by Locklyn Marx
“No.” Chace shook his head. “You might be all I have left, but you’ll forgive me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because of reason number one. We’ve been friends for fifteen years.” He took a step toward Bo.
“Jesus, Chace,” Bo said. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“About what? Hitting you? I’m trying hard not to, but I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out.”
Bo shook his head. “I really can’t fucking believe you, man. You’re acting crazy.”
“You had no right to tell her.”
“She was upset! She had no idea what the hell was going on. You were a complete prick to her. What was I supposed to do? Let her sit there and cry and act like I had no idea why you were doing what you were doing?”
“She was crying?” This threw him off. He’d pictured the conversation differently, the two of them sitting there in the bar, talking about him behind his back, about what a fuck up he was. The thought that Lindsay would be crying over him hadn’t crossed his mind. “It doesn’t matter,” Chace said, shaking his head. “You’re my best friend. You’re supposed to be loyal to me.”
“I am loyal to you!” Bo shouted. “I’m still here, aren’t I? Even when you were passing out drunk on my bar, never paying your tab because you were sinking every last penny you had into that damn restaurant, I was here. I was the only who was here, Chace. And you know why? Because I’m the only one who realizes what that hell it is you’re doing.”
“Oh, yeah?” Chace said, “and what’s that?”
“You’re punishing yourself. You’re trying to push people away, Chace. You don’t think you deserve anything good because of what happened. That’s not true. But it’s going to start being true if you don’t get your shit together.” Bo shook his head.
“Look at you,” he said. “You have a girl that loves you. And what are you doing?
You’re down here, trying to pick a fight with your best friend, because God forbid he gave her a little insight into what’s going on in that fucked up head of yours.”
“Shut up,” Chace said quietly. His hands were clenched into fists by his side. If Bo didn’t shut up, he didn’t know what he would do. The words were hitting him like shards of glass, and all he could think about was stopping it.
“I won’t shut up,” Bo said. “Someone needs to tell you this. You need to start getting your shit together, Chace. You need to stop spending your nights prowling for women. You need to stop letting the staff at the restaurant run rampant over you because you’re afraid they hate you for what happened to your dad. That accident wasn’t your fault, man, but what you’re doing now is. You’re fucking up your life, and I’m not going to stand around and watch it.”
And with that, Bo went back into the bar, leaving Chace standing outside in the parking lot, alone.
***
The next morning, Lindsay’s phone rang at seven am.
She groaned and rolled over on the couch, where she’d fallen asleep. After she’d left the animal hospital, she’d come home and heated up some soup. She’d realized she could pick up Chace’s wireless signal, so she spent the rest of the evening on the computer, navigating the mouse with her left hand as she caught up on the message boards of her favorite writing websites.
When she started getting sleepy, she loaded up her Netflix on demand and fell asleep watching movies on her laptop. Hopefully Chace had some kind of limited streaming plan, and he’d get a bunch of overage charges on his bill.
“Hello?” Lindsay croaked in the phone.
“Lindsay!” her mother shouted. “What is going on? I’ve called you about a million times!”
“I know, Mom.” Lindsay sat up and pushed the hair out of her face. Why was her mother talking so loud? It was only seven in the morning. “Didn’t you get my text?”
“Yes, you said you’d sprained your wrist and you were resting, but that everything was fine.”
“Okay, so didn’t you take that to mean that I sprained my wrist but I was resting and everything was fine?”
“No! Because I needed to hear it directly from you. And you weren’t answering your phone, so I was going to drive up there and check on you, but then your sister said no, I shouldn’t, that she’d talked to you and that you were okay.”
Lindsay said a silent thanks to Jaime. “I’m fine, Mom. I’ve just been sleeping a lot,” she lied.
“Well, you could have told me!” her mom yelled. “Here I am, sitting over here by myself, completely in the dark about your condition! You just waltzed out of that restaurant with a strange man, not even caring that I was worried about you.”
As her mother made it all about herself, raging on about how selfish Lindsay had been about her broken wrist, Lindsay leaned back against the pillows. She drifted back to sleep for a moment, only to be jolted awake a moment later by a knock on the door.
She looked out the window and saw a glimpse of a Comcast truck in her driveway.
“Sorry, Mom,” she said quickly. “I have to go. The cable man’s here.”
“On a Saturday?”
“Yes, Mom, on a Saturday.”
“Why would you schedule the cable man on a Saturday? You have all week to do things like that.”
“No, I don’t,” Lindsay said. “I write during the week, remember, Mom?”
“Well, yes, I know you write during the week, Lindsay, but you can write anytime. Do you know they charge a five dollar fee for connecting service on the weekends? It’s just another way to – ”
“Gotta go, Mom,” Lindsay said. “The man’s here and he really needs to get started.”
She disconnected, feeling bad for hanging up on her mother, but really. Her mom needed to learn that she couldn’t just call up yelling at her first thing in the morning like that.
“Hi,” she said when she opened the door to the cable guy.
“Good morning,” he said, a smile on his face.
He pushed past her into the house. She went to close the door, but before she did, she caught a glimpse of Chace. He was working on cutting down the last of the fence.
He’d reached the middle of the yard now, and was making good progress. She watched him for a moment, the way the muscles in his back flexed with each movement.
And then she shut the door and slipped back inside before he could see her.
Chapter Ten
Over the next week, Maximilian’s wounds healed wonderfully. Dr. Felder removed his stitches, but, much to Max’s dismay, left the cone on. He was back to his old self, though, running around in the yard, chasing rabbits, and causing mischief.
Every morning, Chace would get up and take him for a long walk through the woods. He wanted Max to be able to get his fill of the scents he loved, but wasn’t going to take any more chances with letting Max wander around unleashed. He’d made the mistake of thinking that just because Max was a dog, he should be allowed to run free.
But that wasn’t the case.
After their walk, the two of them would return home and Chace would set out a bowl of food for Max, then head back outside to finish working on the fence. He needed to finish it more than ever now that he was determined to keep Max in the yard.
The following Monday, a week and a half after he’d first started, Chace hammered in the last post. He stood back, admiring his work. The fence looked great.
One any man could be proud of.
His eyes flicked toward Lindsay’s house. He hadn’t seen her since the day they’d fought, the day she’d yelled at him in the vet’s office. When he got home from the restaurant at night, he’d hurry inside, his head down, determined not to accidentally run into her.
It was better that way. And now that the fence was done, there would be even less risk of having a chance encounter.
***
Lindsay watched as Chace finished the last post of the fence, then gathered up his tools and walked back to his house. Every morning for the past week he’d been out ther
e, working. And every morning, she’d sit here with her tea, telling herself she was working on her book, when really, she was watching him.
She’d study his movements, mesmerized by the rhythm of what he was doing.
She watched his body language for any signs of what he was feeling, but of course there were none. It was silly to think there would be. You couldn’t tell what was going on in a person’s head just by what they looked like as they built a fence.
Well, she thought as he disappeared into his house, that was it. He was done with the fence. He wouldn’t be back again tomorrow morning. It was better that way. She was starting to feel like a stalker, the way she was sitting here every day, watching him without him knowing.
The fence was a symbol. He’d built it around his house, and around his heart. It was a real boundary that she knew couldn’t be broken.
She allowed herself one last moment of sadness, one last squeeze of her heart.
And then she started typing. She had a book to write, a house to fix up, and a life to live.
One that didn’t include Chace Davenport.
Chapter Eleven
Early autumn turned into late autumn, late autumn turned into early winter, and Chace found a new bar. He hadn’t talked to Bo since their altercation a couple of months ago, and so he didn’t feel comfortable going into The Gristmill. It was just as well – the new bar was a bit of a drive, but no one knew him there, and it was busier. Which meant there were more women to choose from.
He’d order a Coke and a burger and shoot the shit with some of the regulars while he watched the Celtics. Some nights, he’d bring a girl home. Other nights, he’d go home alone.
He’d done his best to push Lindsay out of his mind, to forget about her and how she’d told him what happened to his father wasn’t his fault.
He fell into a routine — coming home late at night from the bar, getting up at seven to take Max on his walk before heading to the Trib. He always kept his head down, always avoided looking at her house. He was dimly aware of the fact that she’d been getting work done over there – he couldn’t help but notice the steady stream of contractors and handymen that seemed to always be parked in her driveway.
But he hadn’t seen her.
Until one night in early December, right after Thanksgiving. He was coming home from the bar, alone. There’d been a blonde girl who had made her intentions quite clear, but Chace hadn’t bitten. It was starting to feel like too much effort, and for what?
A few moments of pleasure, followed by an aching loneliness that was getting harder and harder to ignore?
Because it had been getting harder and harder to ignore. He missed Bo. He missed his father. Most of all, he missed Lindsay. Missed talking to her, they way they used to, a year and a half ago. Missed what it had been like to kiss her, to take care of her
— hell, just to see her.
He’d been thinking about this as he navigated his truck down the slushy roads.
The first snow had come a few days ago, a couple of inches that had looked pretty when it fell, but had quickly dissolved into a dirty, gritty sludge.
He pulled into his driveway and when he got out, his boots sloshing through the snow, he heard it.
A high-pitched shriek, coming from the other side of the fence.
He turned, listening. Had he imagined it?
But then it came again.
He looked over toward Lindsay’s house for the first time in months.
She was laying in the driveway, sprawled out on in the slush. Grocery bags and groceries dotted the driveway.
“Shit,” he heard her say as she started gathering everything up.
It was pure instinct. He ran over there.
“Are you okay?’ he asked. Anxiety overtook him. He remembered the day she hurt her wrist, how helpless he’d felt seeing her lying there. This was somehow worse.
This time, he really had no right to be helping her, to be inquiring about whether or not she was okay.
“I’m fine,” she said, sounding grumpy. “I was just trying to take in too many groceries at once.”
“Jesus, Lindsay,” he said. “Don’t scare me like that. I thought you’d been out here for hours.”
She snorted and then turned her back on him. Not that he could blame her.
He reached into her trunk and pulled out the last bag of groceries. “Let me help you,” he said.
“No, thanks. I got it.”
She grabbed the bag out of his hand, and he felt shocked at the wave of emotion that overtook him. In that small gesture, that small moment, he realized he would never be able to protect her again. He’d lost that right.
If she’d really fallen and hurt herself…his chest constricted at the thought. What would he have done? He should have been here, protecting her, taking care of her, loving her.
She finished gathering up the bags and started walking carefully up the driveway.
She had her key in the lock before he realized exactly what it was he was feeling.
It was sadness, yes, but for the first time in a long time, there was no anger inside of him. In fact, the only thing overshadowing the sadness was regret. Because he realized the reason he’d lost the right to protect her wasn’t because he was damaged. No, she’d known about that, and she’d wanted him anyway. He hadn’t hurt her by just being in her life – he’d hurt her by acting like an asshole.
His behavior had been inexcusable, and he could have stopped it, could have controlled it.
Her hand was on the doorknob, turning it, stepping inside.
He had to know if there was still a chance.
“Lindsay,” he called.
He held his breath.
He waited.
She stopped.
And then, she turned around.
***
Lindsay looked at him, standing there in her driveway, still wearing that damn leather jacket even though it was twenty degrees out. His breath came in puffs, his face lit only by the light in her front yard.
“What?” she asked.
Her heart was hammering in her chest. She’d spent the last month trying to get over him, was finally at the point where she could think about him without feeling like her soul was being crushed.
Her house was coming along, going from a ramshackle old cape to a cozy home with warm colors and soft furniture. Her writing was going well — she was on track to meet her deadline, and had just signed a new book deal. She wasn’t going to let him come into her life and screw everything up again.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She didn’t say anything, and he took it as an invitation to come forward. He climbed the steps until he was standing next to her. She stayed on the porch but kept the front door closed. She didn’t want him in her house, didn’t know if she could trust herself once he was in there.
“For what?” she asked. It was a test.
“For everything.”
“Be specific.”
“For blowing you off after we met. I should have called you and told you what happened. I just… I didn’t want to talk about it. It was like I couldn’t say the words out loud. I was terrified of what you’d think of me.”
She felt tears prick against the back of her eyes. She wanted so much to believe what he was saying, wanted it so much that it hurt.
He moved toward her and started to put his arms around her, but she pulled back.
“Don’t.” She shook her head.
“I know I can’t make you forgive me,” he said. “All I can do is spend every moment proving to you that I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to you.”
She looked at him. She saw the sadness in his eyes, and he sounded sincere. But still. How many times could she go through this, expecting him to change while getting her heart broken? Then again, he’d never apologized before, had never told her he’d do anything to get her back.
In fact, it had been the opposite. He’d never made her any promises.
“
Please,” he said, taking her hands in his. His skin felt warm, his grip strong and protective. “Lindsay, give me a chance.”
If she was wrong, she’d be devastated all over again. It would take only one night, one hour, one moment, to undo all the work she’d done over this past month.
She’d be right back where she started, only this time, it would be worse. But if she didn’t take a chance, then she’d never know. And maybe, just maybe, it would work out.
She opened the door, stepped inside, and turned around. “Do you want to come in?” She held up one of the bags. “I bought stuff for chicken parm.”
“You’re going to make chicken parm?”
“No.” She shook her head. “You are.”
Chace grinned, and then followed her inside.
Epilogue
The grand re-opening of The Trib was in full swing. New tables in white oak dotted the dining room, the booths had been reupholstered in a soft beige, and the walls had been painted the color of pecans. Candles flickered at every table, and the heavy double doors had been left open, allowing the warm spring breeze to fill the restaurant.
“Everything looks great, man,” Bo said to Chace. “You’ve done an amazing job.”
“Thanks. But it’s not me who did it. Most of it was Lindsay.”
He looked down at her with that smile, the smile she was seeing more and more of these days, and Lindsay couldn’t help but smile back. Butterflies turned in her stomach. She loved that he could still do that to her, even after spending almost every moment together for months.
“Thanks for coming,” she said to Bo, giving him a kiss on the cheek. She loved Bo, was glad he and Chace had worked it out. Chace had apologized, told Bo he’d been out of line, and Bo had forgiven him, no questions asked.
“There’s no cilantro on this, is there?” a woman asked, wandering by. She was wearing a purple hat and a matching light purple pantsuit.
“No,” Chace said, smiling. “There’s no cilantro in that.”
She wandered off.
“Who was that?” Bo asked.
“Don’t ask,” Chace said, shaking his head.
