should be playing in the NFL.
So why did he stay?
This doesn’t make any sense.
Chase looms in the doorway, his arms hanging limp at his sides as silence fills the space.
He’s taller than I remember. Bigger.
Broad shoulders stretch the dirty white T-shirt across his generous chest. His arms are thick, corded with muscle. One arm bears a winding tattoo, snaking down to his wrist. His solid thighs strain against his khaki work pants.
He wears a backward baseball cap, dark blond hair peeking out beneath it and curling under his ears.
His jaw is sharper and dusted with stubble. A tool belt is slung low on his hips. And his eyes—those eyes—I’ve written songs about those eyes. But they appear different now. As if they’re hiding something.
“Hayes.” My name falls from his lips, and I could curse myself because I hate how right it sounds.
No. No, no, no.
The song swirls around us.
Where were you while we were getting high …
“Hold up.” Simon steps forward, waving a hand between us. “You know each other?”
Chase crosses his arms, causing his biceps to bulge even more.
I despise myself for looking.
“We used to,” Chase replies, his words slicing through me like a blade.
My throat closes.
“Shitmore,” Addie interjects by way of greeting. “Her car broke down.”
He ignores her.
His expression doesn’t so much as falter as his gaze sears into mine.
“The Beetle’s yours?” he asks, his tone disbelieving.
Finally, I find my voice. “Don’t act so surprised.”
His jaw ticks before he scans me head-to-red-tipped-toe and back again. He’s like a stone, giving nothing away.
I’m not sure if he wants to scream at me or pretend I don’t exist. All the while a hurricane is building inside me, demanding release. The words that have been clawing at my throat for years are ready to burst out. I want him to hear every ounce of bullshit I endured to get here—no thanks to him.
If you hadn’t called them, I wouldn’t have had to room with a psychotic stranger and pretend I didn’t hear her trying my door handle at night.
If you hadn’t called them, I wouldn’t have had to move in with six other girls in a halfway house that smelled of mold.
If you hadn’t called them, I wouldn’t have had to sleep in the secondhand car I bought for myself with Addie’s money for three weeks because I spent most of my money on housing deposits.
I left Ocean Grove with a little over Seven thousand dollars. That amount of money might sound like freedom until you’re spending it on first and last months’ rent, public transport, food, a prepaid phone, and a car that broke down twice.
I realized cash runs out faster than hope does.
I slap a lid over those thoughts before they escape.
Behind me, Addie has barely moved. The tension is thicker than molasses.
Neither of us can look away. Simon’s head whips back and forth between us as we lock into a stare down.
“We’ll call you when it’s ready,” he says sharply.
I blink in response, trying not to reel back.
His nostrils flare before he pivots and storms out.
What the hell just happened?
Addie’s voice gives life to what’s running through my mind.
“What the fuck was that?”
“Oh, hell no,” I spit, going after him.