When Reagan returned to her cubicle, she couldn’t hide the smile on her face. The future looked bright and full of happiness, with the hope of a new partnership to open her bakery, her new relationship with Chase, and a newfound confidence in herself and what she deserved. Reporting Harris’s behavior and quitting her job felt like a momentous step toward a better self, a self that truly believed she was worthy of great things. If that was not a beautiful silver lining to the harassment she had endured, Reagan didn’t know what was. She wanted to text Chase and tell him everything, but made herself hold back. She would be seeing him tonight, when he performed at the pub, and even though she had given her formal resignation there was still some work to do before she left.
Though it was hard, Reagan managed to push aside thoughts of Chase and her excitement about their love and her future as a bakery owner. Still she glanced at the clock often, willing the minutes to go faster. It was time to seize the future she had always wanted.
* * *
In an effort to distract himself from what Reagan was dealing with today, Chase had gone to the gym after texting her. A seven-mile run at a punishing pace had his heart pounding, but it wasn’t enough, so he hit the punching bags for another half hour. Only then, dripping with sweat and feeling like his body had been through the ringer, did Chase stop. His mind still focused back on Reagan, but he was so exhausted all he could think to do was take a shower and then go home to wait for her.
With a towel wrapped around his waist, Chase opened his locker to get dressed just in time to hear his phone vibrate. Eager to see if it was Reagan, he grabbed it and opened the message without checking who had sent it.
Ron: Hi, Chase. Time for my next attempt to get you to give an old man a second of your time. Hope you’re okay. Stay well, kid.
Chase locked his phone and sat down on the bench in the locker room, letting his head hang forward. Every month, the message was much the same, simply a quick check in. Ronald Boone was the only man in Chase’s life who had ever come close to acting as a father figure. Sometimes Chase would answer, so the old man would know he was alive, but most of the time even replying to Ron would bring up memories of forgotten dreams and missed opportunities. Chase knew that Ron wanted to get him back into the music industry, but also that Ron understood why Chase had left and, more importantly, why he kept his distance from everyone associated with his old life.
When the other guys from the band had started playing around with drugs, Chase had resisted at first. Despite his rocky childhood, he had been determined to try and make a name for himself. But over time the temptation proved to be too strong. Drugs, booze, women, and bad decisions were at every after-party, every recording session, every promotional event. What Chase resented more than the drugs themselves, was how things changed between the band members once everyone started using. Instead of the friendship they once had, fighting took over, egos got in the way and eventually, they all knew they were headed for breakup. Chase always wondered if that was the reason Bryant, the lead singer, had overdosed. Maybe it had all been too much for him to handle, so he had chosen another way out.
Lost in his memories, it took Chase a minute to realize his phone had vibrated with another message.
Ron: It’s been a while since you at least gave me the courtesy of knowing you’re alive. Come on, Chase, at least tell me you’re not dead.
Chase smiled ruefully at his phone. Ron had always known just how far he could push the guys. He opened the messaging app and typed out a reply.
Chase: Not dead, Ron.
He paused, fingers hovering over the keypad, debating whether he should say more. In the end, the desire to make the man proud won out.
Chase: Life is pretty fucking good right now. Got a job, got friends, got a spectacular woman by my side. Nothing to complain about.
Ron: Well now, boy, that is good to hear. You keeping clean?
Chase: Of course. Haven’t touched that shit since… Well since B.
Ron: Good. Stay well, Chase. Tell that woman of yours not to take any of your crap.
Chase: Don’t worry. She doesn’t. You take care of yourself, Ron.
Ron: I’ll be texting you next month still.
Chase: Yeah, I know.
He put away his phone and finished getting dressed, thinking back to the early days of Black Star. Before the madness had begun. He and the other guys in the band had been good friends, and talented musicians. There was no question of that. When the band was just starting out, Chase had loved every minute of it. Playing to packed bars, gradually building to bigger venues and bigger crowds. Recording their top selling album, going on tour, all of it had been a total rush.
But when Perry, the bassist, had fallen under the spell of cocaine, there was no stopping the downward spiral of them all. Chase knew that he’d escaped relatively unscathed, having not partaken in the white powder too many times. When Bryant died and Chase decided to leave for good, he hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye to anyone. A message to Ron that simply said he was done was the only contact he cared about. He’d deleted the contact information for his former friends and bandmates, all the record producers and contacts he had in the industry, everyone except for Ron. Somehow Chase never could cut ties with the one man who had been there for him when no one else had.
Chase climbed behind the wheel of his car, but didn’t turn it on. He had an hour before he needed to be at Reagan’s apartment to pick her up to take her to The Lucky Strike. While most of his body and soul was desperate to see her, and feel the peace that only she could bring him, the anxiety over telling her the truth about who he really was, was steadily growing.
Somehow, he had a sinking suspicion that if he didn’t come clean soon, the truth would make its way out. Better if he had control of it.Tonight. I’ll tell her tonight after I perform.He hoped that her love for him, and for his singing, would outweigh any negative feelings she may have about him keeping a secret from her. Maybe seeing Chase, the singer, would help her forgive Chase, the former drug-using drummer.
Chapter 17
Reagan saw Chase pull up from her bedroom window and hurried to grab her purse and shoes. She was eager to see him and tell him everything that had happened with work and with Lucy.
When she pushed open the front door of her building, she let out a little gasp of surprise. Chase stood there, leaning against his car, with his legs crossed in front of him, a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hand and a loving smile on his face.
“Hey, Red, looking good.” He pushed his body off the car and strode over to her. One hand snaked out to pull her head to his as he bent down and kissed her deeply. He handed her the flowers with a cautious look. “These are either congratulatory flowers or I’m sorry flowers. Depends on how your day went.”
Reagan laughed as she breathed in the aroma of the blooms. “I love them, Chase. And they should definitely be congratulatory flowers.” She looked up at Chase with shining eyes. “I quit my job, Harris is getting fired, and Lucy wants to partner with me on the bakery!”
Chase let out a whoop, before picking her up and swinging her around in a circle. She laughed in his arms, loving the easy way that he lifted her. Chase never made her feel that her weight or her body was anything other than a major attraction to him.
