Chase

9. Logan

LOGAN

“You know I’m leaving New York soon, right? In a few days.”

My words fall into the air like rocks in a stream.

Plunking down disruptively, then falling into silence.

It’s been days and days of endless meetings and interviews, and Chase has been in my suite more nights than he hasn’t.

I’ve gotten used to him being here.

Gotten used to his touch.

His overwhelming, all-consuming presence.

I can’t imagine the Bellwood without him anymore, and I’m not sure I’d want to.

When I remembered I’m leaving the city soon, I knew I had to share it with him sooner rather than later.

And now I feel like something’s clawing at my insides.

He doesn’t even look up as I say the words. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he didn’t even hear them, because he doesn’t react at all, dropping his bag near my couch and nodding up at me.

“Why are your pants still on?” he asks.

He’s not making eye contact.

I swallow, pulling in a breath and shifting on my feet.

“Because I was trying to talk to you, really quick, before I stripped this time.”

He glances up at me, an emerald fire behind his eyes. “But I like being able to touch your skin.”

There’s a silent command tucked into his statement that I can’t resist.

I don’t want to resist.

I reach for my belt buckle, and within moments his fist is tight around my cock, sending sparks through my whole body.

We don’t talk about it that night.

We don’t talk about it the next day, or the next one, either.

My final afternoon in New York comes faster than I ever expected it to.

When Chase shows up at my suite before his shift, I know it’s going to be the part where I have to say goodbye. He knows it, too, and I’ve even given him the exact details and time of my flight to LA, but he’s ignored it.

“You’re late,” I tell him as I swing open the door, my heart already running like a fucking rabbit.

“By two minutes,” he protests.

“We only have a few minutes before my car is going to arrive.”

He waves his hand through the air.

And suddenly I start to panic.

He’s still acting casual. Like he still thinks it’s not a big deal that we’ve practically been attached at the hip for the last three weeks of our lives, speed-running a deep physical affair, and now we’re about to go back to being strangers again.

I watch him at the center of the living room as he pulls his black button-up shirt out from his bag, taking off the plain T-shirt he had on.

I watch his silver necklaces shift on his skin as he shrugs on the collared shirt.

Everything about his body has become so familiar.

The way those necklaces feel when he’s above me, and the cool metal hangs over and hits my chest.

The ink on his skin I’ve run my fingers over countless times now, and the way his lips feel when he drags them over my collarbone.

Something sparks through my mind like kindling, and my throat tightens.

I have to invite him.

This can’t be the last of it.

I work up the courage as I pace to the kitchen, the dining room, and back to the living room again.

I’m going to invite him to visit me in Los Angeles, all expenses paid.

Easy. We don’t have to define it. I don’t have to pressure him to figure anything out.

But we could at least know we’ll be together again.

I have no idea if he’ll even accept.

“God, I need to fucking come,” he says as I approach him. “We have enough time for that?”

I pause. “Really? You don’t even want to talk about what happens when I leave?”

He glances up at me and there’s nothing behind his eyes. “What happens is you keep living your life, Mr. Famous Actor. And I keep doing what I do, serving rich dudes expensive liquor in the bar.”

My chest tenses. “Give me a break.”

“Yeah. The other rich guys aren’t like you, I admit. I don’t think any of them would like my cock quite as much as you do.”

Already I can feel him pulling away from me.

It’s slight, but it’s there.

He’s trying to pass everything off with jokes instead of facing how he really feels right now.

I put my hand onto his waist. “I like you for more than your cock, you know.”

Tell him you’ll fly him out.

Say it.

“Fine. I’ve been thinking about it, too,” he says finally, reaching out to put his finger through one of my belt loops, tugging on it.

The gesture is so small.

For Chase, it’s such an innocent way of touching me, pulling at my belt loop like he used to do when he first came up to my room.

And I see a world of uncertainty behind it.

I exhale. “Good. You’ve at least given it some thought? What we should do, going forward.”

His lashes flick upward as he briefly glances at me.

“Yeah. We can be… mature. Even though I fucking hate that word. We can go back to living our lives. You know?”

I set my jaw. “What’s that mean?”

He shrugs, looking down instead of meeting my eyes. “You hate the idea of anyone finding out who I am, right?”

I frown. “Not because I’m ashamed. Because I know how the assholes on social media would ruin your life. Track you down in public. All the shit they’ve been doing to me and my costar. I just want to protect you.”

“It might not be that bad. It’s not like I’m your boyfriend or something.”

“Right,” I say quickly. “We’re not… together. But they’d still eat you alive if we went on dates, or to clubs, Chase. Trust me. I’ve seen it happen.”

It feels like something just shifted inside me. Chase is still tugging at my belt loop, bringing me closer, and his other hand roams up the front of my shirt and skates over my hip, giving it a little pinch.

It feels too good. Too familiar, now.

I’m suddenly thinking about too much.

Including people who aren’t even alive anymore because fame swallowed them whole.

And I can’t go there.

“You’ll be back in New York again at some point, I’m sure,” Chase says.

“Sometime.”

But I don’t mention that I don’t even know when. I have to film season 2 of Yard Line, and I’ve already signed on to film a movie after that, which will shoot partly in LA and partly in Vancouver. Nowhere near here.

I could visit, but would a stolen weekend here or there ever be enough for Chase? And how could I explain random trips to New York?

It’s fucking crazy that I’m even thinking of it like that, considering I’ve only known him for less than a month.

It feels like so much longer.

But it isn’t.

He bites his lower lip, looking down and then back up at me again. “I think it’s good that this is happening. Don’t you?”

I blink at him. “Good?”

He nods. “That we’re being forced apart. It’s not like my life has exactly been a good influence on you. Have we been sober one day since we met? How many bottles of Scotch have you had?”

“There are a lot of other reasons for that, Chase.”

He has no clue about Daniel. No idea that just a few weeks ago, it was the anniversary of my best friend’s death. He doesn’t know how it felt to get my life upturned by fame. That my drinking has been problematic lately, but he isn’t the cause of it.

He doesn’t know the worst of anything about my life, actually.

Fuck, there’s so much we don’t know about each other.

When he looks up at me again, there’s something nervous in his eyes like I’ve never seen before.

“I never told you this,” he says, “but until recently, I was… worse. A lot worse. I smoked, and I drank, yes. But I also… damn.”

He tugs me closer and rests his head on my shoulder for a moment. For some reason, I feel like my heart is cracking in two.

“What is it, Chase?”

“My friends weren’t the good kind of friends,” he says, his voice a little muffled against my shirt.

“There were a lot of pills. Other drugs. I’ve been to the hospital.

I went to fucking jail for a night, covering for a friend when he said that some of the illegal shit on his kitchen counter was mine, not his. ”

“Jesus,” I whisper, clutching at the back of his head.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says. “But being with you feels like it’s been a vacation from my life.”

“It feels like that for me, too.”

He leans back, looking up at me, his expression more serious than I’ve ever seen it. “I’m tired of fucking running from my life. With drugs, in the past. Or hookups. Even alcohol. It’s so toxic, Logan, and I need it to stop. I am fucking toxic.”

“I hurt you,” I whisper, hating it as I realize it.

His eyes go clear as he shakes his head. “No. What? No, Logan. You helped me.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “But the drinking…”

He puts his hand on my cheek.

“You didn’t hurt me. I don’t regret a single fucking thing, Logan. You just reminded me I have to finally change, if I let myself try for once—”

“I wanted you to visit me in LA,” I blurt out. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about. I wasn’t going to say it, but I can’t not say it, so… there it is. I wanted you to visit me.”

His cheeks flush. “Then why does it feel like you’re about to tell me why I can’t, now?”

My chest feels tight. “Because maybe you’re right.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, and it makes my heart quiver, but I have to keep talking.

“Because if you do come visit me, I feel like I know how it ends.”

His voice is broken. “And how is that?”

I look up at the ceiling, then back at him. “Chase, when we’re together I feel like I'd do anything for you. Anything. You are completely and entirely a craving I can’t control. It's terrifying when I know I would willingly ruin my life for you. And maybe ruin yours, too.”

He pauses.

And I quickly regret the choice of words I used.

What I meant was that it’s not an easy choice to ask him to surrender his privacy to willingly be scrutinized by the press that surrounds my every move at every moment. That would happen to Chase if he was with me.

Guaranteed.

And I’m certain he doesn’t realize how serious of a commitment that is, because I didn’t.

Nobody does, before it happens.

Especially when he didn’t even discover parts of his sexuality until recently, and he’s still grappling his way to a healthier, more stable life.

But it looks like Chase is taking my choice of words to heart, far more deeply than I ever intended.

“I wouldn’t let you do that,” he says in a serious tone, waving a hand through the air. “Ruin your life for me.”

I try to backtrack. “I didn’t mean ruin in a literal sense.”

He shakes his head. “No. I hear you. I understand, more than you realize. I don’t blame you for saying it.”

“All I meant is that I’d get more addicted to you. Or some random person will snap a photo of us together and proceed to pick apart your life before it’s even really started. You’re just emerging from your cocoon, Chase. You think you’re flawed, but you’re so fucking perfect. Flaws and all.”

“Perfect,” he whispers, puffing out a short, bitter laugh. “Don’t know about that one, Logan.”

“I like you too much for my world to happen to you.”

My words hang in the air between us again.

Plunging us into silence just like I caused earlier.

His eyes seem so bright, suddenly, like I can see the whole world in them, every emotion I’ve felt in the last few weeks all encapsulated there.

“I’m flattered, Logan,” he says, a twinkle in his eye. “You really did like my cock that much, didn’t you?”

His joke hits me out of nowhere, like a catapult of relief to the heavy weight of the feelings I’m stuck in.

I smile, taking a deep breath and shaking my head.

“I do like your cock. Your cock is a goddamn gift to the world, Chase. And you still know I meant more than that.”

He swallows, nodding. “Fine. Who cares? We like being around each other, but we both really fucking need to figure some shit out. We can break the addiction, right?”

The shield inside me only gets stronger, hardening in me like I’m shutting my heart back into a box.

See?

He wants to be mature. Do the right thing.

So why does it feel like it’s tearing me to pieces?

I feel my phone buzz in my pocket and I know it’s Emily letting me know my car is downstairs.

“It’s been fucking fun,” Chase says, and he gives my hip a little pinch. “I think you’re late for that car, and I’m about to be late for my shift.”

For some reason I keep staring at his necklaces.

The way they rest against his chest, and the memory of when I first noticed them.

But maybe I just keep looking at them because I’d break if I looked up at his eyes.

I suddenly worry he’s going to kiss me. He hasn’t yet, not even once, but if he did, I don’t know how I could let him go.

He sticks his hands into my back pockets and gives my ass a tight squeeze. He gives me a little salute, and when I finally muster the courage to look at his eyes, there’s none of that ferocious crackle in the green.

He feels so far away from me. Even before he turns and walks to the door.

I hear the sound of the door opening, and I’m frozen in place.

And then I hear it close behind him.

No kiss.

No needy, clingy protesting.

It’s been fucking fun.

The hotel suite suddenly feels deafening in its quiet. Like all the energy has been sapped from the space, leaving it grey, blank, colorless.

I pace to the door.

I almost open it, three or four times, hoping he’d be on the other side of it, or at the elevator, or that he’d rush back in and tackle me to the floor to leave a final mark on my skin.

But none of that happens.

A couple of other workers come to the door a minute later to grab all of my bags. They take me down the elevator to the lobby, and I walk through the back door of the Bellwood for the final time, into the alleyway.

Cameras flash from the edge of the alley as I step out, the lights blinding me.

“Logan! Headed to the airport?”

“Oh my God, it’s him!” a girl’s voice comes from the gate behind the alley. “Big D!”

I don’t feel like I’m in my own body. It’s like I’m coming up for air after being underwater, and this world feels so different to where I’ve been.

This is my life.

As I slide into the back of the black SUV, I feel something shift in my back pocket.

I reach into it and realize there’s a paper in there.

I pull it out, unfolding a small, cream-colored piece of paper.

He must have shoved it in my pocket when he gripped me there, before leaving.

My chest clenches as I hold the paper.

It’s a drawing of the rooftop.

A little sketch that has everything. The view of the city. The neon sign, across the street. The black access door, and even a tiny bottle of Scotch sitting on the ground.

There are two figures there, standing at the edge of the roof, looking out at the world below.

One figure’s head is resting on the shoulder of the other. They look like they belong together. Like they make sense. Like they have everything they want.

There’s a note scrawled above it in the sky.

Thanks for bothering me.

I didn’t want you to, and I’m fucking glad you did.

X

- C