Page 30 of Whenever You Call

If it hadn’t been for Livia, who knew what state I’d be in now?

She’d been the one to tiptoe into my bedroom, sliding plates of French toast and strawberries under the sheets. Leaving hot coffees on the side for me to drink or leave to go cold. It had become pointless arguing with her now when she told me that she was preparing lunch. My rumbling stomach would argue back against my whimpering mind, anyway.

She had a smile on her face as she shook out the lettuce leaves and turned to drop them into a bowl that sat on the kitchen island between us, while I sat on one of the spinning stools my daughter loved to use as her very own mini carousel.

“You should have seen Kelsey Benson this morning when I dropped Bella off,” Livia said, her attention on the task in front of her as she reached for some plum tomatoes along with the already diced cucumber. “She’s really going for this school governor thing. She had posters printed out as well as a little placard. She was trying to convince anyone who walked by her that she was the best person for the job. That it was all for her little Lucy’s school and not her own ego.”

“Ugh, it’s like high school with everyone vying to be prom queen,” I said with a smile. “That experience was bad enough back then. Why would anyone want to put themselves through that again?”

Livia’s eyes lifted to meet mine. “Maybe she never got to be prom queen… unlike some.”

“That was not something I went after, trust me.”

“Must have been that natural charm of yours.”

“Right,” I chuckled. “Either that or people felt sorry for me back then.”

Liv raised a brow. “High school kids? Come on. Empathy isn’t a common trait of theirs.”

“You make a very good point.”

The security system pinged, alerting us to someone at the front gate, making my head rise in suspicion while Livia simply dusted her hands off over her little apron and went to investigate. I opened my mouth to try to stop her—I didn’t want any visitors today, and a part of me worried it might be Logan—but I didn’t get a chance to do so. From down the long corridor, Livia soon welcomed someone inside, and it didn’t take long for them to appear in the entryway of the kitchen, their mouth pressed into a flat line and their eyebrows raised as they looked at me for the first time in months.

“Chase,” I said on a breath, staring at Cole’s bass guitarist standing in my home, his hands hanging listlessly by his side. “What are you… what are you doing here?”

He wore a brown, beat-up leather jacket, and his long black hair was tucked behind his ears. Chase had always been a looker with the ladies, although he did nothing for me. The kohl he wore around his eyes often smudged in the LA heat, making him look like he needed a good wash compared to Cole’s rough yet somehow pristine appearance.

Chase blew out a breath and slapped his hands against his thighs. “It’s been months, Han. I thought it was about time I put an end to all this. Ignoring our calls. Our texts. Refusing to see us. Refusing to talk with management or anything to do with the band. Cutting us off.”

Livia came up behind him and gave me a look that said she’d make herself scarce, and she did so without much effort, disappearing into the background as Chase took a tentative step closer.

I studied him, so many emotions and memories taking over at once. All the time we’d spent together over the years. All the nights we’d partied before Bella came along and the deep conversations the two of us had had while Cole had been playing the fool with Jasper and their drummer Frankie. Chase had always been the man I’d trusted Cole with the most. He’d been the one to reach out to me about his funeral, the one to constantly try to regain some kind of contact. The one to ask about Bella.

And I’d been the one to push him away.

“I’ve missed you, Banana,” he said quietly.

“Don’t call me that, you idiot,” I whispered. An unexpected tear fell, and so many unspoken things passed between us until Chase came close enough to take me in his arms and pull my head to his chest.

“I’m sorry, babe. For everything,” he whispered against my hair, and for the first time in a long time, I allowed a rock star to hold me without trying to tear myself away from their arms.

“It’s not you who should be apologizing.”

“I know… but he’d want me to do it for him.”

We stayed that way together for a while until twenty minutes later, we sat side by side on the patio furniture under the canopy. Chase glanced around the garden as though it was the first peaceful thing he’d seen in years.

“I forgot how beautiful it is out here,” he said. “No wonder you’ve been hiding when this is where you get to hide.”

He’d discarded his leather jacket over the couch’s arm, now wearing a thin, overworn black T-shirt that was practically transparent in places. He held a bottle of beer in his hand while I had a bottle of water, not knowing what to say after crying in his arms.

When he turned to look at me again, he rested his elbow on the back of the couch, his fist on his cheek, while his other hand clung to the beer that sat in his twisted lap.

“You’ve lost too much weight,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You stink of too many cigarettes,” I countered.

His half-smile made one of my own come to life.

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