Page 6 of Coming to Grips
Chase drops into Kyle’s chair and props his feet up on the coffee table. Someone knocks on the door just as he takes another bite and his heart sinks. A familiar silhouette is outlined in the frosted glass of the door.Anna.She was bound to come by, despite the fact they’ve been broken up for a month, give or take. He’d tried to make it as amicable as possible, so he’s not surprised. Not that he wants to see her, but at least he doesn’t have her fussing over him while he recovers. She’d nursed him during a bout of the flu once and had wiped him out more than being sick had.
“Chase? You okay in there?”
The sooner he greets her, the sooner he can get rid of her again. He’s at the door in a heartbeat, yanking it open. “Hey, Anna.”
Her startled expression morphs into a brittle smile, and, right this very moment, he can’t remember what he ever saw in her. Her expression is too suspicious, her eyes too blue, her body too soft. She shoves a container of food in his face and pushes into the cabin.
“I know Kyle’s working today, so I brought you lunch,” she says, eying his hair, which he realizes is sticking straight up, and then his shirt.
Her scrutiny raises his hackles. She isn’t supposed to make him feel inadequate and stupid. Not anymore. That’s part of why he broke up with her.
Kyle doesn’t make him feel like that. “Thanks, but I already ate.”
Her gaze sweeps the room and her animosity settles like a thick fog. She rarely came by even when things were good between them, claiming the place stank like a locker room. That always pissed him off since he’s actually a decent housekeeper. His own gaze darts around, but it looks as though Kyle’s been tidying up after himself at least while Chase has been out of commission.
“A sandwich?” she asks, her eyebrows rising when she spots the partially eaten item on the coffee table.
His stomach twists again.
“It doesn’t look very appetizing. Let me heat this up for you.”
“You don’t have to. A sandwich is a legit meal,” he replies, a painful twinge settling in his shoulders. Everything she says seems like an accusation or a recrimination, and, for the life of him, he has no idea why. He’d done everything in his power to make things right between them, but nothing had been right or good enough.
Her stride hitches when she spots the disarray of the kitchen. Kyle’s defense sits poised on Chase’s tongue, but she doesn’t say anything. Good thing because he’s got no reason to hold his tongue these days. She pops the steam vent on the top of the container and sets the food to reheating.
Her hand reaches toward the faucet, and he blurts, “Please don’t.”
A finely sculpted eyebrow arches as she looks at him. “It’ll only take a few minutes. And I’m happy to help. I know we’re not together anymore…but no hard feelings, Chase. Really.”
“Just…don’t.” His fingernails bite into his palms, and he shakes his head. His tone is enough, apparently, because her hand stills mid-reach and drops to the counter. Manicured fingernails drum on the solid surface of the counter top. Icy blue eyes bore into him. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t blame our breakup on Kyle.”
“Why not?”
The two bites of sandwich he’d consumed sit like a hay bale in his stomach, heavy and dry.
Furrows appear on her forehead and the pale blue of her eyes changes from icy to stormy. Never a good sign, but he’s hard pressed to care.
She turns her back to him, twists on the water, and opens the dishwasher. “I don’t mind helping. I know Kyle has to work.” She rinses off the plates he’d already rinsed and loads them up.
“Anna,stop.”
She looks at him over her shoulder and surprise paints her expression. He gets it. He’s never put his foot down with her, thinking that giving in to her was love. That spoiling her was love. How wrong he’d been.
“Look, I’m almost done. Don’t worry about it.” She drops the silverware in the basket, wipes down the counter, and rinses out the sink and then the dishrag. “See, that didn’t take long at all.” She pivots and smiles at him; it’s over bright and fake. He wants to throttle her; he doesn’t smile back.
And then she’s frowning and closing the distance between them. “Look at you—your shirt’s on backwards.”
“It’s fine,” he says and sidesteps her reaching hands.
A sheen of moisture creeps over her eyes, and her hands drop back to her sides. “It’s not fine, it’s—”
“Anna, stop.” It’s all an act. He sees it so clearly now. He’s not sure when it started, but months before he’d broken it off, he’s sure. And there he’d been, wracking his brain, trying to figure out how to fix things. He sees, now, how broken their relationship really was. Nothing could have repaired it.
Her eyes widen and her mouth snaps shut with an audible click. The microwave beeps just then, and she stirs whatever it is and sets the timer for another couple of minutes. It smells...interesting, and he wrinkles his nose trying to identify even one of the ingredients. Her food is usually edible, even if it lacks discernible origins. Not that he’s eating whatever it is.
He rakes a hand through his hair, using the working hand this time and avoiding the fish slap in front of her. He’s got to get her out of here and make it clear he wants no more visits from her. He doesn’t want her fake care. He doesn’t want her bizarre meals. In fact, he doesn’t want anything from her. Not ever again.
