by Kacey Shea
“Preferably never,” I mumble under my breath and step to my car, unlocking the door and tossing my bag inside. I could slide in and drive off, leave him standing here. But like the woman who is trying desperately to live a better life, I turn and meet his gaze. Only a few feet of asphalt separate us. “Henry’s Diner. You know where that is?”
His smile grows as if he’s won this round. “I can find it.”
“I’m going to stop for dinner on my way home. If you promise not to be a complete dick, I’ll get a table for two.”
He tips his chin, his gaze on my car. “Not gonna give me a ride?”
No way in hell. A confined space with this man? The one who’s been my downfall? The one who pulls a reaction from my body even when I should hate his guts? I smile sweetly. “I’ll see you there.”
Slamming the door, I engage the locks and start the engine. I gain a little joy at his shocked expression as I back out of my parking space. Only it’s short-lived. What the hell? Did I just agree to have dinner with Chase Matthews? Some fresh start this is.
I expect for Chase to walk into the diner a few minutes after I do. Hell, it’s only a few miles from the community center. With each passing minute I grow more irritable, mostly at myself. Because it feels a little like I’m being stood up. Which is stupid. Because this is not a date. Also, I shouldn’t care.
“Can I take your order or do you need a few more minutes?”
“No. I’m ready.” I’m not waiting on Chase another second. I place my order and suck down a glass of iced tea, scrolling through my phone to fill the time. I almost text Callie and Jill, but something stops me. I don’t want to tell them about Chase. Not about seeing him at AA or the fact he’s volunteering at the community center. Surely if they knew they’d have told me? Of course they would’ve. They’d never let me be ambushed in that way. It makes me wonder if what he said earlier today was true. Has his entire family really disowned him? At some point, I’ll find out from Jill.
“Here you go. Club with no mayo.” The server sets my plate on the table. “Can I getcha anything else? Another tea?”
“Yes, please.”
The bell on the diner’s door jingles as it opens. She and I both turn to look as Chase steps inside.
His chest visibly rises and falls as if he’s out of breath. Sweat glistens his skin, accentuating his taut muscles and the tattoos that trace his arms. He lifts his shirt, gracing us with that trail of hair leading into his waistband as he wipes his face. He drops it and slicks his hair out of where it falls forward on his face.
“Sweet Jesus.” I hear her murmur under her breath as she steps forward to greet him. “Dining in or pick up, sweetheart?”
“Oh, I have someone . . .” He doesn’t quite finish his sentence, finding my gaze instead. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” he says, out of breath.
Did he run here? For a split second I feel guilty for leaving him standing on the curb. Then I remember this is Chase and almost laugh. “I ordered without you.”
“Can I get a water please?” he asks the server, who’s not so covertly checking him out.
“You can have whatever you’d like.”
Ugh. No wonder he walks around with an inflated ego.
He grins. “Just the water for now, thanks.”
She trots off and Chase pulls out the chair across from mine. He glances at me, but then looks away, almost as if he’s nervous. Embarrassed, maybe? I don’t know what game he’s playing, but my protective instincts are on high alert.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” I lift the sandwich to my mouth and bite, taking my time to chew and letting the silence stretch.
He looks over his shoulder, at the door, and then back at me. “I wanted to ask you something.”
I gesture for him to continue and take another bite, refusing to carry this conversation or show too much interest. Even if I am a little curious as to what has him acting this weird.
“Is Charlie a dude or a chick?”
I almost choke on my food. His question completely catches me off-guard. I cough, but it soon turns into a laugh. “That’s why you chased me down the block?”
He has the good sense to appear embarrassed. “No. But I wondered what pronoun I should use since I really couldn’t tell.”
“They/them.”
“Huh?”
I roll my eyes. “Non-binary. Educate yourself—or don’t—but Charlie goes by they/them pronouns.”
“Oh. Shit.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “Sure, I can do that.”
“Here’s y’all’s drinks.” Our server places another tea at the edge of the table, then slides a water in front of Chase. “You ready to order some food?”
“Nah.” Chase waves her off. “I’m good.”
I wonder why he’s not eating.
I wait until she heads back behind the counter. “You aren’t hungry?”
“I’ve got something at my place.” He eyes the other half of my sandwich.
I really do roll my eyes and shove my plate across the table. It’s not like I can finish the entire thing anyway. “Eat.”
“Oh, you don’t have to . . .”
“Chase. Take the damn sandwich and please tell me you didn’t go through all this because you were confused about Charlie’s gender.”
“Thanks.” He takes a bite, then pauses to groan around his food. “This is good.”
I stare him down and lift my brows.
He sets down what’s left of his sandwich and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Okay. So, this AA crap? It really works?”
I try not to prickle at his flippant attitude. “It does if you open yourself to the experience.” Are you even capable of that? I almost add, but think better of it. There were so many years when I denied my drinking was a problem. If it weren’t for the kindness of those who sought help before me, I never would have gotten sober. He doesn’t deserve my judgment. The world delivers enough of that.
“And, like, I’m supposed to have a sponsor or something.” He plays with the end of his napkin, not directly meeting my gaze.
“Yep.”
“Did that work for you?” He lifts his stare and his chocolatey hues appear more open and beautifully broken than I’ve ever seen them. He’s not playing games. This is real.
It almost hurts to hold his gaze, and I want to look away but I don’t. Instead, I lean forward on my elbows and drop my voice so it comes out softer, kinder. “I’d probably be dead without it.”
He drops his gaze to his lap, unease apparent in his stiff shoulders.
“It’s not a quick fix, or an easy road, but a life of sobriety is the only one I can live without a constant hatred for myself. If you do the work it will be the best thing you’ve ever done for yourself, and life.” I almost laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it’s true. “It’s pretty damn joyful when you’re living.”
“And you think . . . maybe . . . I . . .” He clears his throat. “I could do it?”
“Chase.” I wait for his gaze to lift. “You are one of the most . . . the most stubborn and determined people I’ve ever met. If it’s something you want, I am sure you’ll get your way.”
A smirk plays at his lips. “That almost sounds like a real compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Okay.” He nods, his smile growing wider. “So, you’ll do it, then?”
I frown. “Do what?”
“Be my sponsor?”
The question leaves his lips so causally and carefree it takes a moment to process. Once I do a laugh bursts from my lips. “Yeah, okay.” I laugh again. “No.” An almost manic giggle escapes my mouth. “Not gonna happen.”
“Why? What’s so funny?” His brow crinkles as if he’s actually confused.
“Are you serious? That has disaster written all over it.”
“Because you want to sleep with me.”
“What? No!”
“You do.” He leans back in his chair, his cocky swagger in
full force. “You want to fuck me.”
I hate that my thighs press together at his words. How a thrill shoots up my spine at the very idea. I should blanch at the thought, but instead my body prickles with the awareness of his. The last time we were together I was wasted. His body strong, over mine. His hands rough, calloused fingers tracing my skin. God, I wish I could remember how they felt. I swallow hard. “I am not sleeping with you.”
“But you’d like to.” He waggles his brows.
“This is bullshit.” I reach for my bag and unearth my wallet, needing to pay and get out of here as soon as possible.
“Stop.” He laughs. “Don’t leave. I’m just messing with you.” He waits until I settle back into my chair and take a sip of tea. He squints and narrows his gaze. “So, you really don’t want to sleep with me?”
Ugh. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Good.” He smirks, leaning forward and placing his hand on my arm to stop me from reaching for my purse again. He grins as if he’s won, though I don’t know why. At least not until his next words leave his arrogant smiling lips. “Then you won’t have any objection to being my sponsor.”
“I—” I don’t even know how to argue with him.
“It’s settled then.” He shoves to his feet and winks. “See you tomorrow, sponsor.”
“Chase!” I call after him, but he’s already strutting out the door. Irritation boils my blood, along with a good dose of repressed sexual energy. For the second time today I feel completely played. To add insult to injury, he got the last word.
He thinks I’m capable of being an AA sponsor? Ha! Right. I’m a tadpole barely learning to swim. I have no business helping someone else through a process I’ve been at for less than two years. Recovery doesn’t work that way. Also, there’s no way I could be a good sponsor to Chase. Not with our history. Besides, I’ve turned over a new leaf, and guilt doesn’t make me agree to things I don’t want to do. Not anymore.
19
Chase
It fucking sucks to not have a car. I never realized what a privilege and luxury four wheels were until now. My uncle’s beach house is immaculate and nicer than any place I’ve ever lived, but it’s not near the bus route. Tuesday morning, I wake up early and double up on deodorant for my walk into town. I hope I’m not a gross, sweaty mess when I show up at today’s meeting.
Alicia’s not here yet, so I burn time at the coffee and pastry table while waiting for the meeting to start.
“Chase, right?” the older man, Tom, says while I fill a cup with free coffee.
“Yeah, Tom. Good to see you again.”
“Glad you’re back.” He clasps my shoulder, then makes his way to the circle of metal chairs.
I wince at the thought of sitting my ass on the cold, hard surface for the next hour, but winning my way into Alicia’s world is worth it.
Only she never shows.
My discomfort grows with each passing minute because without her here, there’s no real point to my presence. It’s not as if I believe this bullshit. And anyway, I’m beyond redemption. I don’t have a drinking problem. I choose to drink because it helps chase away my other demons. I can stop drinking at any time, it’s just that most days I don’t want to. Besides, I didn’t have a sip yesterday or the day before and look at me. I’m fine.
My knee bounces almost manically, my irritability too expansive to contain within my own body. Fucking hell. Where is she? Anger pulses through my veins at her absence. How pathetic am I, following her around like some lost little boy? She’d probably laugh if she knew why I was here.
“Chase?”
Shit. I wasn’t paying attention. They’re all gonna know I’m a fraud. Do people get kicked out of AA? If not, I might be the first. “Yeah? Sorry.” A dozen pairs of eyes stare back, but they’re filled with a concern and acceptance I don’t deserve. I lift my gaze to Rikki, the group leader. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked if you’d like to share. There’s no pressure. But we’d like to get to know you better. This is a safe space.”
I almost laugh. Safe space? What even is that? Does it really exist? I think about my own family, and how it never felt safe there. Has that skewed my outlook on the entire human population? Is that why I always put up a front? I scrub a hand along my jaw with a rough exhale. “I’ve never had a safe space. If I’m being honest, this all feels like bullshit. Like I don’t belong.” The second the words leave my lips I regret them. This group of kind people doesn’t deserve my bitterness.
Rikki nods, her expression reflective but not at all shocked. “Go on.”
An internal war rages at her invitation. Part of me wants to tell everyone to fuck off, to leave this room and never return. But another piece of myself recognizes that’s the easy out. That fear of feeling too exposed wants to respond with a quick retreat. But I wasn’t trained to respond like a normal person. I walk into fire, not run away. My soul, it’s raging with an inferno, one I don’t know how to fight. But these people, they’ve been through similar battles. Maybe they can’t fix what’s broken; maybe that’s too much to hope for. But maybe not.
After the meeting, I walk over to the community center and clock in early for another day of work.
I pass Alicia in one of the hallways on my way to the supply room. “You weren’t at the meeting today.”
She pauses, glancing around before answering. Her features impassive. “I don’t go every day.”
“Isn’t that something a sponsor should inform her sponsor—ee?”
She smiles as though she wants to say something nasty, but reels in her quick retort. “Anyway, you’re all mine today.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“We’ll see how you feel at five o’clock.”
“So what’s first? Should I get back to the fence project?”
“Not today.” She slaps a putty knife into my hand.
Unease prickles up my spine at her delighted expression, but I refuse to show any sign of distress. “What’s this for?”
“Gum.”
“You show love in twisted ways.”
“There’s a lot of it to scrape off the tables and chairs.” She pins me with an expectant glare. Fuck, she’s serious. “Unless you’d like to quit?”
Ah. I see what she’s doing. Ha! She thinks this crap will send me running? I’m not some spoiled rich prick. Besides, any hope for my future relies on me finishing out my volunteer hours—here—by the end of August. If I don’t do that, I might as well not bother going home again. I’ll do anything to get back in my father’s good graces, get back to my career. Firefighting is everything, all I’ve ever known. Without it I have nothing.
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re gonna have to do better than dried gum to send me running.” I flash her a grin and tip my chin toward the end of the hall. “Where do you want me to start?”
20
Alicia
I don’t know what game Chase is playing, but I don’t trust him. It’s why I assign him the most mundane and grueling tasks. It should give me some sense of control, or at the very least, petty retribution. He doesn’t even argue when I stick him with all the sucky jobs. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he actually enjoys the punishment.
But that’s ridiculous. A former fire captain wouldn’t be so happy to scrape gum, or stain wooden planks, or help our maintenance staff clean. He wouldn’t humble himself to such work, not with good humor and a smile.
Which is why I’m skeptical.
I make him take a breathalyzer test two of the five mornings when he checks in to volunteer at the center. It’s within his agreement and my right; our volunteers must be substance-free and are subject to random testing for alcohol or narcotics. We both know I’m abusing my power. I wouldn’t do this to anyone else, and it’s not as if he appears intoxicated when he shows up for his shift.
I almost feel bad, but then he opens his mouth with some teasing, dumbass remark and any guilt I have is lost. I don’t
give it much thought because he blows clean each time—nothing in his system. Besides, I have my hands full with a bigger problem. My disgruntled teenagers.
“I don’t understand why I’m stuck with three more weeks of dodgeball while Hunter and Bailey get to work on their tans,” one of the girls says, echoing the grievances of her friends. I thought instituting an afternoon wrap up, where the teens come together at the end of their shift to reflect and share, would build community. Instead, it’s encouraged a ton of complaining.
“Your assignments were made before I got here,” I say for about the tenth time this week. “I’m not sure how the previous coordinator matched you all up, but the programs rely on you.”
“But why can’t you switch it up?”
“Yeah, you’re in charge now. Not the dude before.”
I sigh, knowing they’re not gonna let this go. “How do you propose I do that in a fair way? You’ve all made it clear the pool is a top choice, but the sports camps need extra hands.” Though maybe I can talk to the coordinators and ask to lay off the dodgeball.
Hands shoot up and I scan the room before pointing to one of the quieter kids. “Tyler?”
“Yeah, um.” He wipes his hands along the front of his jeans. His gaze doesn’t lift when he speaks, but it warms my heart to hear him talk to the group despite his shyness. “What if we all list our preferences and we rotate? Maybe every other day, or once a week? It would make it interesting to do something different every day, and to meet new people.” At his final words he sneaks a glance at Bailey. His crush is adorable and so obvious, but the poor kid doesn’t have a shot.
She’s beautiful and popular and totally into the jock, Hunter, sitting at her right.
“Okay,” I say, then glance around. “Does that work for everyone? Show of hands if you’re in favor.”