Page 3 of Asystole

I understand wherever this person is headed is far more important than the honeybun I’m racing toward.

An easy-going laugh with a hint of familiarity fills my ears.

“No worries, man. It’s all g—Logan?” Chase’s face breaks into a wide smile as he pulls me in and claps me on the back. “How the hell are you?”

Chase Matthews and I met four years ago on one of the worst nights of my life. His too, if I’m being honest. While we waited for news of our friends, he and I discovered we were both moving to Boston that coming summer, but I knew, even then, I’d never use the number he gave me. Chase would only serve as a reminder of what I’d lost, and I was looking for a clean break. When I run, I run far and fast, severing all ties.

This time, however, it seems no distance or amount of time will bring the healing I need. It’s been four years, and I’m still being suffocated by my unrequited love for my old boss. The stepbrother he chose over me happened to be Chase’s best friend, and even with three degrees of separation or whatever, seeing Chase after all this time still feels like a knife to my chest, and my heart falters from the blow.

“Dr. Matthews,” I say, nodding at his badge. “Congratulations.” The last time we spoke, Chase had just been accepted into medical school.

Looks like he made it through.

Chase’s friendly smile only grows larger.

“Thanks.” He looks at me and rubs a hand across the back of his neck, the lines at the corners of his eyes giving away his fatigue. “Hey, I’m sorry I never reached out,” he says, his shame written clearly on his face. “Classes kicked my ass from day one, and I quickly realized it was going to have to be all or nothing for the next four years.”

“It’s alright,” I say, putting him at ease. “Phones work both ways, and I didn’t use it either.”

An awkward silence descends upon us in the hallway, but Chase doesn’t let it linger long.

“Well, uh, I need to run, but my number’s still the same if you want to grab that beer or something. I matched here for residency, so I’ll be sticking around for another five years. Would be cool to have a friend outside of the same twelve people I see day in and day out. Maybe we can finally squeeze one in during that time frame,” he adds with a laugh.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” I lie.

Get real, a voice immediately says in my brain. You’re never going to take him up on that offer because you don’t want to think about what he reminds you of, you selfish bastard.

I watch Chase’s broad shoulders retreat before he turns right, disappearing from view.

When I finally get home that evening, I eye the pile of laundry spilling from the basket onto the floor of my tiny closet and know that’s first on my to-do list. I’m a neat freak. No matter how tired I am, I can’t relax until everything is in its place. I work seven days on with twelve-hour shifts and then have seven days off. During my on weeks, it would be extremely easy to let my dishes get out of control, allow my laundry to run rampant, and eat nothing but frozen meals and restaurant leftovers. But most days, I’m already teetering on the edge of depression. If I were to let myself live in squalor, I’m afraid I’d enter a place so dark I’d never be able to escape.

Changing into something more comfortable, I get to work tidying up my space.

As soon as my tiny, sparsely furnished box of a condo is gleaming, with the dishwasher humming, the washer running, and the floor vacuumed, I flop onto the threadbare couch and begin mindlessly scrolling through social media posts on my phone until it’s a respectable hour to go to bed, when suddenly, a friend suggestion pops up.

Chase Matthews.

I click on his profile because, apparently, after killing the cat, Curiosity is now coming for me, too.

Chase’s profile picture is him in a rock-climbing harness, cheesing big for the camera as he traps his best friend Hanlon in a headlock.

Chase’s red hair is the deepest shade of crimson I’ve ever seen on a human. His smile is insanely bright against the tan freckles on the bridge of his nose, and I have to admit, he’s oddly attractive, which is not something I ever thought I’d say. I have a type, and Chase Matthews isn’t it. In fact, he couldn’t be further from the scowling, dark-haired, dark-eyed, lean-bodied man who continues to threaten my sanity even after all this time.

Against my better judgment, I continue scrolling through Chase’s pictures when a ping alerts me to a new notification.

Opening it, I groan.

Chase Matthews would like to send you a message.

Begrudgingly, I click Accept.

Chase

You know this app notifies you when people click on your profile, right?

Nope. I did not know that.

Can’t a guy do a little light-hearted stalking without the whole world knowing? Geez.