38. Chase
Chase
My eyes peel open slowly, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering through the room.
That’s when I see her, perched in the windowsill, one leg tucked beneath her, the other dangling bare and lazily as she writes in her notebook.
She’s wearing my old, gray T-shirt and it swallows her whole, slipping off one shoulder to reveal smooth, pale skin and the curve of her collarbone.
Her hair is loose and wild from last night. The breeze lifts the ends of it and the reddish strands float across her cheeks.
Her lips move silently as her pen flies across the page.
A warmth I haven’t felt in forever spreads through me, my chest cracking open at the sight of her doing what she was born to do.
I could look at her like this forever. She looks so perfect and impossibly right sitting in my window, wearing my shirt, in my life.
Last night wasn’t a fever dream. It was real. She’s real. This is real.
Then, something else funnels through me—I need to talk to Rachel. Tell her that whatever it is we’ve been doing is done. Rachel deserves that—Summer deserves that.
I’ve never had the “what are we” conversation with Rachel.
To be honest, I think we’ve both always avoided it because we knew what our deal was.
Two adults finding comfort in each other when the world felt lonely.
Two people who could make each other feel a little less alone, even if only for a short while.
She’s a great person, but she isn’t my person.
“Hey,” I say to Summer. It comes out gravelly, rough with sleep.
Her pen stills and her eyes latch onto mine. She bites her bottom lip. “Hi,” she whispers.
I scrub a hand down my face. “What are you doing all the way over there?”
Her cheeks flush the most adorable shade of pink. “You were asleep. You looked so peaceful … I didn’t want to wake you.” She peers down at her notebook. “I had a melody stuck in my head. I wanted to get it down before I lost it.”
I push the sheet back and tap the empty space beside me. “Come here.”
She sucks in her bottom lip.
“Hayes. Get over here.”
My shirt slips up her thighs as she slides off the windowsill and pads across the room toward me. She carefully sets her notebook and pen on my nightstand beside my journal, her fingers running over the soft suede cover.
“You still write?” she asks.
“Most nights, yeah.”
When she slips under the covers, her skin is cool from the crisp air. I pull her into me, tucking her against my chest, entwining my legs with hers.
It still isn’t close enough.
“You’re so warm,” she hums.
“You’re freezing,” I murmur, running my palm up and down her arm. “How long have you been awake?”
“Not sure. Maybe an hour?” She tilts her head back to look at me. “I watched the sun come up.”
I lean forward, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Can I get you anything?”
She rolls over to face me, tucking her hands under her cheek. A small smile curves her lips.
I count the freckles smattered over her nose. Fifteen. Nothing’s changed.
The corner of my mouth crooks up. “What are you thinking?”
“There’s a certain way you breathe when you dream.”
“Yeah?”
She nods. “You’ve always done it … you still do.”
I reach forward, taking a strand of her hair between my fingers. “I still don’t sleep well.”
“I don’t either,” she says quietly.
I push the hair behind her ear. “You made your dream happen.”
She swallows thickly. “Yeah … I did.”
“Tell me about it.”
She exhales through her nose. “I got everything I ever wanted.” Her eyes dart to mine, my mouth, then back again. “Almost.”
Almost. “Are you happy?”
“I think so.” She flips onto her back, staring at the ceiling. The morning sun catches the angles of her face, illuminating the faint shadows beneath her eyes. “Most of the time.”
I don’t say anything. I wait.
“It was hard, getting where I am,” she says, her voice distant. “Harder than I ever thought it would be. And I love my job—I do. I’m so grateful. I love performing, connecting with people, knowing that something I created made someone feel a little less alone.” She pauses. “But …”
“But?”
Her lungs empty on a sharp breath. “I’m tired.”
“Of singing?”
“Of writing on someone else’s terms. For someone else.
” She turns her head to look at me, and there’s something unguarded in her expression.
“It’s so circumstantial, you know? Sometimes the inspiration hits, and I can’t wait to get it down.
I pour everything I’m feeling into a song, and it’s magic because it comes from somewhere real.
” She places her hand over her heart. “From here.”
I nod, watching her.
“But when the label is breathing down my neck and I’m supposed to create on command …” She shakes her head. “I can’t force it anymore. When I try, the spark isn’t there. It’s hollow. I’m forcing myself through the motions.”
My chest tightens.
“Is that what’s happening now?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Her voice cracks slightly. “This is the last album I owe on my current contract. It’s due in three weeks. I haven’t—” Her breath hitches. “I haven’t been able to write for over twelve months.”
I cup her face, my thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re writing now.”
“I’m writing now,” she whispers.
“Is it coming easy to you?”
She scans my face, her own unreadable. “Yeah.”
My fingers drift from her cheek to her temple. “What’s going on in here?”
“I used to think that if I worked hard enough and achieved my dream and proved myself enough …” She looks down. “The emptiness would go away. Maybe I’d finally feel whole.”
“Did it?”
“No.”
I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “What do you think would help?”
“Coming home.” Her eyes meet mine, shimmering with vulnerability. “Coming back to you.”
Her admission slices me open, and I need to set the record straight. “I’m sorry you had to see me and Rachel.”
Her smile is sad. “It’s okay.”
“No. It’s not.” I push my hair off my forehead. “I’ll talk to her this week. It isn’t fair to either of us, dragging it on.”
Her skin flushes. “Don’t feel like you have to end it on my account.”
“What we have …” How do I begin to explain it?
“Rachel and I were never this.” I gesture between us.
“We were two people who didn’t want to be alone.
That’s all it ever was.” I pause to ensure Summer is looking at me.
“We never talked about our days. Never had a sleepover … never shared anything with each other.” I sigh.
“It was company. Comfort. A way to feel something when the alternative was to feel nothing at all.”
Summer remains quiet, listening.
“She’s a good person,” I continue. “She doesn’t deserve to be someone’s placeholder, and I think she always knew that’s what we were to each other. We just never said it out loud because saying it would mean admitting how lonely we really were.”
I hold Summer’s hand tight. “It’s never been love. Never even close.” I bring her palm to my chest. “I gave this heart away when I was eighteen years old. No one else has ever had a piece of it … only you.”
Her eyes glisten. “Rachel deserves someone who looks at her the way you look at me,” she whispers.
“I’m done pretending, Hayes. I don’t know what it’s like for you, but for me, you’re still everywhere.”
She nods, tiny dimples appearing across her chin as it trembles. “Me too.”
Slowly but without any hesitation, she drags my T-shirt up and overhead, throwing it to the floor.
“Again?” I ask.
She pushes me onto my back and straddles me, her already wet pussy sliding over my swollen cock. “I need to feel you,” she rasps.
I grip her hips, my fingertips digging into her soft flesh. “Take what you need.”
Her eyes flash.
Ever so slowly, she lifts on her knees, guiding me to her breach. Then, she lowers herself in one fluid motion until I’m fully seated inside her.
A wrecked groan tears from my chest.
Her blue eyes widen, pupils bled out like drops of ink in water, and she pants as she adjusts around me.
Then, her hips move, leisurely grinding in circles, rocking her pelvis back and forth, chasing more friction.
She’s so beautiful I can hardly stand it.
A broken grunt spills from my lips as she tips her head back, her breath quickening.
She hooks her feet under my calf muscles and plants her palms firmly over my chest. She takes me deep and raw with no barriers between us. She looks right into my eyes, and the twinkle within them every time she moves drags a broken sound out of me.
Jesus Christ.
I can’t stop staring at her.
We’re nothing but skin and breath and this soul-destroying connection, threatening to split me open.
Growing bolder, she lifts herself right to the tip before slamming back down. We clap together as she grows needier. I let her take complete control, giving my body over to her completely.
Her walls tighten around me and I’m mesmerized, watching us move together.
Her hair tumbles around her shoulders in a mess of red as her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen. Her mouth opens every time a gasp catches in her throat, and I swear she doesn’t even look real anymore.
She’s ethereal.
This isn’t fucking like yesterday.
Yesterday was frantic desperation, grabbing at each other like a pair of horny teenagers. Today,it is love.
I’ve yearned for this without even recognizing it. For her. For this exact moment where every feeling inside me compounds until I can barely breathe around it.
I would take this—her—over anything. Over everything.
The world could strip me bare tomorrow, and I wouldn’t care as long as I had this. Us. Her body over mine. Our souls tangling until I can’t tell where she ends and I begin anymore.
I experience her in real time. Every tremble in her thighs. Every shift in her expression. Every pant falling past her lips.
“Chase,” she whispers brokenly.
“I know, baby.” I sit up suddenly and wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her flush against my chest before rolling us over carefully.
She smiles as her back hits the mattress. I pin her wrists gently above her head and glance down at her like I’m witnessing a miracle.
Her breath is choppy. Her hair is wild. Her lips are kiss swollen.
She’s mine.
“You’re so beautiful,” I tell her roughly.
Her lashes flutter. “Chase.”
I lower myself over her carefully before kissing her deep and unhurried. She melts beneath me while I enter her again, stroking deep enough to make her shake.
Every movement says what I can’t force pass the knot in my windpipe.
Her legs wrap around my middle and she trembles.
“Please,” she begs. “I’m so close.”
I want to come with her. My lips find hers as I pick up the pace, driving harder and faster until her eyes hood and she sings my name.
Her pussy walls grip me like a vise as she comes, strangling my dick.
“I’m coming, baby!” I shout, toppling over the edge alongside her, groaning her name as I rut into her.
My warm, sticky liquid fills her. We hold each other through our release, like we’re becoming one living thing together instead of two separate people.
I cradle her face, planting a kiss to the tip of her nose.
“You’re going to ruin me,” I whisper.
“I don’t think I’ll survive you either.” She smiles.
My heart thunders and my pulse roars in my ears. I collapse beside her, tucking her in close. We lie there, wound together, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing lazy patterns down her spine. The morning light has morphed from a soft gold to a richer amber.
She drums her fingers absently against my ribs.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I ask.
She tilts her chin up to look at me. “I’m singing a song I wrote.”
“I want to hear it.”
She rolls her lips, averting her gaze. “One day.”
Cradling her head, I reach across to my nightstand and pull the drawer open. My fingers find my headphones and my cell. Wordlessly, I scroll for a moment, then hit play. I place the phone on the pillow beside us and tuck one bud in her ear, the other in mine.
The opening notes spill out.
I press play.
“‘Miss You’—Blink 182,” she says softly, a smile in her voice.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
She hums, nestling deeper into me. “I love this song.”
I smile. “Me too.”
The melody swells and fades. Peace.
Somewhere between one verse and the next, her breathing evens out as she drifts off.
I kiss the top of her head and, finally, my own eyes close.