Page 133 of Aria

Chelsie shook her head and looked up at me with swollen eyes. "I almost killed you… and you made me spaghetti.”

She spoke as if there could be no other answer.

That's what this was all about? Guilt for a crime she didn’t commit?

“First off, Rosa made the spaghetti. You give me too much credit,” I said. "Secondly, you need to stop. We've been over this, Chelsie."

She set her glass down beside her. "It doesn't make it not true."

My shoulders sagged with defeat, but I knew I needed to get through to her—it was imperative.

Otherwise, there would be no hope for us.

"Chelsie... listen to me." I used my good arm to reach out and take her hand. She startled before relaxing beneath my touch, her breaths choppy as she inhaled. "I'm okay. I survived. I'm here, right now, with you. You need to stop dwelling on what might have been and start celebrating the fact that we got through it."

"What about your arm?" she sniffled. "What about your music?"

"Whatever happens, happens. I'm just happy to be alive."

I watched her features soften. She squeezed my fingers, as if to make sure I was real, running her hand up my other arm and pausing when it reached the juncture between my neck and shoulder. Thick bandages were hidden beneath the confines of my t-shirt, but we both knew they were there. Chelsie's eyes flared, fixed on my wound, her fingertips dancing along the surface of my cotton shirt.

She took a step closer. I tensed with anticipation at her nearness, blinking lazily. My breathing unsteadied.

"I keep replaying that night," she started, her tongue poking out to wet her lips. She fingered my collar, her touch featherlight and curious. "The sounds. The smells. I feel like I can taste the gunpowder in my mouth."

My jaw tensed while I tried not to put myself back in that alley. "It's over.”

"I still see that look in Ian's eyes. That lifeless, horrible look," Chelsie continued. "I can feel myself running across the pavement, rocks cutting into my heels. I can hear my heart thumping in my ears. And I always see... you."

I reached up and grasped her hand, moving it downward and placing it over my heart. "I'm here."The steady beats were a solace to us both as I grazed my thumb over her knuckles."I didn't die in that alley, Combs. If you keep living in a reality where I did, I'm going to lose you."

I couldn't lose her.

We finally had a real chance, and I fuckingknewChelsie wanted this as much as I did. Not to mention, she was single now.

Miles had stopped by with coffee and donuts one morning, filling me in on everything going on with the band. They were still practicing. They were trying out a guitar player that Devon knew through one of his social circles. According to Miles, the potential guitarist came from the social circle that involved all-night benders and cocaine. Miles hadn't seemed hopeful for the future of Freeze Frame, and I couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible for the band's downward spiral. The media was under the impression I had taken a break to heal from my gunshot wounds—they were unaware I’d made my departure before the attack had even occurred.

Miles had said Devon showed no remorse over his breakup with Chelsie. He’d barely said a word about it, acting numb and indifferent—a zombie. Drugs had turned him into a whole new person, and while we’d always had our ups-and-downs, I never could have anticipated this. I never wanted our friendship to end this way.

And while part of me was grateful for Devon's nonchalant reaction to losing Chelsie, I couldn't help but feel enraged by it as well.

How could anyone be so apathetic about losing a woman like Chelsie Combs? The thought alone burned me. She was the kind of woman a man fought hard for. There was no white flag or cordial surrender—there was bloodshed. There was impenetrable armor and steel swords.

There was the knowing that you might not make it out alive, but nothing would ever be more worth it.

I made a valiant effort not to think about the attack, but when I’d wake up at night in a cold sweat, I always saw her. I saw the look in her eyes when she realized I’d been shot.

She’d looked like she'd lost everything.

That’s how I knew she felt it, too.

Chelsie was biting her lip, her face a canvas of emotion. "I wish I could be what you need," she whispered.

Her words cut me down like a gallant soldier as her fingertips pressed into my chest, her eyes lifting to mine. They shimmered with apology.

I wanted to shake her.

But even more than that, I wanted to kiss her.

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