Of all people.
He hadn’t seen him in years, not really. Social media glimpses didn’t count. Neither did holiday photos his mom insisted on showing him.
But in person?
It had felt immediate. Familiar in a way that ignored time entirely.
And dangerous in a way Chase hadn’t expected.
The elevator dinged.
He stepped into the parking garage, cool air hitting his face and finally clearing his head a little.
Only then did he realize how tightly wound his body still felt.
He unlocked his car and slid into the driver’s seat, shutting the door harder than necessary. The quiet wrapped around him instantly.
For a moment, he just sat there.
Hands on the steering wheel.
Breathing.
His phone lit up in the cupholder.
Three notifications.
All from the same contact. Reason two why Chase knew he needed to delete the apps.
Evan.
You up?
Where’d you disappear to?
Still coming over?
Chase stared at the screen.
Evan was easy. Predictable. No complications, no conversations afterward. The kind of arrangement that worked precisely because it never meant anything.
He’d already been pulling away from it for weeks.
Tonight made that feeling sharper.
His thumb hovered over the screen before he finally typed:
Not tonight.
He hesitated, then added:
Think I’m done doing this.
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
Chase locked the phone before the reply could come through and dropped it back into the cupholder.
He leaned his head against the seat and closed his eyes.
