Page 91 of Until Now

His only answer is a laugh.

I can see everything up here. Behind me, the crowd stretches all the way back to the bars. The stage dwarfs the band, but the massive screens on either side flicks to their faces; sweat pours from them already. A beach ball bounces around the throng, and the smell of weed is so potent I can barely catch the burning aroma from the flares.

I barely notice Chase’s hands on my thighs. I feel like I’m floating above the world, seeing everything from above, bearing witness to something magical, something enchanting.

I raise my arms. I want to encompass this moment, let it flow through me and into me. I want to pause time, and yet, I don’t want it to stop—

There I am! On the screen!

I wave my arms like a weirdo—and then I pull a face so my double-chin is on display for thousands of people, earning chuckles and strange looks.

I sing along to every song, and so does Chase. I’ve never felt more in harmony with him before this night. It’s as if our souls are aligned, and the heartbreak and grief and sorrow pours from us with every word. Sometimes, I think of Archer when I sing, and tears spring to my eyes.

I can’t help but wonder who Chase thinks of.

I try to hide my disappointment when he sets me down so he can go for a piss, and when he returns, he stands beside me and takes my hand in his.

A jolt goes through me.

They finish on "Crack the Shutters"—probably my all-time favourite. I’m pretty sure it’s about making love, not just sex. About seeing the beauty of someone you love.

But I don’t think about Archer.

I think about the boy beside me, his hand warm and solid in mine. And I don’t think about the crowd around me or the band before me; I think about every time I’ve been with Archer, and how I wanted it to be Chase. His fingers tracing every plain of my body, mapping it with his touch, and his lips smoothing a trail of kisses down my neck.

Making love, notfucking.

Tentative and lingering and two bodies entwining beyond every place they touched, as if hands reached from our chests and clasped, and only the warmth of the sun as dawn broke through the open window, the drapes fluttering, kissed us awake.

I see it with blinding clarity, the way he smiles sleepily as I roll over in his arms, how I just watch him as he falls back into slumber.

My best friend.

Somewhere between hating Chase Maverick and being infatuated with him, he became my best friend, and I don’t even remember it happening.

I suppose that’s what happens when you love someone—you don’t even realise you’re falling. It’s blissful andcomfortable, that descent. Sometimes there’s no fire or butterflies or stolen glances—sometimes it’s quiet, and you don’t even notice you’re in love with them until you stand beside them and just stare at them, watching them be unapologetically themselves.

Being with Chase is easy. He makes me feel like the only girl in a room, in a meadow, in this crowd of thousands. He makes me feel safe and warm. And when I needed Archer, when he left me, Chase was there to hold me together. I don’t think Archer would ever have helped me put up those bughouses, or pushed me into asking for more vegetarian options, or helped my dad with his car every day after school with only coffee and sandwiches as payment.

Oh, fuck.

I loveChase.

I’min lovewith Chase.

I’m so screwed.

Chapter Nineteen

No More Than a Memory

Stifling heat wakes me. It presses on my chest, my lungs, as if a blanket has been thrown over my face—

I scramble from the sleeping bag and my fingers fumble over the zip and then cool, fresh air greets me. I close my eyes, breathe it in, feeling my lungs open.

I rub sleep from my eyes and my knuckles stick to my lids—lashes. I’m still wearing my lashes. I press a hand to my cheek and I’m met with something hard and crusty—glitter and paint from my phoenix. I glance down and frown at my shorts and crop top.

Well, at least I’m stilldressed.

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