by Amanda Cuff
The sun is already starting to set, so I choose to wait him out on the couch. Needing the comfort, I put on his gigantic hoodie and a mindless reality show that I can lose myself in.
Willow comes home, exhausted, and decides to head straight to bed. So, I get her settled and then go back to the living room.
The hours tick by just about as slowly as time can move.
By the second episode, I give in and call him. He doesn’t answer.
By the third, I’m checking my phone every few minutes like a psychopath.
By the fourth, worry starts to form in the pit of my stomach.
By the fifth, I’m calling Drake.
“Hey, gorgeous. Why are you calling so late? Is everything okay?”
“Not really. Chase hasn’t come home yet.” I drag the words out, as if keeping them in will stop them from being true. “And he isn’t answering his phone either. I assumed he was with you.”
“He isn’t,” Drake replies. “But it’s really not like him to be out this late.”
“I know.” I pause, my mind reeling over where he could be and what he could be doing. Drake’s right, this isn’t like him, but nothing he’s done this past week has been very Chase-like. “I wouldn’t normally worry too much, but things have been pretty rough.”
“How so?” It’s not often that Drake’s tone gets this serious.
“Well, he just hasn’t been very…social.”
“You mean he’s been a dick,” Drake says sharply.
“Yeah, I guess that about sums it up. We haven’t been talking much. Whenever I try to initiate conversation, I get the cold shoulder.”
“He’s been pretty distant at work too, but I didn’t realize it was carrying over to home. Do you think he’s okay?” Drake asks.
I sigh, unsure of what’s appropriate to say to him. I don’t want to betray Chase by talking behind his back, but if anyone would know how to help him, it would be Drake.
“I don’t know.” It makes me feel a little lighter to speak the words out loud. “I’m starting to worry though, mostly for Willow’s sake. He hasn’t been there for her like she needs him to be and I can only do so much. She needs her dad, not me.”
He makes a thoughtful sound in his throat before sighing. “Things are hard for all of us right now, so I’ve just been giving him his space. I didn’t know things had gotten this bad though.”
We’re both quiet for a few beats before Drake speaks again. “He came into work right as I was leaving this afternoon. Want me to go see if he’s still there? Maybe he fell asleep or something.”
Even as he gives me the excuse, I know he doesn’t believe it. There’s no way Chase would have fallen asleep at work. But I try to pretend it’s possible, letting my mind cling to it in place of the worry.
“No, Drake, I can’t ask you to do that. I’m sure he’ll come home soon.” There’s movement on the line, a rustling of fabric like he’s already getting ready to head out the door.
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” I hear a jingle of keys followed by a slamming door a few moments later. “I’ll call you soon, okay? Try not to worry too much. I’m sure everything is fine.”
26
Addison
Everything is not fine. I realize that about thirty minutes after I hang up with Drake, knowing that he should have already arrived at Prescott Enterprises and if Chase was there and okay, one of them probably would have called me. Another forty-five minutes after that, lights are shining into the living room window and I’m breathing a huge sigh of relief.
I grab my phone to shoot Drake a text.
Me: Chase is home. THANK YOU!
Then, I quickly deposit my cell phone on the side table. I war between wanting to pretend I haven’t been worried sick and wanting him to know just how much his being out until almost midnight has freaked me out.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart as I remind myself of the game plan.
Stay calm. Kill him with kindness. Explain your feelings.
But all that flies out the door when I hear the front door slam shut and Chase’s heavy boots pounding against the ground as he stomps into the living room.
“Did you send Drake after me?” he roars.
I’m so taken aback that it takes me a second to process what’s happening. His eyes are hard, accusing, and almost black in anger—and they’re looking directly at me.
“What?” I ask, shaking my head. “I was just worried about you. You weren’t answering your phone and I—”
“Because I didn’t want to talk to you!” His voice is sharp enough to cut and that’s exactly what it feels like he’s doing—cutting me open without a care.
My heart is frantic in my chest as I try to form a rebuttal and that’s when I smell it.
Whiskey.
“Are you drunk?!” I ask, the smell smacking me in the face and causing me to wince. “Did you drive home like this?”
“Fuck no. Drake threw my keys in the fucking parking lot somewhere and had to drive me home. I already told you, Addison, I don’t need another mother.”
“I’m not trying to mother you, Chase. I’m worried about you!”
“I’m fine! Jesus, you act like I’m some kind of monster. All I’ve done is ask for some space and you won’t give it to me.”
“Seeing as how I’ve been sleeping in an empty bed for the past two weeks, I’d say I’ve given you plenty of damn space.”
“Not fucking enough,” he mutters.
We both turn when my phone lights up on the end table, Drake’s name flashing across the screen and letting out his ringtone Sexy Back.
“Oh, if it isn’t your little boyfriend now,” Chase snarks.
“Have you lost your mind? At least he’s been here when I’ve needed him, like tonight. And, apparently, when you’ve needed him too, like tonight.”
“I don’t need any of you,” he snaps.
I rear back as if I’ve been slapped. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You. You’re what’s wrong with me, Addison.” He tugs at his hair and groans so deep that it sounds almost animalistic. “I’m allowed to have feelings. I’m allowed to be sad that my best friend is dead.”
The words are full of venom, filling the empty space around us and hanging there, an unspoken dare.
Even in the turmoil, I feel myself deflate, all the anger inside of me washing away to sadness. “I know you’re hurting, Chase. Just stop pushing me away.”
He ignores my words completely, leaning over and unlacing his boots with a huff. He pulls one off then starts working on the other, swaying the entire time. When he’s almost done, he loses his balance, tipping backward and plopping straight down on his ass. He hits so hard that it seems to rattle him as much as it does me.
I reach out a hand to comfort him before thinking better of it and pulling it back. I can’t handle him shrugging me off again.
“I’m fine,” he grates out. He pulls his legs up slowly, one boot still on his foot, the laces haphazardly undone. He gives it a yank, but his movements are weak, and the boot stays put.
With a sigh, I move forward and kneel before him. “Stop saying you’re fine. You’re so fucking far from fine it isn’t even funny.” I stick my finger under the laces to pull them looser, then tug on the heel of the boot to remove it. When it pops off, it throws him off balance and he falls to his back. He meets my eyes with his own for just a second before closing them.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Sleeping. Go away, Addison.”
“Are you kidding me right now? You can’t just sleep there,” I say.
He only grunts in response. He’s so eerily still that I have to scoot forward and lean my head down in line with his chest to make sure he’s breathing. I’m sure I look like a damn fool down here on my hands and knees, checking to make sure the father of my child—no matter how big of an asshole he’s being right now—is still alive and kicking. His loud snore makes
me jump and now I groan, pulling myself up to stand.
I look down at him, hands on my hips, and sigh. “You’re a mess,” I mutter.
I briefly consider waking him and trying to get him up the stairs, but in the end, it sounds like more hassle than it’s worth. He’s a grown man and he can make his own decisions.
Even if that means spending the night on the living room floor.
27
Chase
I blink my eyes open, immediately reaching out for Addison, just like every other morning.
And just like every other morning, she’s not here.
Because why the hell would she be sleeping on the living room floor?
Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m doing here.
I roll over slowly, feeling every single ache and pain deep in my bones.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m way too old to be getting wasted and passing out on the floor like a damn frat boy. On unsteady legs, I rise. My head spins with an abundance of embarrassment and liquor, my throat dry and scratchy. The residual taste of Jack Daniels coats my tongue, bringing the night before rushing back to me.
Drinking at work until Drake showed up and ripped me to shreds for not being home—where I should have been. But knowing what you should do and actually doing it are two wildly different things.
Then, of course, showing up at the house, drunk off my ass and barely coherent. I don’t remember everything I said to Addison, but flashes of her devastated face roll through my mind.
I’m such a dick.
As much as it pains me, knowing I disappointed her, knowing I hurt her, I push it away—along with everything else. I let the grief wash over me like a storm, clouding my mind from the pain pounding at my entire being.
I want to feel nothing.
I don’t want to feel if Emily can’t.
I don’t want to smile if Emily can’t.
I don’t want to live if Emily can’t.
So, fuck it.
I go upstairs and go back to sleep.
28
Addison
I wake up feeling even worse than the day before. The house is already spotless but my anxiety has me scrambling out of bed and polishing it even further.
Chase isn’t where I left him last night, but I guess I’m kind of thankful for that. I’m not sure I’m ready for another fight this early in the morning.
By seven forty-five, Willow is walking down the stairs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“WHY ARE YOU CLEANING SO EARLY?” she yells, trying to be heard over the loud vacuum cleaner.
I turn it off and walk over to the wall outlet, removing the plug and wrapping it back into place. “Because your grandparents are coming over today.”
“I know,” she says, looking around the room like she’s still trying to make sense of things. “But you just vacuumed yesterday.”
I shrug, rolling the monstrosity over to the stairs so I can take it back up.
“Should you be carrying that up the stairs? I don’t think Dad will like that very much.”
“It’s okay. It’s not very heavy,” I say even though I want to say that Dad doesn’t seem to care about much of anything these days.
I sigh, guilt washing over me at even thinking the words. If I had just lost Olivia a week ago, I’d be pretty messed up too, but I’d like to think I’d keep it together for the child who depended on me. At least, on the outside.
Shaking her head, Willow comes up to me, picking up the vacuum and muttering, “I’ve got it.”
She carries it up the stairs carefully, holding onto the rail and raising it up each step individually. It’s an older model and honestly, it feels like it weighs a ton. A part of me feels like I shouldn’t be letting her carry it, but the other part of me is proud to see her offering to help.
It’s funny how drowning in tragedy can make even the smallest of accomplishments feel like you’ve scaled a mountain.
Still, I follow closely behind, watching her put the machine back into the hallway closet and retreating into her mother’s room without another word. I step up to the door just as it slams in my face. Turning my back, I slide down the door until I’m flat on my butt, my legs stretched out in front of me.
It doesn’t feel right, letting her stay locked in there so much, but she’s obviously hurting. I’ve tried to be understanding and keep her from retreating deeper into herself, but it doesn’t feel like I’ve made much headway. Other than meals—of which she eats very little—and our trips to the cemetery, she spends every moment in her mother’s room.
Chase chooses that moment to come out of his, wearing nothing but a pair of wrinkled sleep pants, and looking like complete shit. Still, my heart skips a beat at the sight of him.
I’ve missed you so much and I’m so damn mad at you battle it out for space in my mind.
My chest burns with a breath I can’t seem to let go of. It bounces around, straining against my lungs until finally bursting out of me. The gasp causes Chase’s alarmed eyes to land on me before moving quickly to the door behind me.
“She okay?” he whispers, his voice raspy and raw.
He’s close enough that I can still smell the whiskey coming off of him. I nod, but stay silent, torn between bursting into tears or ripping him a new one.
But before I can make my decision, he turns around and disappears back into his room.
I sit there for a few more minutes, letting the tears come quietly, feeling the sting of Chase’s rejection as it flows through me. It makes me feel just as lonely as I did growing up with my emotionally-stunted father. Oddly, a part of me misses him, or at least the idea of him. The idea of having a father who cares, one I felt like I could call when my whole world was falling apart and he’d come running to the rescue.
Without dwelling too much on my actions, I get up and walk down the stairs, finding my phone and pressing on my father’s contact info before I can decide better of it. Then, it’s ringing. I immediately start pacing, all the reasons why this is a terrible idea rolling through my mind, but I push them away and focus on keeping my breath steady when he answers.
“Addison,” he says, tone short.
It catches me off guard for just a moment before I realize that my name would have popped up on his caller ID. At least he didn’t hit the eff you button.
“Hi, Dad,” I reply, letting out a shaky breath. “How are you?”
He’s quiet for a moment, then I hear him mutter something to someone else before turning his attention back to me. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I asked how you’re doing,” I reply, my jaw tightening in annoyance.
“Oh. Well, I’m all right. We’ve been pretty busy around here.” Another pause. “Ethan says hello.”
I sigh, suddenly feeling like this call was the worst idea I’ve had in a long time. “I’m good too, Dad, thanks for asking,” I retort. “Hey, listen, I just wanted to let you know that I’m pregnant. It’s a boy. Oh yeah, and I live in Colorado now. You know, in case you care.”
“Pregnant?” he asks. “I wasn’t even aware you got married.”
“I’m not.” And just because I’m upset, I add, “He is, though.”
Sad Addison is an asshole.
The person in the background—who I assume to be Ethan—is louder now. I can’t quite make out all of his words, but I can decipher a tone of urgency in his voice.
“Damn it, Ethan, would you be quiet?” It’s rare for my father to raise his voice, mostly because he can’t be bothered to let anything ruffle his feathers, but his tone is no-nonsense enough that Ethan seems to shut up.
“So, let me get this straight, Addison,” my father says. “You leave Ethan, quit your job, move to Colorado, and get knocked up by a married man.”
I don’t hurry to answer, because yes, I did all of those things, even if he’s dialed it down to make it sound like I’m the cold and callous one.
“Well, I guess congratulations are in order,” he continues.
“I’ll have Sophia send you a present.”
I don’t even dignify him with an answer before hanging up.
Hours later, I’m pounding on Chase’s door, my teeth clenched so tight it feels like they might chip. I try to relax my jaw, redirecting my anger to my fist and banging on the door even harder. Fed up, I pull on the doorknob. It doesn’t budge.
“Chase! I know you can hear me!” I wait a few seconds, but when he doesn’t make a sound, I continue, “Your family will be here in an hour and you need to get ready.”
I pause again but get no response. Giving up, I sigh and drop my forehead to the door. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stop the tears that threaten to ruin my makeup, but they fall anyway, sliding out at the corners and landing on the ground in front of me.
“You’re an asshole,” I say loudly, banging my open palm hard against the door. It hurts, but I welcome the pain. “Don’t bother showing your face tonight. We don’t want to see it.”
I hurry to the bathroom, allowing myself a five-minute breakdown before righting myself and fixing my face.
At six o’clock, I start pacing back and forth in the foyer, knowing that at any minute, Chase’s mom will burst in with her arms full of food.
Seconds after the doorbell announces her arrival, she swings the door open, her sunny smile putting me a little more at ease. Rudy’s arms are loaded up with casserole dishes and crock pots, but his goofy grin is enough to put a small smile onto my face.
Once we’ve carried all the food in from their car, Janice wraps me in a generous hug. I can’t stop the tears from pricking my eyes at the contact, but I turn away before she can see them.
I didn’t realize how lonely I’d been, but just a simple touch has me a blubbering mess all over again.
“Hi, sweetie,” she says. She pulls back, eyeing me with genuine concern. “How are you feeling?”