One Call Away

by Emily Goodwin

  I’m in Chase’s bed, and I remember everything from last night. I think. Maybe? Crap. I push myself up and realize I’m wearing his clothes. Okay. Don’t remember that. I close my eyes and think backward and finally recall him leading me into his room and leaving. I changed and passed out. From there, my mind is blank. I assume I stayed asleep the whole time, but I can’t be sure.

  Before I get up, I take a minute to look around the room. It’s long and narrow, and the wall the bed is pushed up against is exposed brick. I touch it, feeling the rough stone beneath my fingers. We’re above the bar, and I had no idea an apartment was up here.

  Chase’s bed is plain with white sheets and a dark blue soft, down comforter. A bookshelf is against the wall next to the bed, and it looks and smells new like it was just put together. The bottom two shelves are full of books, and the rest of it is empty. He wasn’t lying when he said he reads anything. The books vary from thriller to historical fiction. Epic fantasy seems to be his favorite.

  Across the bed is a dresser and there is absolutely nothing on it. A single lamp sits on the nightstand next to the bed, along with a glass of water, a bottle of Advil, and a handwritten note. I pick it up and unfold the paper.

  Sierra-

  Thought you might need this.

  He didn’t sign his name, but I know Chase wrote it. I read his simple words twice. Why does his compassion surprise me? I try not to judge people before I get to know them, but there are some snap judgments I can’t help.

  And tall, muscular men with tattoos and eyes you can drown in are usually nothing but trouble. Usually. I’ve been wrong before.

  I take an Advil and drink most of the water before getting up and gathering my clothes. I think there is vomit on my skirt, and a wave of embarrassment comes over me. I haven’t thrown up from drinking too much since I was nineteen. I shake my head and fold my skirt so the mysterious stain is safely tucked inside and away from my hands. Then I go to the bathroom, pee, and do my best to remove my smeared eyeliner.

  The house is silent besides the quiet hum of the air conditioner. Holding my breath, I tiptoe out, wincing when the floorboards creak beneath my bare feet. A floor-to-ceiling window in the living room gives an impressive view of the river below. But an even more impressive view might be Chase, looking uncomfortable on the couch, still asleep. The book he bought days ago is resting on his chest.

  Carefully, I move down the hall and shiver. What does he have his air set to? Arctic? He’s wearing only boxers and has to be cold. I go back to his bedroom and take the comforter off his bed, set on covering him up and trying to sneak out of here without being seen.

  I furtively move to him and pause, noticing a long scar that runs the length of his thigh. It’s straight and neat, looking like the result of an operation to fix a broken bone. I tear my eyes away and raise the blanket. The moment it touches his skin, he startles awake so suddenly it causes me to jump back. The book falls to the wooden floor with a thud.

  “Sierra. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. What are you doing?” he asks, wide-eyed and fully awake. It takes me a few blinks, some stretches, and at least one eye-rub before I can form a coherent thought.

  “I was going to smother you in your sleep.”

  Chase blinks, looks at the blanket and then me. “That wouldn’t work, you know. Go for a plastic bag next time. Get it around my head and tie it at the neck.”

  “Noted.”

  He shifts his gaze and smiles. “What were you really doing?”

  “I thought you were cold. I was going to cover you up.”

  “Oh,” he says as if that’s more shocking to hear than me trying to murder him. “Uh, thanks. It is a little chilly in here, I suppose.”

  “A little? What do you have your air set to?”

  “Sixty-two.”

  I blink. “That’s freezing.”

  “Trust me, I know. But this place isn’t well insulated and doesn’t retain the cool air well. By the afternoon it’ll be twenty degrees warmer in here. I try to get a head start by keeping it cool at night.”

  “Oh. That makes sense, I guess.”

  He stands and pushes his shoulders back. There are scars on his chest, but are harder to see since they are hidden beneath the ink of his tattoos. Which I’m not looking at. And not finding incredibly sexy.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks and runs a hand through his hair, made messy from sleep.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Chase laughs. “Maybe you’re still drunk.”

  “No. I’m not. My head hurts and I’m dreading the stomachache that’s going to come on later in the day.” I pull my arms in around myself and look into Chase’s hazel eyes. “Thanks for everything last night.”

  He gives me his trademark shrug, a move I assume he’s perfected over the years. One that says he doesn’t care, that he’s not invested, and he doesn’t feel anything toward the words spoken.

  It’s something I tried to learn and tried even harder to make myself believe. I didn’t want to care. I didn’t want to be invested in anything. And mostly, I didn’t want to feel anything toward anything at all.

  I failed.

  “It was nothing,” he says casually, and then smiles. “Were you really going to have a threesome with that couple?”

  “What?”

  “They wanted you to join in on their ‘romantic surprise’,” he laughs.

  “That’s what they wanted?” My hands fly to my face. “Oh my God.”

  Chase is laughing even harder. “You didn’t know?”

  “No!” I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. “I thought they were just being nice.”

  “Oh, they were being nice. Nice enough to get you to go home with them and then be bad. Very, very bad.”

  “Oh. My. God.” I shake my head, not sure if I can look at Chase ever again. “I guess I owe you even more now.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, Sierra.”

  I like the way he says my name. Slowly. Softly. I raise my head and meet his gaze. “Okay.”

  “Are you hungry? You really should eat, even if you don’t feel like it.”

  “I am, but the thought of food is very off-putting.”

  “That’s a typical hangover.”

  I shake my head. “I haven’t had a hangover since college.”

  Chase steps closer and a chill runs down my spine, one so deep into my bone I’m unable to hide the shiver. Chase picks up the blanket and wraps it around my shoulders, letting his hands slide down my arms.

  Is it completely crazy that I want to step into him, to rest my head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat? Yes. Yes, it is.

  “Why were you at the bar last night?” he asks quietly, almost as if he already knows the answer and is waiting for me to tell the truth.

  I take in a breath. Last night was a bad night. I went through a maelstrom of emotions last night. It was Jake’s birthday, and I woke up not thinking about it. I made it through breakfast and a shower before it hit me. Guilt took over, and I pulled out old photos of the two of us to look at, reminding me of what we had. I spent the morning crying and was late to work because of it.

  Then regret for not going to the Chainsmokers concert hit, and then I remembered I gave Chase my number and he hadn’t called.

  “I was going to yell at you,” I confess.

  Chase’s eyebrows go up. “At me? Why?”

  “You said you’d call and you never did. Why didn’t you call?”

  His face falls and he looks at the floor for a moment. He opens his mouth, contemplating his words, looking as if he’s about to confess something. Then he shakes his head and looks back into my eyes.

  “I thought about what you said. That you’re not the type of girl I’d want to date. You were right, but you had it the other way around. I’m not the kind of guy you want to date.”

  A beat passes between us, and my heart is hammering away in my chest. He’s making me nervous. Irritated. And a little turned on.<
br />
  He’s making me feel.

  “And now I understand how insulting it is to be told who’d you want to date.”

  “Right?” he quips. “I’m sorry. I should have called.”

  “It’s okay.” I pull the blanket tighter around myself and look out the window. Beams of sunlight bounce off the water, and shadows dance along the shore. A deer emerges from the woods to get a drink.

  “She comes almost every morning,” Chase says softly.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees, but he’s not looking at the deer. “She is.”

  Not making any sudden movements, we inch to the window to watch the deer. She takes her time getting water and then leaps off into the woods. A few more follow, moving so fast they’re just blurs of fawn amongst shades of green.

  “Do you want to get something for breakfast?” Chase asks. “I’d offer to make you something, but I’m still adjusting to this whole ‘I have to cook for myself’ thing like I told you about.”

  I smile and turn to him, appreciating the full beauty of his stubble-covered face. “Yeah, I’m getting—wait. No. We can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “If we go out for breakfast together, especially with me dressed like this, people will think we slept together.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” He flashes a grin and I struggle to hold onto my resolve.

  I lower my gaze. “People talk.”

  “Then give them something to talk about.”

  I stare at a knot in the hardwood floor under my feet, wondering how many people walked over this in the years this building has been here. People who watched the river with sharp intent, needing the water to remain steady to keep the mill running. “Take me home and I’ll make you breakfast as a thank you for taking care of me. I’m not a master chef or anything, but I’m not terrible either. I do have stuff to make beignets, actually.”

  Chase gives me a blank stare.

  “You’ve never had a beignet?” My voice gets high-pitched from sheer horror.

  “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “Oh, you’re in for a treat then. I won’t tell you what it is either. You’ll have to be surprised.”

  Chase laughs. “It’s some weird southern food, like the fried lobster everyone around here loves, isn’t it?”

  “Crawfish,” I correct. “And if it were, you wouldn’t try it?”

  “Not unless you want to hit me with an EpiPen minutes later.”

  “Oh. You’re allergic to shellfish?”

  “Very.”

  “Good thing you told me. And no, beignets aren’t fish. It’s a dessert-ish food.”

  “Dessert-ish?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s not a word.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “I just said it, so it is a word.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not.”

  I hike an eyebrow. “It’s not like we’re playing Scrabble here. Dessert-ish is a word and I’m going to use it every chance I get. Just to annoy you.”

  Chase watches me, smile growing. I shake my head, but end up smiling too. He moves away from the window. “You left your purse at the bar.” He picks up my little pink clutch and hands it to me. “One of the waitresses saw you drop it which leads me to believe she got it in time, but check to see if anything is missing.”

  “Shit. I forgot about it.” I take the purse from him and open it. I don’t keep much in my purse, just my wallet, phone, keys, and lip gloss. “It’s all here, thankfully.” I pull my phone out and see the battery is dead. The only person who’d call me overnight would be Lisa anyway.

  Chase opens the fridge, pulls out orange juice, and pours himself a glass. “Want some?”

  “Yeah. Just a little bit though.”

  He pours half a glass and hands it to me. We move to the couch and sit in silence, watching the early morning sun shine down on the river. Minutes pass in silence, but it’s anything but awkward. As if Chase and I have some sort of unspoken understanding between us, sitting next to him is comforting.

  I finish the orange juice and feel sluggish again. I lean back on the couch, eyes growing heavy. Chase rests his back against the cushions too and lets his head fall to the side so he’s looking at me. I inhale and smile, searching his deep eyes for answers about him.

  “Tired?” he asks softly.

  “Yeah. It’s hitting me all at once.”

  “You can go back to sleep. I’ll let you take the blanket.” He gives me his crooked smile again. I thought it was deliberate before because no one has a smile that cocky and sexy without trying. He looks tired too, and I don’t think he’s trying.

  “You only have one blanket?”

  “Yeah. I usually sleep in my bed with it, so it’s never been a problem.”

  “But what if someone stays over?”

  “I’ve never run into that issue before. When attractive women sleep in my bed I’m usually in there with them.”

  I roll my eyes and pull the blanket out from around my shoulders. I cover us both up, and Chase leans in, reaching out and tucking my hair behind my ear. Our eyes lock and I think he’s going to kiss me.

  I want him to, though in the back of my mind I’m well aware that I threw up last night, passed out, and have yet to brush my teeth.

  A knock on the door interrupts us and Chase’s brow furrows. It’s early. No one comes over this early with good news. He springs up and strides to the door. I stand, loosely holding the blanket in my hands.

  Chase opens the door, revealing his brother. My heart lurches in my chest, and I’m sent backward through time and space and it’s like I’m standing in The Book Bag listening to that phone call all over again. Josh has bad news. Terrible news. Someone died. Chase’s sister-in-law lost the babies. His niece was in a horrible accident.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Josh starts. “The shipment that’s supposed to come at five pm is here at five fucking am. I hate asking but can—” he cuts off, noticing me. Josh looks at me, taking in what I’m wearing, then back at Chase. He raises his eyebrows, tries not to smile, and fails.

  No one is dying. No one is hurt. The only thing that’s wrong is a delivery service not knowing the difference between AM and PM. So why am I teetering on the edge of a panic attack?

  “I’ll be right down,” Chase tells him. “Let me, uh, get dressed.”

  “Sure. Sorry to interrupt. Morning, Sierra.”

  Chase closes the door and turns, grinning. “So that thing you were saying about people thinking we slept together…” The smile disappears from his face. “Are you okay?”

  In an instant, he’s here, in front of me. I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing back the tears. My hands shake and my stomach flip-flops. Suddenly I can’t breathe and I desperately try to suck in air.

  “Sierra?” Chase whispers and takes my trembling hands in his.

  “Something’s wrong.” My voice comes out breathy and uneven. “I don’t know what. But it is. Really, really wrong.”

  “You’re having a panic attack. Nothing is wrong. It’s okay,” he soothes. moving closer and wrapping his arms around me, gently cradling me to his chest.

  His skin is warm. Comforting. I don’t want to move, but a few of the broken pieces of my heart scream for me to shove him away. I shouldn’t find solace in another man’s embrace.

  Not yet.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  He slides his hands down my back and pulls me closer, holding me still for a minute before reaching up with one hand and stroking my hair. I’m still shaking, heart still racing. Still struggling to breathe.

  Chase shuffles us back to the couch. My feet get caught in the blanket that’s loosely hanging from my left hand, and I start to fall. He catches me, sitting heavily on the couch and pulling me with him.

  “Hey,” he whispers. “It’s okay. Take a deep breath.”

  “I…I can’t.”

  He puts his hand to my chest, fingers gent
ly touching my collarbone. “Inhale,” he instructs.

  I take in a deep breath and my breasts rise, pushing against the palm of his hand. I know what the touch is doing to him and he fights against the struggle so he can help me.

  “Hold it. One…two…three. Now slowly exhale.”

  My eyes close as I let out my breath, and he has me repeat the process three more times. He pulls me into his lap and wraps the blanket around my shoulders. I close my eyes again, fighting against everything inside of me that wants to be close to him. I’m still shaking, still feeling like the world is closing in around me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Chase holds me, not saying a word until my trembling stops.

  I let out a sigh and feel embarrassed. I’ve never been a shy person, but I’ve never dealt with anxiety well and having people see me freak out is the last thing I want.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Chase whispers. “Are you okay?”

  “I am now. Thank you. Again. You must think I’m a total basket case.”

  “I think the opposite.”

  I let out a nervous laugh. “Between being unable to get that guy to leave me alone at the bar, drinking too much, and then this, you can’t be thinking I’m a winner or anything.”

  “Panic attacks aren’t anything to be embarrassed about.”

  I shake my head, agreeing with him yet not believing him. Because I am embarrassed, and my life has been one mess after another. “You seem to be familiar with them.”

  “They’re not all that uncommon in my previous line of work.”

  “What did you used to do?”

  “That’s a story for another day.”

  I lift my head off his chest and stare at him.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Nothing. Just trying to decide if you’re full of shit or not.”

  He holds my gaze for a few seconds, and his eyes darken. “I kinda wish I was.”

  I tip my head and study him, but as hard as I try, I can’t figure this man out. I’m not the best at reading people, but I can usually tell when I’m flat-out being lied to.