Page 72 of The Save

Blakely eyed me for a long beat. Then he nodded slowly. “Sure. I’ll jot it down." He pulled his folder from the microphone stand and flipped it open, then pulled a pen from his jacketpocket. I tapped my foot impatiently. When he handed me the paper, I blinked. Two addresses. His and Chase's.

I flashed a smile. “You’ll get the first dozen.” Then I turned and bolted from the stage.

Chapter

Twenty-Five

The engine stutteredon the first try. I gripped the wheel and turned the key again, coaxing the Rabbit into a reluctant cough, then exhaled as it groaned to life. It was going to die at some point, but today was not that day.

I threw it into reverse, fishtailing slightly on the gravel lot behind the North Centre before hopping onto the main road. I didn’t know if Chase would be at his house, and I had no idea if showing up there was going to help or make things worse. But I couldn’t go home knowing that he was potentially dealing with his mom getting out of prison on his own.

Rain spit on my windshield, and my wipers cleared a perfect, streak free path over the glass. That only made the ache in my chest sink deeper. Blakely had given me general directions, and I only had to consult my pocket map of Calgary once before I finally turned onto his street. His place was at the end—small, older, one story with stucco siding. It looked clean and neat with a newly painted door.

The shades were drawn. I parked anyway, then climbed the steps and knocked.

Waited.

Knocked again.

Nothing. No sounds inside, only the chirped alarm from a Bluejay who must’ve had a nest nearby to make that much racket.

I sank down onto the front step, knees drawn up to my chest, the concrete cool through my jeans, and started the glorious pattern of second-guessing myself. I hadn’t talked with Chase since that incredibly hot makeout session in his office. He’d pushed me away, so why would I think he’d want me here?

This connection I felt—this pull. It was crazy, wasn’t it? How well did I know him, really? Nothing about our relationship, if you could call it that, followed the patterns everyone else talked about. We’d never dipped our toes in the pool. It was either me standing on the deck watching or both of us diving into the deep end. We knew too much and too little about each other—the real things and hardly any of the surface level.

I scraped my shoes against the sidewalk. What if . . . What if he’d already left. For good. That thought slammed into me like a ton of bricks.

The season was over, wasn’t it? But would he have left so soon after getting back? Without saying goodbye? Maybe he’d packed up his things, taken another job, and left the second they got home from the airport. Maybe he didn’t want to be here when his mom got out, maybe?—

The lock clicked behind me. I straightened and turned.

The door opened and there he was.

Grey sweatpants. Bare chest. Eyes bloodshot and hair mussed like he hadn’t slept in days. My heart cracked open and rushed to fill the space between us.

I stood up too fast, nearly tripped over my own feet, and every “what if” or “maybe” drained out of me as I wrapped my arms around him.

There were no words. Just a whoosh of air as his hand curled around the back of my head and we breathed into each other.

Chase curled around me, pulling me inside and closing the door. He dragged me past the half wall in his entry and dropped to the couch, spreading me over him as he lay back on the pillows. His legs nestled between mine, and my heart stumbled a few times before syncing with his rhythm.

I rested my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes as he played with my hair. I had no concept of time. It could’ve been ten minutes or an hour before he murmured, “I was there. This morning when she got out.”

I nodded, my cheek still pressed against his collarbone. I didn’t want to say anything to break the flow of his thoughts.

His chest expanded under me. “It wasn’t awful. Wasn’t great.” He let out a slow breath. “She looked older. Tired. She cried when she saw me. Probably didn’t think I’d show up.”

I lifted my hand to his cheek, sliding my fingers until they were on either side of his ear, then brushed my thumb over his jaw. Here he was telling me one of the hardest things I could imagine, and there was no tangled mess behind my ribs. No pressure in my head. His body was like an outlet when I’d been living solely on battery power.

“She’s staying at a halfway house near Brentwood,” Chase continued. “They’ve got a good program. I’ll check in on her. Help her get on her feet.”

I pondered the right words to say, and when I couldn’t find them, went with, “You’re a good son.” It’s what I would want to hear from my dad if he were here. That I’d made him proud. That I was everything he’d hoped I’d be.

Chase was quiet. I just curled my fingers into his side and held him. Eventually, he shifted me to the side so he could look at me. “I got an offer.”

I searched his eyes, trying to discover his news before he said it, searching for excitement or sadness—anything to give me a clue.

“An assistant coaching position. In Vancouver.”

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