Authors: V.m Waitt
Chase the Storm (22 page)
He gave me a small smile, knowing better than to greet me with a flimsy “good morning.” It wasn’t a good morning, and hearing him say it wouldn’t make a difference. Instead of speaking, he leaned forward and kissed me lightly. My fingers dug into his flesh, trying to keep him there and delay the inevitable. When he pulled back, it was my turn to sigh. Running a finger down his cheek, I stared at him in the morning light one finaltime.
Without a word, he got off the bed. Holding out his hand, he waited for me to take it. Clasping it, I let himlead me to his bathroomwhere we showered together. Wet, lathered bodies met repeatedly as we washed away evidence of the night before. Lamenting kisses were shared, hands wandered, cocks swelled untilrubbingcoaxed warmfluid fromthemboth. Wordlessly, we got out and dried off, neither of us bothering to fight the number of times we looked at each other in a span of minutes. While he dressed in his room, I went to mine, hesitantly covering up the hole in my chest witha T-shirt. Eacharticle ofclothingI packed brought me closer to leaving, and the thought of getting in my truck clogged my throat and made breathing difficult. Even the soothing motion of tugging on my boots wasn’t enough to comfort the ache. Standing, I went to my duffle bag, but before slinging it over my shoulder, I unzipped it and pulled out my hat, placing it on my head with a sad smile. Picking up the bag, I left the room and went downstairs.
Chase was in the kitchen making coffee when I walked outside to my truck. Opening the door, I slid my bag onto the seat and returned for my footlocker. When I walked into my room, Chase was there looking out the window that had a view of the driveway. He was relaxed, his shoulders sagged and his head hung low. After crossing the room, I stepped behind him, wrapping my arms around his middle. For once, he let me support himas he entwined our fingers.
“Are yougoingto be okay?”I asked into his shoulder.
He didn’t speak, but I felt himshift as he nodded and tensed his hold onme. For weeks, allI had thought about was how muchleavinghimwas going to hurt me, sometimes forgetting to consider how much my leaving would affect him. It was a few moments before either ofus moved.
He lifted one end while I took the other, following him down the stairs while watching his face. The anguish I found there was a twin to mine, but he covered it up better than I did. I didn’t bother to hide how much I hurt. At the bottom, he opened the screen door with his hip, leadingus throughand downthe steps ofthe porchto mytruck. Balancing the locker on his thigh, he opened the tailgate and helped me slide it along the bed. The slamming of the door resonated through the air, and the realityofwhat I was doinghit me, suckingthe breathfrommylungs. Panic rose and I began to shake my head. He immediately swept me into his arms, his strength keeping me to him. I nuzzled into the warmth of his neck, breathinginhis scent, lettingit calmme.
Once again I found my hand in his, and we shuffled into the house. He poured me a mug of coffee, and I sipped it while he scrambled eggs and fried bacon. The only noises in the room were the sounds of him working, but it gave me a chance to study his movements, categorizing themfor recollection later. I studied himas if I didn’t already know every intimate detail from the tiny scar on his hip to the dimples above his ass and the two freckles onhis left shoulder.
My admiration for himtraveled up his body, starting with his booted feet, long jean-clad legs, round ass and slimhips to a trimwaist. His torso gradually widened to his shoulders and arms, and I paused at the folds of his shirt that hovered right below the bend of his elbow, showing off the tanned skin. Swallowing, I considered his hands, hands that could easily calman unruly horse, cook breakfast, or bring me to heights and keep me there before releasing me. My eyes settled on his profile, the jaw and throat I knew every curve to, the lips I’d formed mine to, the long lashes framing the eyes I’d spent hours looking into. I knew how they flickered with emotions, giving away his true thoughts, and glinted in different lights, from the bright sun to a moonlit room. His hair, not yet flattened from wearing his hat all day, was still slightly damp at the thick ends and mussed from my hands running through it after our shower. I was certain he knew I was admiring, the turning up of his lips giving himaway, but he didn’t chide me like he usuallydid.
Dumping the eggs onto the plates, he set down the pan and added strips of bacon. His gaze fell on me, giving me the same appreciation I’d given him as he approached and placed a plate in front of me. He sat down and began eating. The silence was comfortable, both of us relishing our last few hours together.
Not hungry, I pushed my food around, pretending to nibble on the bacon before giving up completely. When I looked at his plate, I found he hadn’t eaten anything either. The breakfast had been nothing more than a way to keep him occupied. Shifting on the stool, he pulled something out of his back pocket and slid a small, folded piece of paper across the marble top to me. I didn’t have to look at it to know what it was. “I don’t want it,”I said, shakingmyhead.
“I know why you stayed.” He released the check, leaving it in front of me. The man had let me live in his home and eat his food. I wouldn’t take his money.
“What?”he asked warily.
“Get a dog.”
He took my hand, and we walked outside to the swing. Sitting down, he took his position and I took mine. Settling back, I felt his steady heartbeat and his lips movingthroughmyhair.
“Can we stay in touch?” I asked as I wove our fingers together. His sighwarmed mycheek.
“You should focus on your studies,” he answered without giving me a definite no.
I nodded, accepting his answer but not liking it. I couldn’t guarantee I would follow his wishes, and he knew better than to ask me to. We stayed in the swing, watching the sun rise higher in the sky. Like the previous night, I wished time to stop, and like the previous night, my wish wasn’t granted. His fingers grazed the tiny imperfections on mine and I knew it was time.
After a kiss to mytemple, he stood up and led me downthe steps to my truck. He stopped at my door, opening it but not letting me go. Bringing his hands up, he cupped my face and pressed his lips to mine, softly at first, then more demandingly when he tugged on my bottomlip to ease them apart so his tongue could enter to search for mine. Fisting his shirt at his waist, I tethered him to me so when the miles separated us, I could hopefullystillfeelhim.
Angling my head with his hand, he deepened the kiss, mashing his lips to mine, and for a few blissful seconds, I forgot it was good-bye. He trapped me against the side of the truck, his hand moving down my back to grope my ass through my jeans. My heart screamed to stay, but that wasn’t what he needed, and I loved himtoo muchto not give himwhat he needed. All the days and nights we’d spent with only each other, all the talkingand love making, and I had never told himhow I felt.
It was time to let himknow.
Breaking the kiss, I looked up at him. “Chase, I can’t go without tellingyouI lov—”
“Don’t,”he interrupted softly.
I ignored his warning, just like I always did. “I love you, Chase. I’ll always love you,”I confided determinedly.
His eyes searched mine for doubt, but he found none. I’d never been more certain of anything in my life. Gazing at me, he remained silent, but I saw the words he couldn’t sayinhis expressive eyes. The blue I longed to wake up to everymorningtold me he loved me too.
“Find your path, Elijah,”he demanded lovingly.
Exhaling a breath, I nodded. Tears sat on the rims of my eyes, and I closed them to battle them away. It was useless and a few escaped. He kissed my forehead, and, dropping his hands to his side, stepped back to give me room. The horses whinnied as if to say good-bye, but more likely because theywere impatient for their breakfast. Not botheringto wipe my cheeks, I tried to give Chase a smile before climbing into the truck. It felt awkward behind the wheel, as if it too was telling me to stay. He closed the door for me and leaned inthe window for one last gentle kiss.
“Good-bye, angel,”he breathed, pullingaway.
My lips moved to speak, but nothing came out. The words refused to form. I couldn’t say good-bye. Giving up, I watched him as I started the truck, hoping he would change his mind, tell me to stay, but I knew better. That wasn’t Chase.
The engine came to life and I shifted into first gear. Chase attempted a lopsided smile, but quickly settled for a tip of his head, wordless encouragement for me to do what I couldn’t. Myeyes didn’t leave his as I slowly let out the clutch and pressed the gas. The tears fell freely as I pulled away fromhimdown his driveway. I struggled to see where I was going between my blurry vision and my eyes glued to the mirror to watch Chase as longas possible.
He stood still, and, with no hat on his head, I saw him swipe under his eyes. I had to convince myself not to slam on the brakes. Raising his hand, he gave me a wave. Then I watched the best thing that had ever happened to me graduallyfade awayinmyrearview mirror.
day I’d driven away from him had been the hardest of my life. I remembered having to pull over to calm down before continuing. The familiar ache that had lived in my chest since that day increased with each recollection. They were thoughts I’d tried to avoid in order to make it through the days, and as much as I hated to admit it, it had gotten easier withtime.
I was just outside Kearny when I calmed enough to get gas. Stepping outside the truck, I dug into my back pocket for my wallet and felt paper stuck to it. Pulling it out, I found the check Chase had tried to give me at breakfast. He must have snuck it into my pocket when we were kissing. I debated returning it to him, but found myself unfolding it. It was made out for $2,000.
was writteninthe memo line.
It took three days for me to return to Boston, often having to pull over because I couldn’t see, and even though the pickup had been repaired, I refused to go over fifty. I felt no shame over my tear-streaked face as I checked into my dormand numbly set up my room. The rest of the night was spent on my bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the same country music station Chase played in the barn. Finding I could stream it online had been the one bright spot since I’d left. It gave me a much needed connection to him. I would lay and envision him working in the barn following the routine we’d done so many times. Hugging my sides, I thought about everything he’d taught me. For the first time in my life, I felt like a man, and not because I’d been fucked. I was a man because I’d grownup.
Sighing, I closed my eyes and imagined Chase lying close and holding me, whispering encouragement in my ear. “I can do this,” I repeated to myself, echoing his unspoken words. Sleep was fitful, but I woke up determined to follow Chase’s advice and visited my advisor’s office the next day.
“Definitely,” I replied with a short nod. I had walked into the rooma business major, and thirty minutes later I walked out a music major. Chase had givenme the courage I needed.
Those first few days alone were the hardest. Everything from the scent of brewing coffee to the sight of my jeans on the floor reminded me ofhim. Ignoringit did nothing; there was no numbinghow I muchI missed him. Many times my fingers poised over his number on my cell phone, if only to hear his gruff message on the answering machine. I wanted himto comfort me. I wanted to tellhimabout myday.
The night after I arrived on campus, I opened a notebook and found a pen. Lying on my bed, I wrote Chase the first of many letters. In a messy, rushed scrawl, I told him about the details of my day and asked himabout the horses and the farm, about plantingand the garden. Most of all, I told himhow muchI loved and missed him.
Classes started, and for the first time since starting college, I enjoyed studying and my professors. I went to the campus gym almost daily, running and lifting weights to keep the body I’d spent all summer working to get.
I spent my days immersed in music and my nights immersed in homework and reading. Slumped on my stomach, I opened
Catcher in the Rye
, treasuring each word, feathering each page before turning it, and imagining Chase was listening to me as I read. I continued to write daily letters to Chase, ending themall the same, professing my eternal love and signing my name. They collected in a drawer of my desk, each one neatly piled on top of the other, never even placed into envelopes. The urge to mail them was strong, and even though I wrote him every night, not one was ever sent. While the sharp breathtaking pain had dulled to an ache, I thought about him constantly, not just every now and then, but all the fucking time. I wondered ifhe would be proud ofme, what he was doing, ifhe was happy, or alone. Did he miss me as muchas I did him?
