Hope had expected someone else to open the door—a manager, a groupie, a chauffeur, anyone—but not him. She had been in the initial phases of bracing herself for seeing him again, when suddenly he was there in front of her. She was unprepared.
She eyed him. He hadn’t changed much, except for his hair. When they were younger, it had been about the same shade of brown hers was. Now, someone, a manager or promoter, perhaps, had convinced him to dye his hair blond, and he wore it longer than he had in high school, just to his collar, and long on top. The clothes he wore now were different, too. He seemed to have traded in his t-shirts and shorts for black jeans and an expensive-looking, scarlet-colored, button-down shirt. But when Hope peered into his eyes, she was flooded with memories of past times, and a warm feeling spread over her, both welcome and uncomfortable at the same time.
She took in her surroundings, resisting the urge to run across the wide, circular room and peer out the windows covering the far wall where the light streamed in across the lush carpeting. Directly in front of them was a sunk-in area with two large, semicircular couches with an ornate, round table between them. To the left was a wet bar with funky v-shaped stools, which looked somehow top-heavy, as if they would tip over at any moment. To the right was a big screen, plasma TV surrounded by comfortable seats, which had attached cup holders like in a movie theater.
“Wow, Chase! This is great!” She turned back to him. “You really have made something of yourself, haven’t you?”
He grinned. “I’ve done all right, I guess.”
“Done all right?” she exclaimed in surprise. “You’ve had six songs in the top ten in the past two years, and your first album went platinum in less than three months. I’d say you’ve done pretty damn good!” She laughed.
The sound of her voice was intoxicating, like a heady perfume, and he recalled now how she would occasionally insert a curse word into her speech just to catch him off guard and make him laugh.
“You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Oh yes, I have,” she said quickly, unable to keep the edge out of her voice. Hope looked down, moving her foot back and forth across the carpeting, watching as the color of the nap changed with each sweep, her hands clasped behind her back. I’m here for a story, that’s it, she reminded herself. She moved over to the window and gazed out over Chicago. Suddenly, she swayed forward and placed her hand on the glass to steady herself.
“Still afraid of heights, huh?”
Hope hadn’t realized he had followed her. She nodded mutely, surprised he had remembered something about her she had forgotten herself. Unable to resist the temptation, she turned to gaze at him, the pain engulfing her with a suddenness that was frightening. She didn’t want to remember or be reminded that he knew these things about her.
Chase stood beside her silently. When she had been looking out over the city, he had been peering at her, trying to read her. Now, as she turned toward him, he caught a glimpse of anguish in her eyes, but like a wave washing over the beach, she put her guard back up, something she must have learned how to do since he had known her last.
Thinking reaching for something concrete would help to stabilize her, she pulled a notebook out of an inner pocket of her jacket. The ordinariness of the gesture gave her a comfort she could hold on to. “Well,” she said, in as businesslike a tone as she could muster, her voice starting out small but gaining strength, “should we get started?”
He continued to study her for a minute in a way that was unnerving, but then he stood back, waving an arm and dipping his head slightly so she could pass to the sofa. He removed his guitar, balancing it so it leaned against the arm of the couch. They sat down opposite each other, the table a solid, reassuring barrier between them. He leaned back, stretching his arms over the back of the couch in what appeared to be a rather relaxed, almost smug, position. Hope tapped her pen on the top of her notebook.
“Okay, I read your bio this morning. Please correct me if I have any of this information wrong.” She opened her spiral, pretending she had notes written there. “You have a home in L.A., but you’re on the road a lot. You’re not married.” She glanced up and he nodded impassively. “You…don’t have any children,” she added, a hint of sharpness seeping in. Again he nodded, and she popped off the couch like a jack-in-the-box and moved to the window.
Chase tried to gauge her strange reaction. What was going on inside that pretty head of hers? There was a time when he knew her every emotion, but ever since prom night, she had become a mystery to him. She stood for a minute—her legs spread apart, her hands crisscrossed behind her back—still holding the spiral and pen, her head bent. He stood and moved to stand next to her. He wanted to be angry with her, but the vulnerability he sensed in Hope made his own pain distant. He still felt the need to protect her from…what? She raised her head to stare out the window, the sunshine forcing her to squint a little, although he knew she was seeing nothing.
She sighed. “I’m sorry, Chase,” she said softly. “This is just…strange.” She lifted her face to peer into his eyes for a moment.
“I know.” He touched her shoulder, and for a fleeting instant, he thought she might just slip into his arms. They stood unmoving for several seconds, like a pair of statues, until a knock at the door shattered the spell.
“That’s probably my manager,” Chase explained, crossing to open it. Hal bustled in with his briefcase.
“Hope, this is Hal Westbrook.”
Hope stepped forward and reached out to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Westbrook, and thank you for allowing me to tag along with Chase.”
“Ms. Creswell—”
“Please, call me Hope.”
“Nice to meet you, Hope.” He sat down on the couch and stretched out to take the same position Chase had taken earlier, with his arms extended along the back of the couch. “So, you two know each other from…?”
Chase and Hope exchanged a look. Chase answered for them both. “We went to school together in Lincoln.”
“You did? Well you probably have more of a scoop on Chase than I do.” Again the pair looked at each other. Little by little, smiles spread over their faces.
Oh, God, Chase thought, that incredible, wavering little smile that makes me crazy.
“So, did you know each other in grade school?”
“We met when we were twelve,” Chase answered without hesitation.
Hope nodded, seeming pleased he had remembered.
“And you were together all the way through high school?”
Their smiles slowly faded. “Until Hope moved away.” Chase’s voice was uncharacteristically icy.
His eyes flew to Hope’s face. There was a flash of something in her eyes…hurt? Anger? But just as quickly as it had come, it went away, as if she were closing the safe door on her emotions, spinning the combination to keep them locked up for good. It was apparent to him she was determined to be professional.
“I moved to Chicago with my mom after college.”
Chase turned his back on them and strode over to the wet bar. While she was talking, he clinked ice noisily into a glass and filled it with water. He stayed behind the bar, drinking his water and staring at them. “I got a job at The Chicago Globe News in the mail room, hoping to eventually become a reporter. I’ve been reporting now for about three years.”
“I see,” Hal responded, nodding at the camera around her neck. “And you take your own photos?”
“Oh,” she said, touching her camera, “yes, I do. It’s like a second passion. Of course, I will get your approval, and Chase’s, before I print any photos.”
Hal nodded. “Well,” he said, staring at Chase and rising from the couch, “are you ready to go down to the studio, Chase?” Hope stood as well.
Chase nodded, setting his glass down on the counter roughly. “I’ll get my guitar case.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The trio left from the hotel in a limousine, Hope facing the back, both men sitting opposite he
r. Chase stared out the window, his arms crossed in front of him, not saying a word.
For her part, Hope seemed extremely pleasant, if maybe a little forced. Hal talked to her as she took notes. “Today we’re going to shoot some video of Chase dancing with a young lady named Jennifer Bogar, a model. The video is for a song called, ‘In Your Eyes.’ Have you heard it?”
Hope nodded. She thought it was one of the most beautiful rock ballads she had ever heard, and wondered who Chase had written it for.
“We usually take a whole lot of video, then come back to the studio and piece it together with the music.” Hal went into great detail, explaining the process to Hope, who listened attentively, jotting down notes from time to time and asking an occasional question. As buildings flew by outside his window, Chase tuned out their voices, recalling some voices from the past.
It was their first date. Hope was laughing. “Okay, how do I do this?”
“I still can’t believe you’ve never played miniature golf before,” he said, feigning exasperation. He came around behind her to demonstrate. “You grip the club like this. Good.” Her hair smelled sexy. They both knew he didn’t need to get this close, but it was all part of the dance. “Use that notch on the club’s head to line up your shot, and hit it gently.” Chase spoke into Hope’s ear, his lips inches away, longing to kiss her there. “Now you try,” he murmured, releasing her arms.
Chase stood off to the side as she practiced the way he had shown her, concentrating with great effort. Hope pulled the club back and brought it swiftly down, rocketing the ball into the side boards with a bang. It ricocheted wildly off the course.
“Holy shit!” Chase hot-stepped out of the way. “You could have killed me!”
She laughed, becoming nearly hysterical. “I’m s-sorry, Chase.” She put a hand to her mouth to suppress giggles.
As Chase passed her, he muttered loud enough to hear, “Maybe you should just stick to table tennis.” She raised the club to threaten him with it, but Chase grabbed it out of her hands. “Ah-ah-ah, it says right there on the rule board”—he gestured with the stolen club—“‘no striking other players with your club.’”
“It does not,” Hope said, reading it despite herself.
He chuckled, eyeing the angle of his lie. “You’re so gullible.” He handed back her club and lined up his putter. Just as he began to move his hands forward, Hope elbowed him, sending his shot off target. “Hey, you!” he shouted as she took off running. He chased Hope, catching up and grabbing her around the waist, both of them laughing.
Hope improved with each shot, and by the time they got to the eighth hole, she was giving him a run for his money. On a difficult seventeenth hole, Hope made a hole in one. She jumped up and down with glee.
Chase dropped his putter on the ground, grabbing her. “You did it! You did it!” He kissed her cheek happily, proud of his little protégé.
They ate pizza in the clubhouse, reenacting the miraculous hole-in-one. When they were finished, Chase asked her, “Why don’t we go back to my house? We can walk down to the pond and dip our feet in the water.”
“No swimming?” she asked tentatively.
“No swimming,” he promised, crossing his heart.
“Sounds good.”
The night had fallen by the time they got to the dock. They slipped shoes off and sat down on the edge, swirling their feet in little circles as they talked about every subject under the sun. During a pause, Chase said, “Hope, I had a lot of fun tonight.”
She beamed. “So did I.”
Their feet stilled in the water. “I’ve been wanting…to kiss you all night,” he whispered, staring unflinchingly into her eyes. He leaned closer, bringing his lips slowly to hers. As he kissed her, something sweetly stirred within him, a tingling need for more of her. They parted unhurriedly, and she smiled at him. Hope reached up, placing her hand behind his neck. Her full lips searched for his this time with growing desire. She pulled her feet out of the water and swung her legs up over his lap, dripping water on him, speckling his shorts with dark spots, but he was oblivious. Every movement she made filled him with wonder. He pulled her closer, his hands skimming over shoulder blades as another wave of passion thrilled him.
Hope explored the muscles of his back, discovering bare skin at the waistline and moving her hands underneath his shirt. Chase sought and touched her soft flesh at last, along her side, feeling the indention of her waist. He continued downward, over her shorts to feel the curve of her hips, finally ending at her smooth legs. He let out a moan. “Hope,” he said between kisses, “we need to stop.”
She groaned her displeasure, but pulled away, laying her head on his chest, their heartbeats slowly returning to near-normal. They sat for several minutes without saying a word, until Chase checked his watch. “I should walk you home.” She slid her feet around, and they put their shoes back on silently and stood up. He reached for her hands, and they stood in the moonlight at the end of the dock, wishing for time to stand still.
Chase had plenty of attractive girls crank up his temperature, but with Hope he felt like he was always on the edge of losing control all together, and it wasn’t entirely out of lust. Something inside told him this was so much more than that. Yes, the body responded, but so did the heart. He desired Hope because of her open nature; she reminded him of a flower unfurling its beautiful and delicate petals. She could playfully meet him head on, but at the same time there was a vulnerability about her. It made him want to scoop her up and ride off to some castle where he could simply love her for the rest of his life. He knew the honesty and candidness he adored made her easy prey for those less scrupulous than he, and Chase wanted to protect that, to keep it pure before the world destroyed it.
Chase bent down again to kiss her, and eventually they turned to stroll hand in hand through the woods.
When they got to the edge of the tree line, Chase stopped abruptly and turned to Hope. She slid her hands around his waist, seeming perfectly at ease, stepping close enough for him to feel their bodies pressed together. He brought a hand up and smoothed the hair away from Hope’s face, kissing her again, unable to get his fill of tasting her. A burning heat surged inside Chase and he spun Hope around, backing her up against a tree, his hands moving over neck and shoulders where her sleeveless blouse allowed him to again touch skin. He brought his mouth to her neck.
Hope clutched at his arms, a sigh escaping from her. “Oh, Chase….” He moved his head to gaze at her. Hope slowly opened her eyes. They burned like the sparks drifting lazily up from a fire, filling him with the same kind of light and warmth. Chase knew then he had touched a sacred part of her, the part that needed him to make her happy.
He laughed in his throat. “You are amazing!” He squeezed her tightly to himself, whispering in her ear, “I know it’s foolish to say this right now, but…I love you. I really do. I think I always have.”
She tightened her hands around his neck and they stood there, just holding each other for a minute. Then, Hope leaned back, taking his face in her hands so she could look deep into his eyes. “I love you, too, Chase Hatton.”
Even all these years later, Chase could remember exactly how those words had sounded, how each syllable was pronounced. His eyes shifted from the window to consider her. She was right here with him, after so much time, their knees practically touching, yet a world separated them. She glanced at him, making eye contact and not looking away. Why, Hope? Why did you leave me? he shouted in his head. Her eyes mirrored his own, appearing for an instant empty and lost, trying to express something to him, but what, he could not fathom. Seemingly unable to bear it any longer, she dropped her eyes, staring at the toes of her shoes. Swallowing his heartache, he turned to peer moodily out the window again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hope tried to pay attention to what Hal Westbrook was saying while at the same time sneaking peeks at Chase in the back of the limo. Chase was leaning back, his elbow resting on the window ledge, hand curled
into a fist, which rested against his lips. She wondered what he was thinking about. Various emotions seemed to swirl through his eyes, and then, without warning, he turned and looked directly at her. Hope’s heart caught in her throat. My God! How is it he can still move me so? She found it hard to breathe and had to examine her feet to steady herself.
Hope knew it wasn’t just Chase’s good looks that had her heart aflutter. Somehow, even after what he had done, she couldn’t shake the original image she had of him. It was like when you learn someone’s name wrong. When you find out later it’s not their name, your tongue still goes to the first name, no matter how many times you try to relearn it. She thought she knew Chase, but she had been mistaken. Yet, here she was, still unable to rid herself of the feeling she got whenever they were together.
When they had first started dating, Chase had been the one boy she had felt at ease with. He didn’t pressure her to be anyone she wasn’t; he simply appreciated her for who she was. She felt safe with him, protected, cared for…until prom night, when everything she knew about Chase turned out to be false.
She had cried for months afterward, especially when she heard their song, “My Girl” by The Temptations. It had been on the soundtrack of the movie The Big Chill, the first movie they had seen together. She had come to loathe the song. After finishing college and moving to Chicago to work for the newspaper, Hope had found herself driving home from work, thinking of picking up the phone to call Chase and tell him about her day. Or, she would get tickled about something and think, Chase would think this is hysterical, and not be able to think of anybody else who would understand the humor in it. There were times, too, she would simply feel sad about something, and be in need of the warm feeling he always provided just by walking into the room. And then there were the times when Hope wondered how she was ever going to make it through another day without him.
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