Page 19 of Chasing Lyric
My heart skips a beat, my breath catches in my throat as I stare at him, wondering which part of my avoidance plan he has caught onto.
Is it the part where I am dragging this out for the goat?
Or the part where I am dragging it out forhim?
Our eyes lock, and it’s like all the noise and chaos around us fades as we stare at each other. My pulse races, my palms begin to sweat, when suddenly a kid blows a party horn, jerking me from the moment. The shock startles me, but it’s the screams that come next that scare me even more. I spin to see what everyone is screaming for. Doughnut has fainted from the noise of the party horn, and everyone, including the poor kids, is now terrified.
“He’s dead!” A woman gasps so loud I think she’ll faint too.
“I killed the goat, Mama!” The little girl begins scream-crying.
Panic washes over me as I round the truck and jump into the truck bed, then move in beside Doughnut and pet him with a bright smile on my face. “He’s fine! I swear he’s fine. He just fainted. He’ll come back any moment. Loud noises scare him and cause him to pass out. I promise, honey, you didn’t kill him.”
“You p-promise?” the little girl asks through her sobs.
I glare at Chase through the rear window, and he huffs, finally hopping out. He straightens out his suit and nods. “She’s right, little lady. The goat will be fine. He has a habit of passing out andscaring people. He’s the worst guard animal in history,” Chase mutters darkly, though his lips twitch like he’s fighting a laugh.
“This is totally badass,” manbun guy says and starts taking more pictures with his cell, which seems to start a new wave of excitement.
A few seconds later, Doughnut pops back up, steals a bucket of popcorn from the girl who thought she’d killed him, and parades around like nothing’s happened. The crowd is still pale with shock, while I am doubled over against the truck, laughter tearing out of me until my sides ache.
And Chase?He doesn’t join me. He just watches, something in his gaze too soft, too intense, like he’s memorizing the exact shape of me in this moment.
I can’t handle it. So, I cram another Red Vine into my mouth, chewing until the sugar sting makes my teeth ache. Eventually, though, Chase gets antsy, the crowd dies down, and I glance at Chase with doe eyes, wanting us to have a look around at the boardwalk.
“Pleeease, just a little look around, now the chaos is gone? I mean, look at this place!” I ask.
Chase groans, and Doughnut lets out another bleat like he’s totally on board with this plan. “See, Doughnut wants to go for a walk.” I raise my brow at Chase, and he huffs.
“Fuck… fine, let’s go.”
Smiling wide, I clap my hands together, grab a makeshift leash for Doughnut, and tie it around his neck. Doughnut trots beside me, so fucking happy, and I peer up at Chase, who’s trying to hide his smile. But I see through you, oh, grumpy one.
It’s chaos in every direction—skaters flipping off ramps, musicians belting into the wind, and vendors yelling over one another. Chase buys us both matching sunglasses shaped like stars and insists on a photograph in front of a graffiti mural that says ‘Choose Chaos.’
“Feels appropriate,” I mutter, adjusting Doughnut’s new bandana that says ‘I BITE.’
Rollerbladers weave in and out of people at lightning speed, the boardwalk’s alive with noise and color, the air is heavy with grilled corn and coconut sunscreen, but I know we have to keep moving. So regrettably, after taking in as much atmosphere as I can, and after delighting in watching Chase squirm, we jump back in the truck and get back on our way to wherever it is we’re going.
Malibu Canyon winds around us as the day turns molten gold, cliffs blazing with sun, ocean flashing blue far below. Doughnut snores in the back, head bobbing with the turns. My fingers are sticky with candy, the plastic bag is half empty, and my heart is jittering right alongside the sugar.
The stretch toward the 405 grinds us back into reality. We crawl through traffic, surrounded by steel and exhaust, the soundtrack shifting from indie love songs to soft acoustic guitar. Even the chaos here feels slower with Chase beside me. There’s a rhythm to our silence now, one that doesn’t need to be filled.
The radio hums until Queen bursts through, Freddie Mercury’s voice like fire against the quiet.
“The Show Must Go On.”
Smiling, I nudge the dial higher, but Chase’s hand covers mine, warm, steady, holding it in place.
He doesn’t crank it.
Doesn’t lower it.
Just anchors it where it belongs.
“Fitting,” he murmurs.
“Why’s that?” I whisper back.
