Page 84 of Beneath the Surface

39

Lily

It’s been silent for ten minutes. Shortly after I got back from Susan’s, Jax said he would give us some space, pulling his phone out of his pocket and smiling wide as he walked out the front door. Ever since, it’s just been Chase and me, his eyes boring into the side of my head.

My fingers tap out an unsteady rhythm on my wrist, my legs crisscrossed underneath me and going numb from lack of blood flow. But I don’t want to move, afraid that if I break whatever weird stasis we’re in, I’ll cave first.

I want to talk, butI’mnot the one who showed up out of nowhere, and I have no idea what to say. I’m having a hard enough time trying to keep from flinging myself into his arms just to soak up his embrace; to remember what it feels like after going so many years without.

Chase groans, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. The way he stares is the exact same as it always has been, like his eyes are stripping me away piece by piece, finding the truth even when I hide it behind thick layers.

Growing up, he always read me like a book. But eventually, when there are things you want to keep from prying eyes, you learn how to hide the message.

His gaze slides down my arms, watching the way my fingers tap against my forearm.

“What are they of?” His voice is raspy after so many minutes of silence, and I look down, my heart shooting to my throat when I realize he’s asking about my tattoos.

Swallowing, my fingers stop their incessant rubbing to glide over the ink, appreciating the artwork instead. I move closer, holding out my arm for him to see. I skim the dates inscribed on the inside of my wrist first. “This is the day Chase was born.”

His nostrils flare. “Nice name.”

A small smile breaks its way onto my face. My fingers move. “And this is—”

“Wiggles,” he interrupts. “I’d recognize that bunny anywhere.” He smirks and lightness weaves through my insides, hope sprouting wings, tempting me to try and soar. But the higher you fly, the harder you fall, so I temper the feeling.

I scoff, rolling my eyes to hide the emotion that’s lying behind them. “Donotdisrespect Wiggles. He was everything to me.”

“He was disgusting.”

“He washome.”

That word quiets the space between us, filling it with a thick tension that pulls tighter with every second.

“Where the fuck have you been, Lil?” Chase whispers, his voice cracking.

My stomach rages with unease, unsure of how to answer him. I’vebeena lot of places. Beaten and left for dead by my shit ex-boyfriend. Feeling like I was going to die while I went through withdrawals on Derek’s guest bed; pregnant and scared. But those are conversations I don’t think he’s ready to hear, and honestly, ones I’m not sure I’m ready to tell.

“I’ve been living, Chase.” I shrug.

“No,” he says sharply. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to shrug your shoulders and brush this off like you didn’t return a fucking phone call. Youdisappeared, Lily.”

My chest constricts. “I know,” I whisper.

“Do you?” he shoots back. “Do you have any idea what that was like for me?”

Irritation snaps at my spine with his words. What it was like forhim?

“No, Chase, Idon’tknow. Because believe it or not, not everything is about you. I was fucked up, okay?” Tears burn my lower lids, my heart slamming against my sternum with every breath. “And I’msorry.” My hands cover my chest. “I’m sorry that I left. I’m sorry that I never called. I’m sorry that you wasted a trip out here, trying to find answers for something that I don’t have answersfor.” Wetness drips down my face, falling on my upper lip, and I swipe it away angrily, emotion dancing around my insides like it’s the first time it’s felt freedom in years.

“It was my job to take care of you.” His voice cracks.

My stomach flares, old wounds bleeding like they’re newly formed, and I reach out, my palm covering his. “No, Chase. It wasn’t.”

He scoffs, ripping his hand out from under mine before standing up and pacing the floor.

“Are you clean?” His words sting as they slap across my face, and my body leans back from the impact.

The pads of my fingers trace over the raised flesh on my arms. “Yeah. A little over four years now.”

---