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If he wants to leave, fine. But he’s not sabotaging my weekend.
It’s too damn expensive to waste.
I draw the girl in for a tight hug and race back to the setup.
As soon as he hears me, Chase glances up in the middle of conversing with Demi.
‘Oh my God.’ Demi looks appalled as she notes my puffy face, my red-rimmed eyes. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I had a minor breakdown in the loo,’ I say breathlessly. ‘But I’m alright. Chase—‘
‘Is this about Arch?’
I so don’t want to have this conversation in front of Chase. ‘Wanna go on the dodgems?’ I ask him.
His lips part in surprise. For once, Chase Maverick looks speechless.
‘Um, no, of course I don’t want to go on the dodgems,’ says Demi. ‘Last time, Arch bumped into me so hard I had whiplash for two weeks.’
‘I wasn’t asking you,’ I say.
Her eyes widen, but she’s quiet.
‘Uh…’ Chase scratches the back of his neck. ‘Alright.’
???
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?’ Chase asks for, like, the twelfth time as we make our way to the fair.
‘Honestly, I’m okay. I want to enjoy the rest of my weekend.’
Out of my peripheral, I see him watching me carefully, as if he’s waiting for me to fall apart like a piece of porcelain. ‘Really,’ he says drily. ‘Because you just admitted to having a breakdown in a portaloo, and then you bounced back to the tent and asked if I want to go on the dodgems.’
I take a deep, trembling breath.
I wish he’d stop trying to get me to talk about what happened. I know he means well, that talking ishealthy, but I can’t spiral here. Not in front of all these people. Not when I want to forget about what happened. Those tainted thoughts of self-loathe and self-blame linger at the back of my mind, waiting for any crevice to open up so they can creep in, like black dye in water.
And I can’t explain it—this feeling. It’s a rush of fire; a sort of desperation to dosomething, keep myself occupied and moving, to keep those thoughts at bay.
I know I’ll crash eventually. I know I’m soaring so high the descent will shatter me. But I’m not thinking about that right now.
I bound to the bar with all the excitement of a little girl running up to a sweet stand and order a gin. I turn to Chase, note his reluctant expression, and deflate.
‘Shit,’ I say. ‘I forgot you don’t really drink. Um…’ I cast my eyes over the menu on the side of the bar. ‘Do you want a slushie?’
‘Sure,’ he mumbles, and before I can route for my purse, he slaps a note on the counter. He eyes me. ‘Take it easy.’
‘Where’s the fun in that?’ I say with a laugh, and chug my drink.
‘Frankie—‘
‘Dodgems,’ I call back to him as I toss my cup into a bin and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
Demi was right: dodgems really do give you whiplash. Some idiot slams into me, and pain lances up my neck. I don’t give a shit that it’s a boy who looks about twelve—I hone in on him and ram my car right up his behind.
Chase stands on the side as he sucks his slushie; he raises his brows when I reach him, but mirth makes his eyes bright. ‘I don’t think you should be driving when you’re vengeful.’
‘Did you see that little shit? He totally crashed into me on purpose.’
