Page 57 of Returning Your Love
He was too pale, dark circles beneath his eyes, but not as closed down as last time I’d seen him at the wake. The terrible, too-large suit had been replaced with his usual worn T-shirt and baggy jeans. Still damned edible as always.
“It’s all yours.”As am I.My chest fluttered as I attempted to calm my racing heart.
Chaz slid onto the barstool.
“Good to see you among the land of the living, Chaz.” Iris poured three shots of Shelly’s favorite whiskey, passing one to both of us and holding up the third. She didn’t need to speak a word.
We slammed back the drinks in a moment of silence, the burn I wasn’t used to causing my eyes to sting. At least I didn’t land in a coughing fit. Then again, that would have probably put a smirk on Chaz’s forlorn face.
“Now that’s out of the way, what can I get for you, sweetheart?” she asked Chaz, her tone soft and empathetic while setting her glass aside.
“Just a Sam Adams OctoberFest if you have any?” Chaz said.
“Sure do.”
Iris retrieved a cold bottle, popped the cap, and set it in front of him. “Give me a holler when you’re ready for another.” She patted his forearm on the bar before ambling off to check on the guy at the other end. She leaned onto the counter to occupy his attention and ears.
I could have kissed the woman.
“I’ve missed you.” I decided on honesty about my feelings in the hopes he would follow my lead.
Chaz grunted and took a long pull from his beer. He immediately went for the label once finished, picking at its edge.
Spinning a quarter turn on my stool allowed me to semi-face him. His hair hung over his eyebrows and ears, and my fingers twitched with need to brush the dark, soft-looking waves back so I could get a better view of his face.
“How are you holding up?”
“Okay, I guess.” His brow furrowed, and he still wouldn’t give me his attention.
Maybe it would be best to steer clear of any topic focused on his recent loss. “Busy at the shop?” I asked.
“Always,” he answered without hesitation and immediately cringed at the word.
“What’s that look for?” I asked, unable to help myself because I hated the disgust crinkling his face.
“Nothing,” he muttered as his brow smoothed over. He sucked down another third of his beer and leaned forward, elbows on the bar.
“Chaz.”
“Hmm?”
“Christ, man, would you look at me? Please?”
He closed his eyes, lips in a thin line. “I’m not doing well, Jamie. Need numbness to return before I lose my goddamned mind. Didn’t show up here to spill my guts or evaluate how I’m feeling or what I’m doing to cope.” Chaz drank the rest of his beer and reached for the bottle of whiskey Iris had left sitting nearby as though knowing he would be wanting more.
I held my hand over my shot glass when he offered. It took three shots back-to-back and another five minutes of absolute uncomfortable-as-fuck silence before he finally gave me his eyes.
Their hazel depths swirled with a toxic brew of pain and deep sadness I ached to ease for him.
“Want to get out of here?” I asked, my voice low.
He glanced away immediately, started to shake his head.
“Not for that,” I hastened to correct the way I realized his brain had gone. “I just meant…shit.” Scratching at my scruffy jawline, I eyed him, simply wishing to protect him from embarrassment in the event he broke down in public. “This isn’t the place to get drunk, Chaz. If you’re in the mood to get wasted, then let’s crash at your place. We can talk—or not. Whatever you need. And I’ll make sure you don’t do anything stupid and that you fall asleep in bed rather than hugging the toilet.”
“Not ready to have what happened in the kitchen last time,” he said, sounding broken far beyond his loss.
My entire body ached to soothe his obvious guilt over the best night of my entire existence. “I’ll keep my hands to myself. Promise.”
