Chasing Casey

by Jane Anthony

  “It’s scary, and it’s hard, but you can do this. I know it, and your gran knew it.”

  Not being able to hold her is killing me slowly. I want to take her in my arms, absorb her pain, and make it better, but I’m stuck here, and she’s there, and it sucks ass. There has to be a better way.

  ***

  The band tonight is on fire. The lead singer of The Blackout belts out the lyrics to “No One Like You” as if he were Klaus Meine himself. It’s impressive, and I’m not that easily impressed.

  Bits pokes his head in from the door, checking Marisa every ten minutes or so. She’s alone behind the bar, and he worries. Frankie D. has yet to find a replacement for Casey. She wasn’t here that long, but The Wreck isn’t the same without her. Even after all these weeks, my eye still travels to the bar expecting to see the neon blue lights shining against her golden hair, and I’m stabbed by a sharp twinge of sadness when I remember she’s not there.

  “Thank you! Good night!”

  The band starts breaking down their equipment as I begin pulling the cords from the amplifiers. The crowd thins, but as usual, a few stragglers hang around, finishing their drinks and waiting to be noticed. The smell of perfume wafts around me, followed by the sound of someone clearing her throat. Here we go.

  Behind me, a cute little brunette sways on her feet. “Hey there,” she slurs. She walks slowly to the stage in front of me, and then slides her ass onto it. She’s hot—very hot—and very drunk. The old me would defile this chick six ways to Sunday, and something tells me that’s exactly what she’s hoping. It’s not going to happen.

  Marisa watches me from across the room, making sure I’m on the up and up. She’s already told me that if I break Casey’s heart while she’s away, she’ll ship my balls down to Texas in a Mason jar. I don’t doubt for a second that she wouldn’t make good on that promise. She’s a crazy bitch.

  “I’ve seen you play the drums here before. You’re really good.”

  “Thanks,” I grumble, shuffling around her as I finish my work. I don’t want to be rude, but I also don’t want to give her any indication that I’m interested.

  The cable in my hand pulls back. I look up and find Drunk Girl’s combat boot on top of it. “Where are you headed after this?” As she twirls one of the white streaks in her hair, I’m immediately reminded of Casey.

  “Home.”

  “You want some company?” Her back arches as she flicks the hair off her shoulders, purposely shoving her rack in my face. Yeah, I notice. Having a girlfriend doesn’t stop me from being a guy, after all, and hers are on full display. Nice and big, rising out of her low cut tank as if she’s a walking advertisement for free motor boating.

  A set of footsteps clacks on the wooden floor behind me, taking Drunk Chick’s attention off me for a split second. “Becky, we’re ready to go. Are you coming or what?”

  Brown eyes lock on mine, as she slips off the stage and saunters my way. “I don’t know,” she says with a pout. “Am I gonna come? Or what?”

  Ignoring her advance, I turn to face both her and her friend before walking away. “Careful getting home, ladies.”

  Marisa sets out a beer as I approach the bar. Bits hovers behind it, secretly sniffing the air around her as she finishes her side work. This guy’s in sad shape. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a shrine devoted to her in his house somewhere. He should just tell her how he feels. What does he have to lose? Bits is a good man, and Marisa could do a lot worse.

  I throw my phone on the bar as I take a seat, trying not to make it obvious that I’m checking it for the hundredth time, but the looks on their faces tell me I’m as transparent as cellophane. The last message I got from Casey was a response to my good morning text. She’s told me before that she keeps her phone in the house during the day because having it on her is too much of a distraction. Still, I miss her angelic voice almost as much as I miss seeing her face.

  “You heard from Casey recently?”

  Marisa squints, staring up into nothing. “I called her the other day, but she and Austin were bathing one of the foals or some shit. I dunno. They’re always busy whenever I call.”

  “Austin?” I feel the crease between my brows deepen, and Marisa’s already pale complexion turns a shade of freckly chalk dust I’ve never quite seen on a human before. “Who’s Austin?”

  A distant memory flies into my head. Something I disregarded at the time, which now sits front and center in my mind. The day she found out about her grandma, she answered the phone expecting him.

  Green eyes flicker toward Bits, who turns away from me, suddenly super interested in collecting glasses from the other end of the bar. “O-oh! He’s the ranch hand. You know, the guy that, like, helps with the horses and forks hay. I don’t know exactly what he does, but he works there.” Marisa’s nervous rambling assures me there’s more than meets the eye on this. Something’s rotten in Jersey.

  “Out with it, Marisa. Is Casey screwing some other guy?”

  “No! No, definitely not!” Her earrings swing along with the violent shake of her head. “What they had is totally over. He only works there now. That’s all.”

  Totally over! When did it start?

  “Okay. I’m heading out. Night guys.” Grabbing my phone off the bar, I keep it in my fist while I decide whether I should call and ask her myself. Something about Marisa’s reaction to this Austin guy doesn’t sit well with me. I make a snap decision and dial her number.

  “Hello?”

  “Who’s Austin?” I blurt out more stern than I intend to.

  “What?” Casey’s groggy voice sounds like she’s still in dreamland.

  I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I’m getting all worked up before knowing the details. That’s been a problem of mine my whole life. “Austin. You have something to tell me?”

  The pause before answering is far too long for my liking. “He’s our ranch hand. Why?”

  “You sleeping with him?”

  Through the phone, I hear fabric rustling and the click of a lamp switch. “Why would you ask me somethin’ like that?”

  “Marisa said what you had is totally over? What exactly did you have? Why am I just hearing about this now?”

  “I told you I was engaged once. You never asked for more information.”

  “Whoa, whoa!” I clip, pacing next to my truck, brimming with testosterone-fueled fire. “You were engaged to this guy?” The only response I get is sniffling. “Tell me you don’t still have feelings for him.”

  “AJ . . .”

  “Well, that’s just perfect, isn’t it?”

  “But it doesn’t change the way I feel about you!”

  Sweat drips off every part of me. My fingers wrap so tightly around the phone, I worry I might crush it in my hand. When I open my mouth, my jaw hurts from clenching it. Hostility has taken me over, turning me into the asshole I try so hard not to be. “But in the meantime, you’re getting cozy on the ranch with someone else.”

  “Nothin’s happened between us. But it’s hard,” she sobs. “I’m here and you’re there and there’s all this history–“

  “Save it. I don’t need you to tell me how hard it is! You think it’s not hard on me? Well, things are about to get real fucking easy for both of us. Go do what you want, because I don’t want anything to do with you.” I hit end and shove the phone in my pocket.

  At this point, I’d rather her just go at me with a baseball bat. The bruises would eventually heal, but this ache in my chest is never going to fade. The pain is heavy, constricting my lungs and making it hard to breathe. Hard to think.

  The voices in my head won’t stop yammering for a second no matter how much I yell at them to stop. It’s Jillian’s voice nagging in my ear.

  You love her. Stop being an asshole.

  She lied to me.

  She didn’t lie, she just omitted one tiny detail. Kind of how you omitted having slept with half the Tri-State Area, you hypocrite.

 
That’s not even close to the same thing.

  Isn’t it? You’re overreacting. Stop with your stubborn male bullshit and go there. Claim what’s yours.

  I shove a knuckle in both my eyes to control the overwhelming burn that arises out of nowhere. My heart hurts. My head hurts. I’m leaned against my truck, willing them both to work together instead of fighting for control. The logical part of my brain is telling me there must be an explanation for why she never told me about this, but the hothead in me wants to fuck the first thing it sees to get even.

  A Mazda peeling through the parking lot makes my decision for me. “Thought you were going home?” Drunk Chick calls through the open window. What was her name? Beth or something. It doesn’t matter. There’s only one thing I need from her, and her name isn’t it.

  Pulling the pack of Reds from my pocket, I bring it to my mouth, and slide a cigarette out with my teeth. The end crackles as I light it and take a huge calming drag. “Heading there now. Where you ladies going?”

  “Wherever you’re going,” Beth or Betsy or whatever her name replies.

  I take another pull of my cig and blow rings of smoke into the night sky. “You live around here?”

  “Not far.”

  “Hold up. I’ll follow you.”

  As I climb into my truck, the same voice in my head begins yelling, telling me this is a bad idea, but I stomp it out just like my cigarette butt. Screw it. I’m too full of blind anger to care right now. I’m here in New Jersey waiting for her, pining for her, carrying my heart in my hands, and she’s over in Texas with someone else.

  I follow the Mazda to a run-down building on the far side of town. When what’s-her-name gets out, I half-wonder if she’s going to rob me. Ghetto is an understatement. There’s a dope-head passed out on the stoop of her complex, and all of the windows have bars on them. The first thing that rolls through my mind is we’re not in Kansas anymore. The second is, I hope my truck doesn’t get stolen and shredded for parts.

  My date for the night (Belinda?) leads me up a disheveled stairwell, past broken doors and cracked walls—and a few crackheads for that matter—to a door with so many locks, I’m worried what she’s hiding inside. Turns out, there’s nothing of value in there. Just a shitty couch, an old box television, and a kitchen table with a broken leg. The whole place smells like spoiled milk and sadness.

  Now that I’m here, I just want to get this over with. I grab her by the waist and smash her against me. The stink of booze and cheap perfume is nauseating. At the bar, she was a hot little number, but here in the crack house of shame, she just looks skanky.

  What am I doing? This isn’t going to make me feel better. It’s only making me feel worse. I can’t just fuck Casey out of my system. My feelings for her are deeper than that. She’s who I want. Not another one-night stand. Casey. My beautiful, homegrown, Texas bombshell. But she broke my heart, and I don’t know how to handle it.

  A sudden attack of conscience pummels me as Bella starts to work my fly. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this. I gotta go.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Casey

  THE SUMMER HEAT is oppressive, even as the sun goes down. It’s too hot to be outside but too tense to be inside. It’s been two weeks since our fight, and Austin hasn’t brought it up again, but its lingering presence makes the air around us heavy whenever he enters a room. Much like he is now.

  The floorboards creak under his weight as he sits next to me on the porch. The smells of soap and clean laundry enter my personal space. “What are ya doing out here?”

  I’ve taken to spending my time in Gran’s chair, watching the fireflies dance in the evening sky. Every day when I’m finished with work, I come out here with a beer, listen to music, and think. AJ hasn’t returned any of my calls. It’s been a week since I’ve heard from him, and I miss him so much my whole body aches.

  “Just enjoyin’ the quiet.”

  At least, I was.

  “Seein’ your face the other month was like waking up from a nightmare, but every mornin’ since, I relive it. I can’t do it again, Casey Jane, so I’m askin’ you point blank. You stickin’ around this time?”

  I shrug as I bring the cold beer to my mouth, wetting my dry lips. Might as well. AJ is the only thing I have to go back to, but a woman can only try so hard before taking the hint. If he doesn’t want me anymore, I have no reason to return.

  “S’pose so.”

  He tips his bottle in the same fashion, following my gaze out into the grassy pasture that stretches out in front of us. “Then I reckon a truce is in order.”

  His warm gaze falls on me, but I continue looking out into nothing and sipping my beer as if I don’t feel it melting the skin off my bones. He holds out his large hand, watching and waiting for me to take it. I do, but he doesn’t shake it, just holds it like it breathes new life back into his hollow shell.

  I sure made a mess of everything. Wrecked it up good. My life, my relationships, all of it doomed to fail from the start. The only thing I have is this ranch, and considering the mountain of paperwork on Gran’s desk, I’m not sure that I’ll have it much longer. She was organized, and I’m lucky in that regard, but she was also behind on everything. She wasn’t charging nearly enough for her boarding services, and the riding lessons dwindled down to practically nothing after I left. Fate really knows how to kick a gal while she’s down.

  “So what now?”

  My head falls back as the remainder of my beer slides down my throat. “Another one of these.” I hand him the empty bottle, and he grins, taking it from my hand before going into the house for another.

  The chirping of crickets, the crooning voice of Dierks Bentley, and the occasional creaking of the rockers are the only sounds heard while Austin and I sit watching the remainder of the sun as it disappears beyond the horizon. The pile of empty bottles on the counter has doubled in size, and my vision swims in front of me. I lost count of how many I’ve had, but I’m pretty sure most of them are mine.

  “You remember how many times you snuck outta this ol’ house to meet me down at the pond?” Austin asks after a while.

  “Sure do. I don’t know if I can call it sneakin’, though. Fairly certain Gran knew all about it.”

  “Shit. Ol’ lady knew everything that went on around here.” His snicker echoes into the half-empty beer bottle near his lips. The moonlight casts shards of gray light onto the porch, highlighting his profile. I watch the way his head tilts back, the way his throat moves. It’s weird how he can be so different yet still be the same old Austin I always knew.

  “We weren’t doin’ wrong. Just swimmin’.”

  Austin’s fist bounces on his knee. “I kissed you for the first time durin’ one of them swims.”

  “You did. I remember.”

  It wasn’t just our first kiss. It was my first kiss. The first of many. The November night had a slight chill in the air. I had snuck out the back door and ran to the pond, excited to find Austin waiting for me. His hair was longer then, his face round, his body slim. A late blooming twenty-one-year-old, adorable in every conceivable way. I had blossomed that summer. Changed from a girl to a young woman, and he finally began to notice.

  “What would you do if I jumped in?” I asked, jutting my chin toward the pond.

  “Well, I guess I’d have to jump in there and save you. But you ain’t gonna jump in.”

  “You don’t think I’ll do it?”

  “I dare ya.”

  Never one to turn down a challenge, I stripped down to my bra and panties and dove in. The cold water prickled my skin. A splash burst in the water above me. I felt his body next to mine, taking me in his arms to pull me to the surface and drag me out. He ripped the blanket off the ground and wrapped it around my shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down my arms, warming them with his touch. “You’re gonna be the death of me, crazy girl.”

  I put my arms around his back, covering both our wet bodies with the blanket. He smiled down at me. Pond water dripped
off his nose and landed on mine. He lifted his hand and wiped it away, letting his knuckle graze down my cheek.

  Hesitancy spun in his eyes. Our five-year age difference, while nothing right now, was huge back then. He was a man, holding a wet, half-naked teenage girl in his arms. “You wanna kiss me, Austin?”

  “More than anythin’, baby girl.” His normally smooth voice was raspy and tense. His grip on me tightened, and the hand on my jaw slid to the nape of my neck to pull me closer.

  The second his lips met mine, a breathless moan left my lungs. They never moved from my mouth, yet I still felt them everywhere. In my mind, they roamed over every bit of my skin, making me his. I was so sure that Austin was my forever. Little did either of us know, forever would only last the next couple of years.

  Standing from the rocker, he offers me his hand. “Walk with me.”

  I slip my hand into his, allowing him to pull me from the chair and off the porch. The world spins, and my body sways. The evening grass is damp beneath my bare toes as we wander through the yard. The smell of hay gives way to the scent of the soggy earth as we near the pond, and the occasional burp of a random bullfrog fights over the constant chirp of crickets. The familiarity of it all astounds me. It’s as if I never left.

  Austin stops to face me and threads our fingers. “I used to sit out by this ol’ pond at night, half expectin’ you to show. I never gave up hope that you’d come back to me.” When his gaze lands on mine, I see it. Relief. Austin’s spent so much time waiting for me to be ready; I don’t know why I thought now would be any different. He’ll always wait for me.

  Between the pond, the night, and Austin’s warm hands in mine, everything makes sense. This is where I belong. The pond is like this Texas town. It seems so small to the outside eye, but only a select few of us know how deep it really goes. My roots run all over these grounds, and embedded within them, now and always, is Austin.