Page 62 of The Longshot

“I’m okay. I’m alright...” Her answers are short yet somehow not so sweet as she peers down towards the ground. It’s a subtle gesture, proving her unease, yet the confirmation I need of that is when she eventually peers back up, and I notice the tears fill her eyes.

“Chelsie,” I say her name with the utmost remorse this time. “Hey, Chels,” I call her by her nickname. “Look at me, love, please.”

She can’t. Instead, she uses the backside of her palm to brush along her eyes before she makes a beeline towards the door. “I… I’m gonna go,” she tells me. “I’m sorry.”

“Go?” I quickly react, gently clutching a hold of her hand and bringing her to a stop. “No, don’t go. Stay,” I tell her. “Talk to me. I—I didn’t mean to take things too far, Chelsie,” I plead. “I guess I just got lost in the moment and?—”

“It’s okay.” Chelsie attempts to appease me with a shake of her head. “Really, Gary. It’s okay. It is.”

I don’t let up; her words might say one thing, but the look on her face says another.

“It’s not okay when you’re crying, love,” I attempt once more, softening my voice. “Please, Chels, talk to me. Tell me what I did wrong, and I promise you that I’ll never do it again…”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Gary.” Chelsie runs her hand along her forehead. “It’s just… I’m feeling…” She sighs, accepting defeat. “You know what, never mind. I don’t even know what I’m saying right now.” She ushers her way forward once more. “I’m so sorry?—”

“Sorry?” In dire need of some clarity, I stop her once more. “Chelsie, what on Earth are you apologizing for? You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.” I place my hands on either side of her shoulders. “Do you hear me?” I look her square in the eyes. “Absolutely nothing, darling.”

Before I can think twice, the word unconsciously escapes my lips, and by the time I think to redact it, it’s too late.

“Shit, Chelsie, I didn’t mean to call you that.” I fret, rushing to her aid as she winces. “I should be the one apologizing here. Not you. I?—”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this, Gary,” Chelsie blurts out as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “I—I thought that maybe I was, but now I don’t know. Maybe this was too soon. Too soon to jump into another relationship… I…” She can hardly formulate a coherent sentence at this point. “I just feel really overwhelmed. Like I led you on without really thinking this through...”

“Hey.” I make another attempt to ease her as I brush away a single tear that runs down her cheek. “Don’t say things like that, Chelsie. Things were going so well earlier. Don’t you agree? We were having fun. A nice night!”

Chelsie’s blue eyes sink in as she turns over my words. “Yes, we were. We were having fun, but…” She slumps her shoulders with a shake of her head. “What if I can’t be the girl you want me to be right now, Gary? The one you’re looking for. I’m already dealing with so much that getting you involved in this mess is unfair. Like the other day, for example, you shouldn’t have had to step in for me with Simon. It’s not your battle to fight.”

I disagree. “You think I cared if it was my battle or not, Chelsie? I wanted to be there for you at that moment. I want to be there for you now. You and me. We can make this work. Can’t we?”

There’s an utter sense of defeat that washes along Chelsie’s face as I finish my sentence, and it's a look that I can’t help but feel completely helpless to, followed by this rush of emotion that tells me to pull her in close but at the same time to let her go.

I don’t know what the right thing to do is.

I don’t. I want her to tell me. I need her to tell me.

“I think I just need some time...” Absolution takes over as Chelsie reaches for the front door and steps inside. “Get home safe, Gary,” she tells me, biting down on her lip. “And thank you for tonight. Thank you for… everything.”

SIXTEEN

W I L K S

They say thirty seconds is the perfect amount of time to wait by someone’s front door and if they don’t answer, then you should probably catch the hint and go.

Or do they?

Perhaps it’s all a hoax, or maybe I’m convincing myself of that narrative to feel better about the fact that I’ve been standing at Chelsie’s door for far too long.

Last night was awful—a bloody mess. Usually, the second my head hits the pillow, I’m out like a light, but all I seemed to hit last night was a brick wall.

I couldn't stop my mind from relentlessly churning over what transpired on the front of this very porch. It’s been twelve hours since I last stood in this exact spot, but with the way my mind has been working, I can’t help but feel like I never left.

Mentally, I’ve stayed here, trying to dissect every part of what happened, all the while attempting to piece together the absurdity of her words:

“What if I can’t be the girl you want me to be right now, Gary?”

Not the girl I want? Christ, Chelsie’s the only girl I need. The only girl I’d ever been this desperate to go after as I mumble my rehearsed speech under my breath.

“Chelsie,” I begin. “I’m sorry I’m here so early in the morning, but I just couldn’t go on with my day without checking in to make sure that things are…”

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