Chapter 10 The Edge
The Edge
Across the tavern, Chase hadn’t moved a damn inch.
His fork was still abandoned on his plate, his drink untouched, his entire body coiled tight like a spring about to snap.
The weight in his chest pressed down hard, making it difficult to draw in a full breath.
He wasn’t sure if it was nerves, anticipation, or some wicked mix of both, but either way, he felt like he was standing on the edge of something monumental, something irreversible.
Sara, ever perceptive, arched an eyebrow and leaned in, resting her chin on her hand. "So, what exactly is your plan here?"
Chase tore his gaze away from Savannah for half a second, just long enough to scowl at her. "Plan?"
Sara rolled her eyes. "Don’t play dumb. You’re sitting here looking like you’ve just seen a ghost, but let’s be real—you’ve thought about this moment, haven’t you? What would happen if you saw her again? If you got another shot?"
Chase clenched his jaw. Of course, he had.
More times than he’d ever admit. Late at night, when he let himself slip back into old memories.
When he heard a song that reminded him of those stolen glances, those lingering moments that never quite turned into something more.
He had wondered what it would feel like to be in front of her again, to see if time had dulled the pull between them—or if it had only sharpened it into something dangerous.
Jaxon smirked, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Gotta say, man, I’ve never seen you this rattled. It’s kinda entertaining."
Chase exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t even know what the fuck I’d say."
Sara scoffed. "Oh, for God’s sake. You’re acting like you don’t have a set of balls. Get up, walk over there, and talk to her."
Chase glared. "And say what? ‘Hey, remember me? The guy you used to steal glances at before you chose the safe bet’?"
Sara’s lips curled into a smirk. "That’s a start. Hell, it’s better than sitting here looking like you might pass out."
Jaxon chuckled. "Pretty sure that’s not the worst pickup line she’s ever heard."
Chase sighed, gripping the edge of the table. "You think she even wants to talk to me?"
Sara leaned in, lowering her voice. "Chase, look at her. Look at the way she’s staring at you right now, like she just had the wind knocked out of her. If she didn’t want to talk to you, she would’ve turned away by now."
Chase hesitated. His pulse was a fucking war drum in his ears, but she was right. Savannah hadn’t looked away. She hadn’t moved. It was like they were frozen in some suspended moment, hanging in the balance between past and present.
His fingers drummed against the table, restless, indecisive. "I don’t know, Sara. It’s been a long time. What if—"
"What if what?" Sara interjected, tilting her head. "What if she hates you? She doesn’t. What if she’s moved on?
Maybe. But maybe not. What if she regrets never taking that chance?
What if this is your shot?" She leaned in, her voice firm but knowing.
"Since I've known you, you’ve never been one to back down from anything. Don’t start now. "
Jaxon grinned, lifting his glass in mock salute. "Worst that happens? She tells you to fuck off. But judging by the way she’s looking at you… I doubt it."
Chase swallowed, exhaled, and finally pushed back his chair. His heartbeat thundered as he stood, his feet suddenly heavy as hell. Every muscle in his body felt taut, bracing for impact.
Sara grinned, watching him. "That’s it, cowboy. Go get your girl."
Chase took a step, then another, each one heavier than the last. The space between him and Savannah felt impossibly far, the air thick with something too charged to name.
He swore he could hear the blood pounding in his ears, drowning out the music, the chatter, everything except the sound of his own name echoing in his head—her voice, saying it the way she used to, soft and hesitant, like she knew she was playing with fire.
The years between them vanished as he walked, memories slamming into him with every breath.
Savannah standing on the dock, her hair wild in the wind, smiling at him like he was the only person in the world.
The way her fingers used to curl around the hem of her dress when she was nervous, when she was about to say something she knew she shouldn’t.
The night he almost kissed her but didn’t. The regret that had burned in his gut for years afterward.
Now, here she was. Right in front of him. And this time, he wasn’t walking away without an answer.
As he neared, Savannah straightened in her chair, her lips parting slightly, her fingers tightening around her glass.
He could see the way her chest rose and fell just a little too quickly, the way her gaze flickered with something unspoken, something just as dangerous as what was running through him.
Mallory, the ever-observant instigator, leaned back in her chair with a grin. "Oh, this is about to be good."
Chase barely registered her. He stopped just short of Savannah’s table, his hands flexing at his sides, trying to suppress the storm raging inside him.
"Savannah," he said, his voice rougher than he intended.
She blinked up at him, her expression unreadable, but he caught the way her throat bobbed, the way her grip on her drink tightened like she needed something to hold onto.
"Chase," she said softly, and damn if that didn’t knock the wind right out of him.
The air between them stretched tight, thick with everything unspoken. Years of silence, of missed chances, of paths that had almost crossed but never quite did.
Mallory, sensing the shift, lifted her drink to her lips. "Well, don’t just stand there looking pretty, cowboy. Say something."
Chase dragged in a breath, his jaw tightening. He had no idea what the hell to say, no script to follow, no plan. Just the weight of everything he’d never said before pressing against his ribs.
So, he did the only thing that felt right.
He pulled out the chair across from Savannah and sat the hell down.