43. Chase
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHASE
M y office door creaks as it opens and snaps my attention away from the sales proposal I’ve been reviewing all morning. In steps Trevor, leaning against the doorframe. His arms are crossed like he means business, and it’s convincing, except for the friendly smile on his face.
“Oh, good. I caught you before you left. Were you able to take a look at those numbers from CellularSpeak? I was hoping to get back to them by end of day.”
“Yeah.” I turn in my swivel chair to the stack of papers on the shelf behind me, pluck a blue folder off the top, and hand it to him. “Everything looks good on our end. We should be able to move forward at the start of fourth quarter.”
“Nice. Thanks. You excited to be going home? Your dad’s getting an award, right?”
I nod, eyes shifting back to my screen briefly. I want so badly to turn back to my computer and brush him off, but I don’t. Trevor’s a good guy. It’s not his fault my interest in small talk, or anything else, really, has disappeared. I plaster a grin on my face, the new facade I present to everyone at work lately, and drum my fingers on my knee. “Yeah, it should be a good time.”
He takes a beat, looking around my office before standing up straight. “Well, I won’t keep you,” he says, slapping the side of the door frame. I feel bad as he turns to leave, knowing full well he was trying to be friendly and connect.
“Hey,” I call after him. He slides his head back into the doorway, eyebrows perched with interest. “You still seeing that mystery girl of yours?”
“Uh, yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck as a goofy smile spreads across his face, lost in a memory I’m glad I can’t see.
He doesn’t know I know this, but he’s hooking up with Marla, our corporate trainer. I saw them cozied up in a corner at the shareholders’ event.
“And you’re not going to tell me who she is?” I ask, playing along as I save the proposal file and power down my computer.
“Nope. I don’t kiss and tell.” He tips his finger toward me before walking off down the hallway, shouting, “Have a good one!”
The speaker crackles overhead as the pilot announces our ascent into the sky. Finally. It’s the last bit of permission I need to drop the “friendly guy” mask from my face. Being an early Friday afternoon flight, the plane is empty enough that almost every row has a vacant seat between passengers. I could use the space. Scrubbing my face with my hands, I take a deep breath before pulling out my headphones.
With almost two hours to zone out before landing in LA, I just need something loud in my ears to drown out the thoughts a quiet plane would likely lead to. It’s not getting easier yet, that part where I’m supposed to slowly stop thinking about Kayla every minute of every day. If I’m not actively trying to shut thoughts of her out of my brain, her face occupies everything. Forcibly trying to forget her feels uncomfortable and miserable, so sometimes, I give in and let her memory seep back under my skin. It doesn’t necessarily feel any better, but at least it doesn’t feel wrong. The only thing I’ve found to completely drown out everything is music where the bass is heavy enough to reorganize the atoms in my body.
The flight is so quick, I almost slip into a relaxing doze before we’re heading back to the ground. With only a carry-on and my laptop, I make it to the pickup lane outside in no time, squinting against the bright sunshine as the busy sounds of the city come to life. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for this weekend of pretending around my family.
“Chase!” Dad waves from several cars to the right of where I’m standing. Hitching my bags higher on my shoulder, I walk toward his car as he opens the trunk wide. He has a giant smile as he claps my shoulder, making it easier for me to slip that mask over my face.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, tossing my bag in before climbing into the passenger seat.
He slides behind the wheel and stares at me for a few seconds, eyes assessing. “Hey, kid. How was your flight?” He pulls into traffic, driving through the shadow of a departing 747 on its way up to the waiting skies.
“It was good. Short.” I shrug.
“Speaking of short.” He rubs my head. “Look at you with your new hotshot haircut over here. I haven’t seen it this short since you were little.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say with a chuckle, running my hand through the mussed-up strands of my new crew cut. “It was time for a change.”
He turns his head, continuing his assessment from before until traffic moves again. I look out my window, not wanting to entertain any conversations about how I’m doing. “Well, your mom has us on a tight schedule for tonight. She’s so nervous, I wonder if she thinks she’s the one getting an award.”
“That sounds about right.” I shake my head, snorting as I imagine her running through the house, panicking about speeches she doesn’t have to give and stages she doesn’t have to walk across.
“We’re headed straight to the tailor, where we’ll meet Ken and Hunter for final fittings on tuxes. Then, home to get ready. The car will pick us up at five o’clock. Can you let them know we’re on our way?”
I nod, blowing out a puff of air and looking at the clock on the dashboard. It’s just before one-thirty now, meaning we’ll be running all over town until after the gala. I’ll be lucky if I get any rest this weekend before my flight back on Sunday. The seatbelt digs into my collarbone as I lean to the side, reaching for the phone in my front pocket.
Mom, Dad, and I walk into the Cal Convention Center a little before six p.m. From the outside, the white granite building looks judicial, with the columns of pillars surrounding the front. Mom stops to check her jacket, her long, black sequined dress swishing behind her as she and Dad walk across the white marble floor to the coat check attendant. A sweeping staircase opens up in front of the entrance, and I smooth my hands down my black velvet tuxedo jacket before climbing to the second floor.
I continue into the banquet room, following an usher as he escorts me to a table close to the stage, reserved for the Wilmington and Jackson families. Using the few minutes I have to myself, I breathe deeply, taking in the dark room. Centerpieces with white tea lights glow at every table, and blue and white silk drapes from the ceiling artfully. A projector illuminates the wall behind the stage, welcoming everyone to the Twentieth Annual Reed Tech Gala.
It all looks fancy and magical, and yet, I can’t seem to care about any of it. I don’t want to be here. It’s been a long day. My face hurts from fake smiling, and I just want to go home and go to bed. I check my phone for the time, starting an internal countdown for when it will be acceptable for me to leave. Being jostled from the side snaps me out of the little pity party I’m throwing for myself.
“Bruh, you good?” Hunter asks after sliding into the seat next to me.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?” I say flatly, finding it hard to throw that mask back on my face.
“You just look sad, man.”
I look at him, unable to say a thing. He’s not wrong. I am sad, and the more tired I get, the harder it is to care about how I look. I nod and shrug, hoping he’ll leave it alone.
“So it’s probably not a good time to tell you Kayla’s walking through the door right now, is it?” Hunter gestures with his chin, and my head turns before I can think better of it. There are people standing in front of the entrance, filling up the tables behind ours, but as they sit, I see her. Sandwiched between Kendall and Ashlie, she’s dressed in a black velvet floor-length gown. Her hair is twisted intricately around her head, landing in a swirl over her shoulder. She’s even more breathtaking than I remember, and if we were together, we’d look like a matching pair. But we’re not, and my stomach drops to the floor.
“ What the fuck , Hunt!” I grit my teeth, rubbing my forehead as my pulse pounds in my ears. “Did you know she was coming?”
“Uh, yep. I invited her. And you’re welcome.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it wouldn’t be a surprise if I would have told you. You wouldn’t have come either. Look, just talk to her.”
“I can’t ,” I say, shaking my head. “She doesn’t want that.” My scalp prickles with sweat as panic floods every nerve in my system. A lump forms in my throat, and I try to swallow it down to no avail.
“How do you know?”
“Because she fucking told me, man. She… I can’t…” I scrub my face, groaning as I realize we’ll be at the same table all night long . I want to throw up, knowing I can’t take seeing that look in her eyes again—the cold repulsion mixed with resentment. I’m barely hanging on as it is.
“It’s been months. Things change.”
“Not this… I need a drink,” I say, scooting my chair back from the table. I walk in the opposite direction, toward the open bar. Whiskey. Maybe I can lessen the agony of being this close to her with whiskey. Or Bourbon. Hell, maybe both. I’ll try anything.
Leaning against the bar, I knock back a shot, and then take a glass on the rocks back to the table. Mom and Dad have found their seats, and I try my damnedest to keep my eyes from straying across the table toward Kayla.
“Hey, Chase,” Ashlie says, putting her hand up in a small wave. I raise three fingers off my glass in return, keeping my eyes on her face, successfully avoiding the jade eyes next to her. That wasn’t so hard. Maybe I can do this. Hunter kicks me under the table to get my attention, and I kick the asshole back without looking.
I manage to make it through dinner by keeping to myself. The conversation around the table is light and fluffy. Since no one asks me anything directly, I don’t offer up anything. The ice in my third drink has all but melted, and I’m tempted to go grab another when the lights dim.
The noise level in the room drops significantly as the host for the evening introduces the history of the Edward Reed Award. But all I can think about is how much time I have left at this table. I’ve fixed my gaze on the corner of my place setting the entire night, except for when I look at the stage. It’s helped give me something to focus on, but it’s not sustainable. Every time I hear Kayla’s voice or listen to her laugh, my neck twitches and I have to make a conscious effort not to raise my eyes in her direction.
Dad and Kendall accept their award, giving speeches I couldn’t tell you a thing about. I watched the whole thing—their walk across the stage, each taking turns at the mic—but my mind was elsewhere. They make their way back to the table with everyone around us offering whispered congratulations as they pass. My knees feel like loaded springs as I anticipate leaving. I just need some air, and space, and another fucking drink. There’s one more performance standing between me and freedom.
A Black, middle-aged songstress walks across the stage, the lights twinkling off her silvery dress as she croons. The song’s opening notes sound familiar, with her sultry voice starting low and slow, ebbing and flowing like the waves of the ocean. I’m overtaken by the memory of ocean waves, me and Kayla, hands wrapped together casually as I drive to the beach. And another, listening to Kayla singing karaoke after the train ride. The performer sings the words, and I know exactly where I’ve heard this before:
Sometimes
What you’ve lost, you’ll find
And you’ll fall in kind
To some kind of forever.
I do it. I look across the table at the only person I’ve wanted to see for months, and she’s looking right back at me. Kayla bites her lip in the way she does when she’s feeling self-conscious, and so many things rush at me at once. My heart fully pounds out of the little box I’ve wrapped it in. An army of butterflies invades my core, and my fingers twitch as I think about how it would feel to hold her right now. I let myself wonder if her velvet dress feels as soft as that spot on her neck, just below her ears.
It doesn’t matter . Taking a deep breath, the sobering hit of oxygen catapults me back down to earth. My eyes drop to the table, all hope pulverized by the echo of the last words she said to me.
When the music stops, thunderous applause fills the room around me. The MC announces the start of dancing and partying, gesturing to a small doorway across the room. I shoot out of my chair and loosen the jacket button at my waist, tugging at my tie as I race for the door. I’m suddenly roasting in my tux. I need air…and space. And another fucking drink. Hurrying through the tables of guests, I manage to snag a half-empty bottle of booze from the open bar on my way out.
The convention center is home to a small botanical garden, and I step through an ivy-covered archway that opens to a secluded koi pond. I collapse onto one of the large boulders surrounding the pond with a huff. Reaching up to scrub the tension from my face, I let out an audible groan. After a few swigs from the bottle, I close my eyes, shaking my head like it will expel everything out of it—Kayla, here, looking amazing in that dress, the song, all of it. I just want it gone.
Gravel crunches to my left, and I open my eyes to find Kayla, standing under the archway, as beautiful as ever. “Hi,” she says quietly, taking her time walking toward me.
I take another hit of liquid courage to get me through whatever comes next. She’s close enough for me to see the little floral details on her dress, close enough that it would only take a few steps for me to reach her. She’s close enough that I can hear her phone buzzing in her hand.
“So your phone does work…” I hear myself say in a bitter tone. I slipped up a couple of times and texted her, just to see if we could talk. She never answered.
Kayla nods, looking down briefly before fixing her eyes back on me. “You cut your hair…” She smiles, stopping a couple feet away.
I take several seconds before answering, mulling over which cards to throw on the table. It doesn’t matter. “Really, Kayla, that’s what you go with? First time seeing each other in months, and that’s what you want to talk about? My hair?” I shake my head, looking away from her. “Yep, I cut my hair.” Asshole card it is, I guess. The bitterness coating the words as they slip out of my mouth doesn’t sound like me, but I can’t figure out how to sound any different right now. I’ll probably regret it in the morning, but I admit, in this moment, it feels satisfying.
She takes a deep breath before saying, “Chase, I feel sorry… I feel so bad?—”
“Good.” I glare at her before taking another drink. The burning in my throat only adds fuel to the storm brewing in my head. Oh, great, pity. She feels sorry for me, and that isn’t any better than resentment. At least she feels bad about something.
“Good?” She knits her eyebrows together. “You want me to feel like this?”
No, I hate it. I love you—It doesn’t matter. My brain is swimming with so many things I could say right now, but that last thought is what hangs on and propels my anger forward.
“I told you I loved you— twice if we’re getting technical, and you said it didn’t matter. Not that you didn’t love me back, or that you needed time, but that it didn’t fucking matter.” Heat creeps up my neck as the level of my voice increases. “Do you know what that felt like? It fucking broke me, Kayla. So excuse me if I’m not worried about you ‘feeling bad.’”
Several emotions cross her face as I stare her down. I want to see how my words have landed, want to see her feel a percentage of how I’ve felt these last couple of months.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, looking down at the ground.
I shrug my shoulders while taking another slow sip from the bottle. “It doesn’t matter…”
She nods quietly, eyes still on the gravel, and walks back through the archway without another word.
As soon as she’s gone, I regret everything. All the resentment and angst leave my body, and I just feel empty. And drunk. I hate everything about this night. My head falls into my hand as a tear slides down my cheek. This isn’t even on the tree scale. This just fucking sucks.
I don’t know how long I sit there, but I periodically tip the lip of the bottle to my mouth, letting the spicy liquid drain down my throat just to feel something—anything.
“Chase, what the hell is wrong with you?” I hear stomping across the ground toward me, and two Hunters appear as I raise my head. “Gimme that.” He snatches the nearly empty bottle from my hands and sets it on the ground by his feet.
“Leave me ‘lone,” I groan, swaying briefly before I steady myself on the rock with one hand.
“So you can fall backward into that pond and drown like an idiot? Naw.” He shakes his heads, and I close my eyes briefly to keep from getting more dizzy. “Here, drink this,” he says, cracking open a water bottle and shoving it at me. “What is wrong with you? You’re wasted.”
“I’m fiiine ,” I slur, sloshing water out of the bottle as I try to find my mouth.
“You’re not fine, Chase. You’ve been drinking all night. I hand-delivered Kayla to you on a silver platter, and all you’ve been is an asshole.”
“She didn’t come here for me.” My bottom lip puffs out as I shake my head in disbelief.
“She did come here for you, dummy. She knew you were going to be here. She wanted to see you—to talk to you, and you’ve been acting like she’s not even alive. What are you doing?”
“She thinks I’m a cheater, man. She said she feels sorry for me. That’s all this was.” I slap a hand over my eyes, trying to force the tears back inside my body. I’m a bumbling mess.
Hunter blows out an exasperated breath. “Bruh, no. She doesn’t feel bad for you. She feels bad that any of this happened. Look…” He sits next to me and shoves his phone in my face before pressing play on a video. I move his hand back, trying to focus on the image on the screen.
Recognizing Maggie’s voice, I ask, “What is this?”
“Proof that Maggie planned it all. Kayla knows the truth.”
I half watch and fully listen, closing my eyes when the video shakes a little too much. There’s not much to see, but here it is. A full confession, right in my lap, and I have no idea what to do about it. I’m feeling a little less woozy and a lot sicker to my stomach as I realize how unbelievably idiotic I’ve been tonight. Kayla was here, right here , close enough for me to touch, and I let her walk away—I pushed her away.
Hunter sits next to me for a while, not saying much except to remind me to drink the water in my hand. Feeling sobered up enough to have a rational conversation, I turn to him. I’m sure I look as bad as I feel because the sympathy on his face is something I haven’t seen since I fell out of that tree when we were kids.
“Thanks, man,” I say, dropping my eyes to the ground.
“Sure. You’d do it for me. The question is, what are you going to do about Kayla?”
I shake my head, struggling to answer the question of the hour. San Francisco may not have been my fault, but tonight sure is. I acted like a petty asshole out of spite and fear, and I have no one to blame but myself.
“Do you want to be with her?”
“More than anything,” I croak, my voice low and gruff.
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t even know.” I shake my head again, at a loss for how to handle any of this. It feels like a lost cause. I have no plans, no motivation. All I have is sorrow…and a headache.