That does seem like Brady. There’s an idea forming slowly in the back of my brain, too new to grab onto, but I know I need to go down this road to find it. The kind of idea that makes my fingers itch for the first time since Aaron came back.
He’s not keeping me down for as long this time. That has to mean something, right? Even if I am still evening out like Chase says, that little urge took a long time to form and even longer before I could act on it. Now, it’s just out of reach.
The music is playing softly through the speakers, and it occurs to me that Chase has let me put on what we listen to in the car since the first time when we went to get Blake from the airport. He pretends to moan and groan about it when I’m itching for an argument, but he always offers up his phone so I can listen to what I want. Even when things are a little weird between us, he shows his feelings for me quietly.
I like it just as much as when it’s at full volume.
Nerves skitter across my skin, making my leg bounce and my fingers dig into the tender flesh on my palms. Logically, I know Aaron isn’t going to be lying in wait for us here, but the fear doesn’t dissipate either way. The last time I was at home, he ambushed me. Held a gun to my head and threatened the people I love. My molars grind together even thinking about it. On cue, Chase’s hand lands on my thigh and squeezes lightly.
“We don’t have to go in, sweetheart,” he reminds me as he puts the car in Park.
I shake my head. “We do, though. I want my clothes, and I don’t want this to become a thing for me. It has the power I give it, and I don’t want it to keep me from the one place that ever felt safe.” Chase’s breathing sounds labored, like he’s dreading this as much as me. If I see the distress on him, I’ll lose my determination, so I don’t look. “You don’t have to, though. Not if you’re not ready.”
The last thing I want to do is cause him more pain. I’ve given him enough of that for a lifetime.
He scoffs. “Like hell are you doing this without me. Either we both go in or neither of us do.”
That brings a slight smile to my face. Sometimes, he’s just so… Chase. Other people might say perfect, but they’re the same thing to me. “Okay. So we go in then,” I decide.
He mutters an agreement, albeit a vaguely sarcastic one. Now, there’s nothing left for us to do except actually go inside.
One, two, three…
Chase is no more than a half second behind me, reminding me that I’m not alone and that this is nothing like the last time I was here. Honestly, I’m so done being controlled by this monster. This is my home; Chase assured me of that. He can’t take this from me. I won’t let him. The door creaks as I pull the handle, not having been used since before I got out of the hospital.
Behind me, Chase makes a strange noise; somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “What is it?” I ask.
“My mom was clearly the last person in here. I was in such a rush when I got stuff from here last time that I didn’t notice.”
My nose scrunches up in confusion, though the distraction keeps both of us moving forward, so it doesn’t go unappreciated. “How can you tell?”
I look around the kitchen. Clearly she cleaned, but that doesn’t seem strangely out of character, and he couldn’t see that when we were walking in. Chase's eyes roam as he says, “I can smell it. She put incense in here somewhere. Very mom of her.”
I lock onto a peach-colored bottle with sticks poking out beside the coffeemaker. “There,” I announce with a finger pointing. “That’s kind of cute, not gonna lie. Plus, this place is spotless, which I’m sure is her doing as well.”
Chase’s eye roll is exaggerated. “She probably put the boys to work too. I doubt it was a solo affair.”
I shrug. “True.” I double back to the laundry room when I remember why we came here to begin with. Sure enough, my backpack is wedged between the washer and dryer, down near the floor, so it’s not easily spotted if you aren’t looking for it. After freeing it and smacking loose a couple of dust bunnies that have latched on, I rip it open. Instant relief floods my veins at the sight of all my clothes still folded neatly how I arranged them and the sketchbook tucked into the padded pocket. “It’s all still here,” I say softly, mostly to remind myself.
Before my brain catches up, I already have the sketchbook open. I need to see it, make sure that each page is intact. I sawed my soul open to be able to pour it between these pages, and I won’t know a moment of peace until knowing for sure that nothing happened to my work. Aaron stole a lot from me, but if he didn’t take this, he didn’t take the most important part.
One by one, I check each for any disturbances and find them as I left them. All my innermost thoughts, illustrated and laid out, and completely untouched by the horror I’ve faced in recent weeks. So many of Chase, probably a dozen different angles of him with the sun illuminating his raven hair or the shadows crawling over the artwork on his torso. All the details of me trying to find myself and accidentally falling in love with him, safe and sound.
Rapidly, I blink away the moisture gathering in the corners of my eyes. If I fall apart now, I won’t be able to come back from it anytime soon, and I can’t do all that at this point. My body is too tired. My soul is too tired. The exhaustion creeping in makes me worry about what lies on the other side of this neutral ground that has kept me going this long.
“You okay in there?” Chase calls from the kitchen.
Forcibly, I drag myself out of the spiral that tried to take off with me and cough away the sting in my throat. “Yeah, I’m good,” I reply before wandering back in, keeping the sketchbook clutched to my chest like it’ll block the hurt.
Maybe it will.
I find Chase slumped against the counter, the same exhaustion that is plaguing me mirrored on his beautiful features. We really don’t seem to thrive apart. At least it’s not just me anymore, though. It helps me feel slightly less certifiable.
“You okay in here?” I ask, aiming for a joking tone that falls flat.
He runs a hand through his messy hair, but indulges me in a half-hearted chuckle. “You found your stuff, I see.”
Without thought, I squeeze the leather-bound book a little harder. “Right where I thought it would be. I tossed it when I came in and it fell. No wonder you didn’t see it.” My goal is to soothe some of the guilt etched all over his face, but it doesn’tseem to do much. I hate seeing him so worn down. Knowing it’s because of me, makes it worse.
