21. Chasity
CHASITY
The morning air is cold and thin, carrying the damp scent of last night’s frost. It seeps through the old window frames of the inn’s kitchen, a quiet hiss against the warm bubble Lachlan’s domain always seems to occupy.
I'm wrapped in one of his oversized flannel shirts, nursing my first cup of coffee, the ceramic mug a welcome heat against my palms. The weekend feels like a fever dream—a blur of fairy lights, shared work, and glances that held far too much weight.
This quiet feels earned. Normal, almost.
Then my phone buzzes, a harsh, electric sound against the grain of the wooden countertop. The vibration scrapes against the morning’s peace. My stomach plummets before I even see the name.
Jason: We need to talk. Please tell me where you are. I’m coming to see you. I can't wait anymore.
The warmth from the coffee mug vanishes.
My blood doesn't just run cold; it turns to a thick, heavy sludge in my veins.
The cozy kitchen, with its lingering smell of bacon and cinnamon, suddenly feels like a cage, the air too thick to breathe.
A wave of dizziness washes over me, so potent I have to grip the edge of the counter to keep from swaying.
Jason. The one person whose disapproval always felt sharper, more personal, than anyone else's.
For a small eternity, maybe ten minutes, maybe a lifetime, I stare at the glowing white letters on the black screen.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard, useless and numb.
Run. The thought screams through me, a primal, childish impulse.
Just pack the car I haven’t even finished paying Ben for and drive until the mountains are a smudge in the rearview mirror.
But where would I go? Shame coils in my gut, hot and acidic.
I can’t face him. I can’t explain the unexplainable, the selfish, chaotic truth of what I've done. But ignoring him feels like cowardice on a scale I can’t stomach.
It just puts off the inevitable reckoning.
My chest aches, a tight band of dread squeezing the air from my lungs. With a hand that shakes so badly I have to steady it with the other, I type the fourteen letters that feel like a death sentence.
Calico Peak.
I hit send. The single word rockets out into the world, an admission, an invitation. A wave of nausea crashes over me, instant and violent. I just surrendered. He’s coming. He’s bringing my old life with him.
The diner’s bell jingles above the door, a sound I normally find charming.
Today, it’s a gunshot. Every single time.
My head snaps up, heart a frantic drum against my ribs, before I force my gaze back down.
It’s never him. Just Mrs. Gable for her afternoon pie, or a group of hikers looking for a late lunch.
But the anticipation is a physical weight, pressing down on my shoulders, making the air thick and hard to draw in.
All day, my mind has been a cinema of horrors, projecting every possible version of Jason’s arrival.
Jason, his face a mask of fury. Jason, his eyes filled with a pity that would shatter me.
Jason, demanding I get in his car and come fix the mess I made.
I scrub at a nonexistent smudge on the table, the rough cloth a flimsy anchor in the storm of my thoughts. When I run out of counter, I move to the napkin dispenser, pulling out the neat stack and starting to refold them, my fingers moving with a frantic, useless precision.
“At this rate, those napkins will be so intimidated they’ll fold themselves.”
I jump, a small, strangled sound escaping my lips. Taven stands on the other side of the counter, his expression unreadable. He leans forward, his forearms resting on the polished steel, and lowers his voice.
“You look like you’re about three seconds from bolting.”
I let out a shaky breath, my attempt at a laugh coming out as a strained squeak. “Just… expecting someone.”
His green eyes hold mine, cutting through the bullshit. “Jason,” he states, not a question. The town telegraph is ruthlessly efficient. I can only nod, my throat too tight for words.
He considers me for a long moment, his gaze steady.
“I’ll be at the schoolhouse grading papers later.
If you need an exit strategy, you come find me.
No questions asked.” He delivers the words with a calm seriousness that settles something deep in my gut.
He’s not offering platitudes; he’s giving me a contingency plan.
Later, the chill of the afternoon sends a shiver through me as I cross the street, heading for the garage more by instinct than decision. The clang of metal on metal stops as I step inside. Ben twists his hands in a rag, his blue eyes finding mine in the dim light. He doesn't ask. He just knows.
He walks over, stopping a few feet away, giving me space I didn't know I needed. “Guilt’s not the same thing as obligation, Chasity.” His voice is low, a soft rumble that cuts through my frantic thoughts. “You don’t owe anyone access to your future just because they were part of your past.”
The sun bleeds out behind the mountains, leaving the sky a bruised purple.
I’m huddled on the cold stone steps behind the inn, wrapped in a thick wool blanket I don’t remember grabbing.
The crisp air is a knife in my lungs. My breathing quickens, each inhale too shallow, each exhale a useless gasp.
My fingers tingle, then go numb. The world narrows to a pinprick of light surrounded by a pulsing, roaring dark. Black spots dance in my vision.
“I’m sorry,” the words tumble out, frantic and broken. “I’m sorry, I just—I keep making everything worse.”
A figure drops down in front of me, solid and real in the encroaching gloom. Lachlan. His dark hair is a mess, his face etched with a focus that cuts through my haze. He doesn’t touch me, not at first. He just holds my gaze.
“Hey. Look at me. Just me. Can you do that?”
I nod, a jerky, puppet-like motion. Tears burn, hot and unshed, behind my eyes.
“Okay. Good. Now breathe with me, Possum Princess. In.” He takes a slow, deliberate breath, his chest expanding. “And out.”
My lungs refuse to obey, shuddering with another short, panicked gasp.
“It’s okay. Again.” He reaches out, his movements slow, and wraps his warm hands around mine.
His touch is a shock of heat against my frozen skin, an anchor in the storm.
“In for four. One… two… three… four. Hold it. Now out. Let it all go.” He repeats the words, a steady, calm rhythm, until the frantic hammering in my chest finally begins to slow.
The roaring in my ears subsides, replaced by the sound of our breathing and the chirping of crickets in the night.
The panic recedes, leaving a hollow ache in its place. The unshed tears spill over, silent and hot on my cold cheeks. I stare at my hands, still held securely in his.
“He’s going to look at me,” I whisper, the words raw and scraped from my throat.
“And he’s going to see exactly what I am.
Selfish. A coward. Someone who runs when things get hard.
Unstable.” The final word is barely audible.
I can feel other presences nearby, shadows at the edge of my vision.
Ben, his broad shoulders a familiar silhouette.
Taven, leaning against the inn’s wall, his arms crossed.
They don’t speak. They don’t move closer.
Lachlan’s grip on my hands tightens almost imperceptibly.
They just stay. A quiet, unmovable line of defence against the darkness in my own head.
And in their steady silence, a thought breaks through the fear. I’m not facing this alone.
The fire in the inn’s hearth pops, spitting a shower of orange sparks against the safety screen.
It’s the only sound that cuts through the thick, waiting silence.
Lachlan’s hand rests on the small of my back, a point of heat that does little to stop the chill from seeping into my bones.
Beside me, Ben stands solid as an oak tree, his quiet steadiness a physical presence.
Across the lobby, Taven has positioned himself by the door, his arms crossed, his stare fixed on the darkness outside.
Then, a sudden slash of white light cuts through the front windows.
The beams sweep across the lobby, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air before settling on the far wall.
Lachlan’s hand presses a little firmer against my spine.
My lungs freeze. A dark sedan glides into the gravel lot, its tires crunching with a sound that grates against my nerves.
The engine cuts out, plunging the world outside back into shadow and rain, which has started to fall again in a cold, determined drizzle.
I can’t breathe. My entire body is a single, knotted muscle, coiled so tight it aches. The car door opens. A figure steps out into the downpour, his form silhouetted by the inn’s porch light. He straightens his suit jacket, his movements precise and familiar.
It’s Jason.
He looks toward the inn, his face a pale mask in the gloom. The life I abandoned, the world I fled, is here. It has found me. It stands on the gravel, dripping rainwater and judgment, right on the doorstep of my new sanctuary.