by S. R. Grey
It’s kind of a sad story, and Chase appears disheartened. I suddenly have an idea. I decide when I next go to the ladies room I’ll buy Chase a new red balloon and surprise him with it. Maybe it can be my way to show my boy magic does exist. Not in the balloon, of course, but in his heart and mine. This love we carry for one another feels magical, that’s for certain. And buying Chase a red balloon will be symbolic, something tangible to express my point.
After we share a corn dog, a funnel cake, and a soft drink, Chase and I finally make our way to the bake stand to check up on my cookies. Missy sees us coming and bristles a bit. She and Chase barely make eye contact. I look from one to the other questioningly, but neither says a word. Whatever.
While Chase pretends to be very interested in a pineapple upside-down cake that’s for sale—a type of cake I know for a fact he dislikes—I ask Missy how the snickerdoodles have been selling.
“They’re all gone, Kay. We sold every dozen.”
She gives me a tight, but genuine smile, and I exclaim, “That’s great!”
Chase smiles uneasily and asks me if I’m ready to go. I am, but after all the soda, I really have to run to the ladies’ room first. Both look dismayed when I make this announcement. Nonetheless, I leave Chase with Missy, and hustle down to the facilities.
Good, maybe those two can finally work out whatever silly differences they obviously have with one another. It couldn’t be anything all that important, right?
After I finish up in the ladies’ room, I stop at the stand selling balloons and buy the biggest red one they have. On the way back, I take a path that runs behind the stands so Chase won’t see the balloon I bought him until the last minute. I walk quickly, trying to keep the helium-filled balloon down by my side and out of sight. But, as I approach the bake sale stand, I slow considerably. Only because I hear Chase and Missy’s hushed voices, and it sounds as if they’re arguing.
I creep closer, hidden by the tarp covering the back of the bake sale stand. And that is when I hear Missy hiss, “You don’t have to be so rude to me every time you see me, Chase. I mean, after all, it’s not like we’re strangers. You sure weren’t pushing me away that night at the Anchor Inn when you were making me come…or when I was giving you head.”
What?
“What?” I speak my thought out loud as I come out from behind the stand.
Missy stares at me like a deer caught in headlights. And Chase? Well, guilt is written all over my lying boy’s face. He may not have fucked her, but it would have been nice to know he’s obviously touched Missy Metzger…intimately. And I definitely would have appreciated being told Missy has her hands—and mouth apparently—on my man.
I clench the string wrapped around my fingers and the red balloon jerks to the left and to the right. Chase sees what I have. He knows the balloon is for him, he knows it’s supposed to mean something. So much for magic, I despondently think.
Chase looks guiltier than ever as he closes his eyes and swears.
“Is it true?” I ask my so-busted boyfriend, even though I know the answer.
“It’s true,” he mutters, hanging his head in—I guess—shame.
I shake my head and frown. I just knew this was all too good to last, I can never hold on to anything special.
With that thought in mind, I turn away from the man who’s the best friend I’ve ever had and, more importantly, the love of my life.
I don’t look back to see his reaction as I release the red balloon into the black nighttime sky.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHASE
I watch as the second red carnival-bought balloon in my life disappears into the night sky.
Fucking Missy and her big-fucking mouth. Speaking of which, she’s yapping something right now, an apology.
“Little late for that,” I say as I walk away and go after my girl.
Kay can’t go far, I drove. Sure enough, when I approach I see her standing by my truck with her arms crossed. “Get away from me,” she says when I reach her.
Sweet girl is too kind to pack her words with the kind of venom she’s probably feeling right now, so her words come out more strained than threatening. I resist the urge to smile. Even angry my girl is adorable.
“Kay, it happened before I met you.” I try to brush her hair from her shoulder, but she smacks my hand away. Harder than her usual playful smacks, the claws are definitely out.
“I don’t care when it happened,” she retorts angrily. “You should have told me. I’ve hung out with Missy, sat with her in church, all while having no clue. Dammit, Chase, I even went to the stupid Anchor Inn with her.” Kay flails her hand. “And that’s like the scene of the crime or something. Not knowing she’s had her hands on you makes me look like a fool. I have a right to know that my friend blew my boyfriend.”
When Kay puts it like that I can see her point. I should have told her a long time ago. And I planned to, I just never got around to following through. But, shit, we’re always honest—and we’ve shared our sexual histories—so it was stupid of me to leave out what happened with Missy.
I apologize, since it’s all I can do now.
My girl is still steaming. She’s silent as she reluctantly gets in the truck. On the way back to the house, she makes me tell her exactly what happened that night at the Anchor Inn. I see her cringe and grip the seat like she’d probably grip Missy’s neck if she were in the truck with us right now. “It meant nothing,” I emphatically state.
Sweet girl softens up a tad, she sighs. “It’s just…”
“What?” I ask. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Kay wipes some dust away from the dashboard. “It just bothers me, Chase, that she’s been intimate with you. I know there are a lot of women in your past, but this was recent. And that kind of intimacy just feels like it belongs to us now, like it’s something special, something that’s just ours.”
I put my hand on her knee, and surprisingly she lets me keep it there. “It is, baby girl, it is ours.” I hesitate, gather my words, and try to explain. “What happened between me and Missy wasn’t intimacy. We were just mindlessly fulfilling base needs.” Kay winces and I hurriedly add, “What I’m saying is that it was meaningless. There’s no comparison between the things you and I do and what happened with that girl. I love you, Kay, and the things I do to you—the things I do with you—every single one of them involves my heart. You own me, sweet girl. I told you that before, and it’s true.”
Kay mulls my words over and allows my hand to remain. I see this as a start.
She lets out a puff of air and shakes her head. “Is that it, then?” she asks. “No other women since you’ve been out of prison?”
“Just you, baby.”
Kay huffs. “What about that night, at the Anchor Inn? Anything else I should know?”
I think about the coke and how I wanted to use that night. I need to share this with my girl too. She deserves to know all my bad, including the demons I still battle. So I tell her how very much I craved cocaine when I found out Missy had some in her purse. I admit I wanted a line…or two, and that I came dangerously close to asking Missy for some.
“But you didn’t do it, so that’s good, right?”
Baby girl appears so hopeful. She’s always trying to find the bright side of a situation when it comes to me, no matter how fucked up that situation may be, yet another reason why I need to stay clean.
But my girl needs to know how close I came, so I am truthful. “No, I didn’t use, that’s true. But I wanted to, Kay. I wanted to…like, a lot.”
“What stopped you, then?” she whispers.
I remove my hand from her leg and scrub it down my face. “I thought about how drugs overtook my life before. And the possibility of starting down that path again kept me straight. At least, it did that night.” In an effort to put things in perspective for her, I add, “I can’t promise I’ll always be that strong, Kay. I intend to keep trying, but I may one day falter. You should know t
hat, okay?”
Kay just nods and peers down at the hands she has clasped in her lap.
The rest of the ride is quiet and neither of us says much more. When we reach the farmhouse my girl tells me she’s going to sleep up in her apartment…alone. I expected as much. It will take more time than the short ride from the church for Kay to forgive me for keeping her in the dark about Missy.
That’s okay, I can be patient. I’ll wait forever for my girl if that’s what it takes for her to absolve me of my sin.
The next day I see very little of Kay. She leaves for work before I do, and when I text her, asking what time she wants to meet for lunch, she responds back to go ahead without her, she’s eating in today.
It’s pretty obvious my still-angry girl doesn’t care to see me this afternoon. And who can blame her? I did something stupid that night, but worse, I kept it a secret. Not sharing it with Kay was a mistake I’m now paying for.
When it’s time to leave, I catch up to Kay as she’s settling into her car.
“Hey,” I call out.
She turns her head away and snaps her seatbelt into place.
“Are we not talking now?” I ask, placing my hand on the top of the door so she can’t close it and shut me out completely.
Kay avoids my gaze and stares at the steering wheel. “No, we’re talking.”
I had originally planned on doing something nice for Kay this upcoming weekend—setting up my grandmother’s old record player out on the back porch and finding some classic ballad-type songs, so we could dance under the stars at night. But I’m thinking now that maybe I should move my plan up to tonight. The best thing for me and my girl is to get back to having fun. Even though it’s looking like sweet girl won’t be getting near me anytime soon. I still have to try.
“Why don’t you come over tonight?” I throw out. “We can listen to old records out on the back porch. Maybe dance under the stars?”
Kay glances up and I raise an eyebrow. She sort of scoffs and tries to close her door, but my hand is still holding it open. “Chase…please.” She sounds exasperated.
“Fine,” I breathe out. I move my hand and take a step back.
Kay gives me no answer—not that I deserve one. She just slams the car door and drives away.
A few hours later, darkness has fallen and I am out on my back porch, alone, drinking a cold beer. I lie sprawled across the porch swing, one foot up and the other keeping the creaky swing rocking. Music plays from the old record player I did indeed drag out to the back porch. The hope is to lure Kay over from her apartment, and I am thinking this loud Led Zeppelin song just may do the trick.
Jimmy Page is jamming on his guitar as I glance over at the apartment above the garage. Kay is definitely home, the lights inside burn brightly. I take a swig from the bottle. Mad-at-me girl surely hears this music. Any louder and it’s sure to be heard all the way down at the church. Well, that may be an exaggeration, but still.
Damn, my hope that Kay would change her mind and join me is diminishing. I finish my beer, sigh, and slide the empty bottle under the swing. Sitting upright I begin to sort through the pile of old albums I brought out with the record player. I’m in the mood for something melodic, something that better fits how I am feeling.
At last I find what I want, a great Motown tune I remember hearing my grandmother play often. Maybe this was her album, not Dad’s, I consider, album in hand. In any case, I slide vinyl from the cover and swap out Led Zeppelin for some Otis Redding.
The opening chords of “My Lover’s Prayer” fill the air. I remain at the turntable, where I’m standing. I close my eyes and listen to the opening verse. As I do, I hear someone say my name. I spin around and discover Kay has made her way over, after all.
I can’t suppress my smile, but I don’t utter a word. I just go down the wooden steps and hold out my hand to the beautiful woman I love so much.
Kay slips her hand in mine and I tentatively draw her near. I try to assess her expression, but have no luck figuring much of anything out. My girl’s face gives nothing away. “Am I forgiven?” I venture.
She bites her lip. “Yeah, you’re forgiven.” She touches her forehead to my chest.
My arms instinctively wrap around her, but I’m careful to hold her like she’s made of eggshells. Kay has come to me, willing to give me another chance. I sure don’t want to fuck it up by overreacting.
Otis croons out the next verse, and I ask Kay if she’d like to dance. Sweet girl nods and places her hands at my shoulders. We begin to move slowly, just kind of easy swaying. My girl tenses at first, but by the middle of the song she’s relaxed into me.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I whisper into her hair. “It kills me to see you hurting, to know I disappointed you. I should have come clean with you a long time ago.”
It’s all true, but I don’t add that I just knew my ass would do something stupid like what I did. Hell, we’re only a little bit into this new relationship—this change from friendship to love—and already my troubled past is causing us grief. My omission of fact was as bad as lying, I realize that now.
I start to say more—I’ll fucking grovel if I have to—but Kay shushes me. “Let’s not talk about it anymore,” she says, leaning back just far enough so our eyes can meet. “You’re forgiven, Chase. Just dance with me, okay?”
So, I do. I wrap my arms tightly around my girl, no more eggshell-careful hold. “I love you,” I tell her, pressing our bodies close as the song continues.
We move and sway, move and sway. At one point, I spin her out, and on the return, I dip her down low. Kay giggles and tilts her head back. I lower my face to hers, my lips touching her mouth, carefully, cautiously, asking for permission.
My girl grabs my hair in her little grasp, pulls me as close as possible, and smashes her lips to mine.
Permission granted.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
KAY
I forgive Chase for his lie, his omission of fact, whatever. It doesn’t matter. Like he said, what happened with Missy occurred before I even met him. And I already know Chase is no saint. He’s trouble, just like he warned that day by the lockers.
But as we dip and sway under the starry sky, slow dancing to old Motown music, I realize keeping my own terrible secret for much longer will have worse repercussions. It will undoubtedly do more damage to this relationship than one stupid, kept-from-me blow job.
So when Chase spins and dips me, and goes in for the kiss, I grab hold of his hair and smash my lips to his like he’s holding the air I need to breathe. Sometimes, metaphorically speaking, I think he may be. Chase has brought me to life and given me reason. He sustains me, which is why the next words out of my mouth take every ounce of strength and courage I can muster.
The kiss tapers, and, as we right ourselves, I hurriedly say, “We have to talk.”
The song ends and my concerned boy steps back, but his hands remain on my waist. It reminds me of the day I wrecked into him, the first time this man ever touched me, the beginning.
“I have to tell you what I haven’t been able to, Chase. You deserve to know the truth of what happened the last night Sarah was alive. It’s killing me to keep it from you, to keep it bottled up inside.”
Chase starts to say something, but I put my hand up in the space between us. “I know,” I rasp, “I know you said it doesn’t matter, but it does.” I take a ragged breath. “If anything, just look at the grief one small secret caused. And this secret, Chase, this secret I’m keeping is so much bigger—” A choked sob escapes me, interrupting my speech.
My boy draws me back into his strong arms and tries to soothe me. “Hey, hey, sweet girl, it’s okay.” I feel him kiss the top of my head. “There’s no rush. If you really need to tell me, that’s fine, but it doesn’t have to be tonight.”
I pull back. “Yes, it does. I have to get this out.” I pause, and then whisper, “I just don’t know if I physically can.”
Chase presses his lips together and w
atches me for a beat. Then, he leads me up the porch steps and over to the swing. The music has long ended, but the turntable still spins, the needle playing nothing but static. Chase stops and shuts the record player off completely, and then sits down next to me on the swing.
I know I probably look like I’m close to losing it, and I really kind of am. My hands twist together in my lap, and I suck in a few uneven gasps of air. I sense Chase is about to tell me again that whatever horrible secret I am harboring, there is no obligation to share it right now, but I shake my head before he can begin speaking.
“Don’t,” I choke out. “Just let me do this.”
I snatch up his hand and start stroking his fingers to calm myself. Just this simple physical contact with Chase helps steady me.
“You need to know the truth, Chase, the real story.” This gorgeous man, always so supportive, and infinitely patient, nods slowly and waits for me to begin.
I face Chase Gartner. The man who has a tattoo that reads: As I stand before you, judge me not. But on this night I am the one who plans to hold a life up—my life—for him to judge. I am the one who intends to spread my sins before him. And though he says he never would, there’s no way he won’t judge, or have an opinion leaning one way or the other. Will Chase see me as guilty of neglect? Or will he view what happened to my sister as truly just an accident? I steel myself to accept his response, be it good or bad.
And then I get started. Or, more accurately stated, I try to get started. But, like before, every time—every damn time I attempt to get my words out they catch in my throat. This secret lies deep, buried under years of shame, guilt, and grief. And I can’t seem to find the tools I need to dig it out.
So, I start to cry.
“Why can’t I tell you?” I sob angrily. My ire is not directed at Chase, but at myself and this inability to come clean.