Page 44 of Coming to Grips
Chapter Fifteen
Chase is nervous as hell. His dinner sits like a hay bale in his gut. The desire to bounce his leg during the drive is huge, but he doesn’t want to give the game away, wants everything to be a surprise, so he has to act natural. Well, as natural as it’s possible to act right now.
The dance hall is crowded as usual. It almost doesn’t matter what night of the week it is. Since the ranch is a seven-day-a-week operation, one seventh of its employees, give or take, are off on any given day. But today is Friday. It’s still early, though, so the crowd will only grow in the next couple of hours. The band is just setting up. Music blares from the jukebox for the time being.
“I see Shorty,” Kyle says, out of common courtesy, nothing more. His voice is flat, his words clipped. “I’m going to see if he wants a rematch.”
Chase nods. “I’ll grab us some beers.”
Chase surveys the crowd on his way to the bar. He doesn’t see Anna as of yet. She’s bound to show up though. He has no desire to face her, but she needs to hear his words if at all possible. She’ll be able to say “I told you so.” But more importantly she’ll know for good and all that their relationship is over.
“Two Shiner Bocks,” Chase says to Alex. He trades bills for bottles and joins Kyle at the pool tables.
The place fills a little more and Anna arrives, although, thankfully, she doesn’t see him. He’ll be just as happy to stay out of her crosshairs for the foreseeable future.
Chase hasn’t seen or spoken to her since his meltdown. He doesn’t particularly want to see her now. Her reaction to his apology and announcement is the one he least wants or cares about. He sighs and resists the urge to pick the label off of his beer and jiggle his leg.
Chase’s tired of the chasm between him and Kyle, and he’s tired of waiting for the big fix. If an opportunity doesn’t present itself soon, he might go stark raving mad.
The band has tuned their instruments and they’re into their second song when Kyle and Shorty finish their game, Kyle walking away the winner for a change with an extra twenty in his pocket.
“I gotta take a leak,” says Kyle.
Chase nods and his stomach flips. The current song is well over halfway finished. No time like the present, he thinks, with a deep breath.
As soon as Kyle is out of sight, Chase hurries over to the stage. The song is winding to a close and he waits for it to end. He’s already talked to the lead singer/guitar player. They’re expecting the interruption at some point. The sooner, the better in Chase’s mind.
Marty offers Chase a nod when he sees him hovering at the bottom of the stairs to the stage.
Chase’s heart pounds against his ribcage and the beer he’s just consumed threatens to foam over. He swallows, takes a breath. He can do this. Has to do this. No matter how it turns out.
The final note hangs in the air for a long moment and then fades. The dancers clap and some of them move off the dance floor.
“Hey, folks, if I could have your attention?”
It seems like the whole crowd quiets down, having expected another song and not an announcement, and turns its attention to Marty.
Chase wipes his hands down his thighs to remove the sudden moisture.
“I have a young man here who’d like to say a few words. Chase?”
Chase steps onto the stage and accepts the proffered mic. He scans the crowd and notes Anna moving forward through the bodies. He swallows a groan as his stomach belly flops onto the dance floor. He feels physical pain.
He squints out at the crowd. Where the fuck is Kyle? He should be out of the john by now. Even so, it’s time to do this thing.
“Uh, hi... I’m Chase Lewis—” The audio screeches and a collective “ouch” sounds from crowd. “I’m a wrangler at the Monahan Ranch...” He looks at the mic, his stomach sinking.Shit—is it not working? No, no, no...he just wants to say his piece and be done with it, not stand up on the stage being goggled at.
“Lemme see, Chase,” Marty says, taking the mic back.
Sweat beads between Chase’s shoulder blades and rolls down his spine into his underwear. One of the stagehands fiddles with the wired mic, eliciting another screech, but when he speaks into the device, his “testing” echoes across the bar. A cheer goes up and Chase finds himself in possession of a microphone once again.
He looks down to gather his wits and composure, looks right into Kyle’s big brown fathomless eyes. Chase’s stomach loop-de-loops, and it’s suddenly become difficult to breathe.
Curiosity is written all over Kyle’s face.
Right. Showtime.
“Hi again. I’m Chase Lewis. I’m a wrangler at the Monahan Ranch.” A few cheers sound. “Uh...I’m sure some, if not most of you know me, at least by sight. Maybe you know me as the guy who got kicked by a horse and is temporarily paralyzed.” He shrugs his right shoulder, causing his arm to move slightly.
