44. Chase
FORTY-FOUR
CHASE
It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision to bring Goldi with me to a Nar-Anon meeting. I almost didn’t ask her, afraid that she’d take it the wrong way. I wasn’t wrong, she did get defensive, but at least she’s here. I’m grateful as hell for it. But I’m also antsy as fuck.
I rearrange the metal chairs in a circle, to a semicircle, then back again.
We arrived before anyone else, but now there’s a couple of families filtering in. Goldi’s been lost in one of the newcomer pamphlets, so I leave her to read in peace while I finish getting everything ready.
There’s a group of about twenty tonight. Some adults, some entire families, a few lone teenagers. I envy the kids who are here of their own volition. If only I had been here back then.
It’s been a while since I’ve told my story, but tonight I’m planning to share. I want to show Goldi the parts of me she’s never seen—the pieces that were too broken to love her when I was a boy. Needless to say, I’m fucking nervous as shit. Telling a bunch of anonymous strangers was hard enough, but to lay it all on the line in front of Goldi? That’s a whole different ball game.
I dive right in before I lose the nerve. I talk about Lily, even though most have heard the story. I talk about my mom and the wounds she caused that will never heal. I hear the murmurs of agreement when I speak of the weight of responsibility laid on my shoulders at such a young age. How it’s still a struggle every day to remember that my mom’s demons were her own. That the guilt I feel is misplaced. That it was never my job to make sure she was happy. I meet Goldi’s eyes as I strip off my armor and show the naked man underneath. This is raw. This is real. This is me.
I talk about all of it, and then I listen. I listen to others share their grief. Some speak with hope, while others speak from loss.
It’s easy to think about the ones with addiction. Easy to sympathize with their disease, mourn their deaths. It’s simple to put out a social media post about what a tragedy it is and make comments on how we need to do something about the drug crisis, but nobody remembers to think of the people left behind. We’re expected to dust off our knees from where we fell and move on with our lives like we aren’t ripped to shreds. Like it isn’t taking fucking everything to simply breathe through the pain.
We are the forgotten. Even though we’re the ones left to struggle.
This moment right here, with strangers coming together and laying their souls bare—this is why I brought Goldi. So she could see that she isn’t alone. She isn’t invisible. She isn’t to blame.
Goldi sits in her spot long after the last person leaves. I make my way over, the metal legs of the chair scraping as I sit across from her. Her face is dry, but her eyes tell the story of her tears. She opens her mouth, then closes it, her lips pressing together.
“I don’t… I didn’t…” She clears her throat. “I didn’t think it was gonna be like that.”
I nod because I fucking get it. I felt the same way at my first meeting.
“Those people,” she says. “What they’ve been through…” Tears well up again, and her palms press to her eyes. She drops her hands, piercing me with her gaze. “ You are strong. Stronger than I could ever be.”
“You know that’s not true. I see strength in everything you do.”
“I don’t feel it,” she whispers.
Leaning forward, I tangle our fingers together and rest them on my knees. “I think that’s pretty normal, baby. Do you want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head, looking at our hands. “Not really.”
I don’t push. I promised she wouldn’t have to say anything, but I hope one day she will.
Mondays are always busy, and today is no exception. We’re wrapping up the renovation at Tiny Dancers. As long as we stay on target, we’ll be done next week, and while I’m happy things have gone smoothly, I can’t help the disappointment that’s filling me up. Being done means no more weekday Goldi. No more tight skirts and hidden corners where I can kiss her breathless like I’ve been doing every chance I get today.
I head back to the office. It’s the end of the day, and I want to let her know I’m leaving and see if she wants to come over for dinner.
She’s pacing the room, her cell up to her ear. She turns when I walk in and smiles. “Yeah, that sounds good, Jax.”
Jax.
Bitterness sours my stomach. We’ll inevitably continue to run into each other. He’s best friends with the love of my life, but he was my best friend first. The loss of that friendship is something that still haunts me. I understand why he protected her the way he did, and as hard as it is for me to admit, I’m grateful she has him. Still, I can’t help that part of me feels betrayed. It was just so easy for him to drop me, and even all these years later, it stings.
I walk toward Goldi, backing her into the wall. She pushes against my chest, pointing to the phone, her eyes widening.
“I don’t care,” I mouth.
My hands caress her curves as I kiss my way down her body and drop to my knees. These fucking skirts of hers are going to be the death of me . I lick my way up her thigh.
“Let me call you back, Jax.” Her phone clatters. She grabs my hair and pulls. “Just what do you think you’re doin’?”
“Checking up on your multitasking skills. They need some work.” I tsk.
She breaks into a smile, smacking my shoulder and pushing me away.
I fall back, laughing.
“Regina’s on her way, so I’ll be stuck here awhile. You leavin’ for the day?”
“That’s a shame,” I say, standing and dusting off my jeans. “I wanted to have the taste of you on my tongue for the drive home.”
Her cheeks heat.
I love all the ways I can make her blush. I step into her and her arms wind around my neck.
“I could come over later if you want?” she asks.
“I’d love that.” I kiss her deep, not wanting to leave because she feels so fucking good in my arms. “Guess that will have to hold me over.”
There’s a spring in my step when I leave, excited I’ll have her in my arms again in just a few hours. I start up my truck, groaning when I realize my gas tank is sitting on empty. I hate getting gas out here because the price is higher than back home, but I don’t think I have enough to make the drive.
There’s a station before the entrance to the freeway, so that’s where I stop.
I walk in, looking back to see which pump I’m on. There’s nobody else here except the guy working the register. I grab some water and go up front to pay.
“Do I know you?”
I glance at the cashier as I place the water on the counter and dig in my wallet. Is he talking to me? “I don’t think so, man.”
“Huh. You sure? You look real familiar. I never forget a face.” He taps his pointer finger to his head like he’s a fucking savant.
I look at him closer, seeing if I can place him. He’s skinny—almost too skinny, with pockmarks on his face and gaudy gold chains around his neck. There’s something about those chains. His hair is short with frosted tips. My brows furrow, a buried memory pricking the back of my mind.
“Don’t matter, I guess. This all for ya?” He reaches down and scratches his stomach.
Lightning strikes my entire body, bolting me in place. The memory of a skinny, pockmarked guy in a run-down house, with an unconscious Lily, slams behind my eyes.
Motherfucker.
I’m over the counter in less than a second, grabbing him by the chains I’m tempted to fucking murder him with.
“Yeah. You know me, you fucking bitch. Lily Adams. Ring any bells?” This time it’s my pointer finger jabbing into his head.
His eyes widen and he squirms, trying to escape my grip.
I pull his chains tighter, twisting them.
“Oh, fuck. You’re that brother, right? Listen…I got nothin’ to do with her now, I swear!” He’s panicking, his fingers clawing at my hands. “There are cameras, man. Just so you know. You hurt me, you won’t be gettin’ away with shit .”
It’s touching how he thinks I give a fuck.
“I will pull you over this counter and revel in the last fucking breath you take, smiling at the cameras once I’m done. So if you know where she is, if you know anything , you better tell me. Right. Fucking. Now.”
He jerks away, but I yank him back. The chains cut into his skin, a trail of blood dripping down his neck. I’ve been waiting a long fucking time to get my hands on this prick. He’s not going anywhere.
“Man, come on. I don’t know! She ain’t lived here for years. Last I knew, she was gone to Arizona.”
“When was this?” I hiss.
“She called a buddy of mine a few months ago… Ow, quit!”
The door chimes and it distracts me long enough for him to wrench out of my grasp, the cheap chains breaking.
He runs over to the register and grabs the phone, pointing it at me. “Get outta here ’fore I call the cops. I told you what I know. I don’t mess with that bitch no more, not in years.”
I clench my fists. The urge to beat the fuck out of him is strong, but I hold myself together, repeating the serenity prayer in my head. The man who walked into the store is warily watching our interaction.
“You’re fucking lucky,” I point out.
Turning around, I speed-walk to my truck, knocking someone in the shoulder on my way out. I don’t breathe until I’m in my seat, slamming my palms on the steering wheel.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! ”
My heart is racing and my mind is spinning.
Arizona. She’s in Arizona.