“—think it was always easy? No!”
Dad’s last comment was supposed to be funny, but I didn’t smile, and he didn’t say anything else.
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
CHAPTER 19
The one bright note from Selena’s college-dropout bomb was that our parents were way too distracted to bother enforcing things like a weeklong grounding for me. When Chase invited me to go see his friend’s band play the next night, it was as simple as leaving a note in the kitchen and driving away.
My under-twenty-one hand stamp hadn’t fully dried before Chase and I spotted each other. I couldn’t not smile watching him weave his way toward me through the crowd, or quell my fluttering heart when his arms came around me and he brought his mouth to my ear.
“I missed you.”
“Me too,” I said/shouted, holding him to me a second longer when he started to pull back. He still smelled like the ocean. The smile I gave him was embarrassingly big, but he seemed to like it based on the one he gave me back. His hands glided from my back to my waist, down my arms to my hands, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. My breath caught when his fingers slid into mine, holding my hand the way he did everything, with no hesitation or uncertainty. I probably should have pulled away. I could have softened the rejection by tucking my hair behind my ear or checking my phone or something. I doubt that he would have made a big deal about it. But I didn’t. Being with him that night without being able to ask about Brandon even if I’d wanted to felt like letting air out of a balloon I’d swallowed. That overwhelming constant pressure toknowabated somewhat. It was almost too loud to think, and he felt good. I felt good being with him. Just for this one night, I decided to let the world stay away.
The band, Laughing Gravy, was pretty good. They did a ton of covers from the ’70s, but the arrangements were modern, and a few of the more melancholy songs were murder on my at-the-moment-tender heart. At some point during the set, between songs whose lyrics I’d never remember but whose melodies were indelibly imprinted in my mind, I realized Chase was a guy who could break my heart, and the happy little masochist in my chest only beat harder at the prospect.
Reality intruded enough that I remembered to check the time, and when I could no longer ignore how late it was getting, I rose on my tiptoes to reach Chase’s ear and leaned into his side. I was going to tell him I needed to go, but he slid his arm around my back, bringing me even closer. Our eyes met and I knew he was going to kiss me. Worse, I wanted to let him.
And just like that, the metaphorical balloon I’d swallowed inflated back to twice its size. I stepped back and turned my head. “I have to go soon!”
“What?”
Between the thunderously loud music and my still-mostly-gone voice from my game the day before, I wasn’t surprised that he couldn’t hear me. “Curfew!”
“What?” He shook his head.
I gave up talking and pointed at myself, then the door. That he understood. I led us through the crowds that time, and instead of holding my hand, Chase rested his palm on my lower back. I didn’t know if a guy had ever done that with me before—if he had, I’d never realized how intimate it felt until Chase did it.
The air outside wasn’t much cooler than inside the bar, but it was cleaner and quieter. The pulsating music inside was still audible, but muted enough that I didn’t need to yell for Chase to hear me.
“You okay?” Chase asked.
“Yeah. I just have to get going soon.”
“What time is your curfew?”
I told him. I was actually grateful for the curfew, for once. I needed to get away from Chase and clear my head, refocus.
“We still have time. We could grab ice cream—might help your throat.” He stepped closer and reached for my hand again. “I don’t want to let you go yet.”
I didn’t want to let him go either. The problem was, I knew he wouldn’t feel the same way when he found out who I was.
* * *
We ordered our cones—butter pecan for him and cookie dough for me—and started walking toward an empty bench outside. The ice cream felt amazing on my abused throat, and it wasn’t long before the rasp smoothed out.
“I really needed this,” I said.
“Good?”
“Hmm.” I caught a drip that was running down my thumb. “I don’t eat ice cream enough. My dad is severely lactose intolerant, so we don’t keep any in the house.”
“That’s my cousin too. He can’t even eat pizza without wanting to die the next day.” Chase laughed a little. “You’d think that would stop him, but Brandon still eats the stuff a few times a year.”
Another drop of ice cream trickled down my wrist and I left it there. My stomach bottomed out at more proof. Another connection to the father Brandon and I shared.
