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“Whatever, Chase. Is that why you’re having your new girlfriend fight your battles now?”
“Caroline,” he says, and her name is mingled with a sigh that even makes my stomach drop. “For the longest time, I’ve let my pity for you trump my sanity.”
Pity? Hol-ee shit. That’s a stinger.
“Pity?” she nearly shouts. “Why would you pity me?”
“Because everything about you makes me sad,” he answers, and my eyes are back to bugging out of my head again. “I know that’s hard to hear, Caroline, but it’s the truth. Because of your insecurities, you’re too fixated on being the center of attention or numbing yourself with alcohol that you keep ruining all the good things that you have in front of you.”
Oh, momma. Someone call 9-1-1 and send them straight to this chick’s house because this shit just turned into a five-alarm fire.
Caroline is silent, probably because she’s currently trying to fan out the flames consuming her, but Chase keeps going.
“I’m sorry for you, Caroline. I actually am, but I should have put your ass in line ages ago. And truthfully, I’m sorry for myself I didn’t. But I’m glad River gave me the nerve today. It’s been three long years of your bullshit, and I’m done,” he declares. “Don’t call me again because I’m not interested in hearing from you. I’ll be blocking your number and hanging up if you try to call from any others. I’m done living in the past. I’m done catering to your supposed guilt. I don’t owe you anything. And most importantly, I’m done talking to you now. Goodbye, Caroline. Forever.”
He pulls the phone away from his ear, ends the call, and his eyes are only slightly less wide than my own. I don’t know how I expected that to go, but I swear, I never could have imagined it would be quite that badass.
“Okay, Dawson,” I tell him, my smile growing by the second. “You are officially Batman for the day. I hope New Orleans is ready with the signal.”
Chase
I turn off the water and step out of the shower, grabbing the fresh towel I placed on the one and only hook inside the sardine-can-sized bathroom of the motor home.
We’ve been driving for what feels like all day, only arriving in New Orleans about an hour ago when the sky was already dark and the clock was nearing 10:00 p.m.
Since Brooke deferred on taking her shower until in the morning, I figured I could use a good clean and scrub. It’s odd how driving for hours can make you feel like you just spent a week in a hostel with no AC and only one pair of underwear, but there’s just something about when you finally reach your destination that makes a shower feel like nirvana.
Six straight hours on the road, with hardly any stops, is typically enough to make anyone go insane, but against all odds, Brooke managed to keep Benji and me entertained. At one point, she came out of the bedroom in a mashup of his superhero costumes, and I laughed so hard I nearly swerved off the damn road.
I’m convinced she could take on Ebenezer Scrooge and the Grinch and walk away with the two bastards cackling.
Nonetheless, she looked hilarious in Benji’s superhero costumes, and it was just the energy boost I needed to see the rest of the drive through. Not to mention, an additional adrenaline rush came in the form of a purposefully ignored call from Caroline turning into Brooke calling Caroline back.
That conversation ended in me finally telling my ex what she should’ve heard a long-ass time ago—she needs to move the fuck on. The instant I hung up, I didn’t feel upset or mad or angry. I felt relief. It was as if I’d been carrying dead weight around for the past three years and I finally unloaded it at the proverbial garbage dump.
All thanks to Brooke.
I dry myself off with the towel, scrubbing at my hair for a few seconds before making quick work of the rest of my body. But when I go to grab a clean pair of boxers to slide on, I realize I have zero clothes inside this bathroom.
Well, shit. I know I got my clothes out of my bag, but apparently I didn’t bring them in with me.
Not very helpful for a guy who’s not auditioning for a role in the Broadway production of The Emperor’s New Clothes.
Quickly, I wrap the towel around my waist and open the bathroom door, laser-focused on the pile of clothes on the pullout sofa. But I only make it two steps toward the living area before I run right into something. Run right into someone, actually.
“Ahhh!” Brooke screeches and drops an arm full of different foods to the floor. She teeters on one leg from the impact, and I reach out with two strong arms to pull her steady, but the momentum of my determination mixed with the opposing direction of hers combined with the fall makes our equilibrium all wonky. Her chest bumps into my chest, and her hands reach up to grip my shoulders to help her body overcome gravity’s pull.
