Page 61 of Asystole

“Aren’t you guys freezing?” she asks.

Oddly, I totally forgot that it’s January first in Boston since I’m currently sweating through my clothes.

“Not really,” Chase says. “Could you give us a second to finish our conversation?” he asks politely. “And then we’ll be in.”

“Oh, sure, yeah,” Sarah stammers, backing up toward the door. “But happy New Year.”

“You too,” Chase answers while I stay silent, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to say once she goes inside.

As soon as the front door clicks shut, I drop my face into my hands.

“Jesus Christ, Chase. I’m so sorry.”

“Relax,” he says with a hint of a bite to his words, making it impossible to do as he says. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to.” He pauses, then adds, “That’s totally fucked up though, right?”

The door opens again, and Jackson appears this time.

It’s clear the rest of this conversation isn’t going to happen out here, so we go inside to say our goodbyes and grab our coats.

By the time we get back in my truck to head home, my head is a raging mess.

The ride home is the perfect time to talk. No one to overhear us. We have total privacy. It’s even dark outside, which gives the illusion of being hidden.

But no words are spoken.

We should’ve talked that night.

I never should have allowed Chase to go to bed without hashing out our shit first, or at least apologizing to him again, or making myself vulnerable and telling him why I gave in.

But I didn’t, and now, two weeks have gone by, and we’ve barely spoken a word to each other.

Part of that is due to the fact that I’m working nights, so I’m asleep for the majority of the day. I know Chase is still at the hospital when I get there, but we don’t cross paths, and he doesn’t seek me out.

I want to text, but I’m not even sure what to say at this point.

I’ve been all over the place about it.

Pissed because he was full of flirtatious innuendos and requests that ended with him pressed against my body. Sad because I miss his easy laughter and I hate the tension in the condo. Confused because despite everything, I still find myself taking comfort in the scent of his laundry and in making him a plate of leftovers so there’s something for him to eat when he gets home from a long shift.

We’re trapped somewhere between friends, roommates, and strangers, and I fucking hate it here.

It’s five p.m., and I’m on the couch wolfing down a bite to eat, researching the Coast Guard Auxiliary Chase mentioned to me several weeks ago, before I have to head to the hospital, when the front door swings open and Chase walks in.

“Oh, hey. I didn’t expect you to be home this early,” I tell Chase in as bright a tone as I can muster.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect to get home this early,” he replies, dropping his bag on the tiny barstool like usual. With his back to me, he rifles through the mail. “Is there any chance you’re free on Sunday and could help me move the last of my stuff out of Jackson’s apartment?” he asks.

“Chase, you’ve been living here long enough to know I never have plans outside of work,” I tease. He gives me an awkward smile, and I finally just ask the question I’m dying to know the answer to. “Are you even sure you still want to do this?”

“Do what?” he asks. The way his eyes shift back to the empty kitchen tells me he knows what I mean, but I humor him anyway.

“Move in together.”

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug.

“Yeah, of course. Why?”

“Why? Maybe because you haven’t looked me in the eye once since New Year’s. I don’t want to walk on eggshells in my own house because you’re afraid I’m going to get the wrong idea and maul you again.”