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I throw my arms around him. I forgot how tall he was; I have to reach up on my tiptoes to press my face against his neck. I breathe him in like I'm inhaling the warm, rich aroma of freshly-baked brownies, and his arms instantly come around me as I slide down his body. He presses a kiss to my hair, and I close my eyes, feeling like a dam shattering apart, every latch I’ve kept closed these past few months bursting open and threatening to drag me down, down, down—
I tremble. Chase has always been safe, warm—home. And finally, at long last, he’s here, and I don’t have to hold myself together anymore.
His arms tighten around me, and he looses a long breath, as if he’s been waiting for me, too. ‘I've got you,’ he says. ‘It’s okay. I’ve got you.’
We stand like that for some time. I feel my mum peel away from us, and Emmy and Jess don’t interrupt; they probably caught us embracing and made themselves scarce. When the crowd finally disperses and it’s just Chase and I in the cemetery, we sit beside each other on a bench.
I wring my fingers to stop myself from reaching out to touch him. ‘You look different,’ I say.
He looksimpeccable. He wears a navy suit that fits him so perfectly the ink of the tattoo on the back of his hand teases the edges of his sleeve. I know what else lingers beneath that arm, the thorns and mandala animals and goddesses. His face is as I remembered it, only a bit sharper round the cheekbones and jawline; stubble darkens that jawline. His hair is still as unruly as always, like he’s just rolled out of bed.
Chase quirks a brow at me.
‘Sorry. That was weird.’ I bite my lip. ‘I just haven’t seen you for such a long time.’
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, as his gaze searches my face. ‘You look different, too,’ he says roughly. He reaches out. ‘Is that a grey hair?’
I swat his hand away, ignoring the jolt of electricity from his touch. ‘Whatever.’
He actually looks at my hair then. ‘It’s not pink anymore.’
‘Why did you come all this way?’
His gaze bores into mine. ‘Why wouldn’t I come all this way? Your dad was a great man. A legend. I wanted to pay my respects.’
‘I didn’t see you at the ceremony.’
‘I stood at the back. I didn’t want to intrude.’
I swallow the lump in my throat. ‘It was a shit ceremony,’ I whisper. ‘I never got the turbo on his coffin or adopted Thor and Skittles from the rescue centre.’ I take a shuddering breath. ‘Thank you,’ I say at last. ‘It would mean a lot to him that you’re here.’
Slowly, he reaches up and brushes away a tear, but his finger lingers on my cheek for a moment. ‘I’m here for you,’ he says. ‘I want you to know that. I’m living back home for a few more weeks before I leave for Provence, so if ever you feel like you need a hug, you know where I am. You still have my number, right?’
I sniffle. ‘Yeah. UnderPiano Man.’
He chuckles. ‘As if you remember that.’
‘You told me there was a hamster in it. How could I forget?’
He gives me one of his dazzling grins then, crooked and heartbreaking. ‘It screamed like a little girl.’
I laugh, but then I sob, and then I’m laughing again. I look at him with all the words I want to say. They linger in the space between us as the silence stretches on, but I can’t say them. I’m with Archer, and he’s with… Genevieve.
He takes my hand and squeezes it, but I wince as my injured finger gives a lance of pain. Which I immediately regret, because he looks down at it, at the protruding knuckle.
‘What happened to your finger, Frankie?’ It’s not even a question. His voice has dropped, becoming almost a growl.
I gulp, watching the muscle feather in his jaw, as I sort through my list of best excuses.
The reek of alcohol hits me before I hear him.
‘Yeah, what happened to your finger, Frankie?’ Archer asks, so close to my ear I startle and leap from the bench, my hand going straight to my belly.
Chase rises with me, his gaze cool and full of loathe as he regards his ex-best friend. Archer returns his stare, swaying slightly, and then he grins, twisted and sneering.
I realise belatedly this is the first time they’ve seen each other since the night Chase punched him. There’s no one here now to break up a scrap.
‘Come for your sloppy seconds, mate?’ Archer says, scorn dripping off every word. ‘She does this little gasp when you kiss her—‘
