He couldn’t stay in this hospital another second. He very calmly walked out the door, even as his legs urged him to run. The night air was so thick with humidity it was impossible to suck enough air into his lungs. He felt as if he were drowning. Chase closed his eyes, hating being mired in that special slice of hell called limbo.
Ava’s voice brought him out of his dark thoughts. “Chase?”
He flinched when she touched him.
“Baby, come on, let go of the railing.”
Railing? He looked down at his white-knuckled grip on the metal handrail, then at Ava standing next to him. Tears dripped down her cheeks. His mouth couldn’t form any words.
She attempted to pry his fingers free. “Chase. Please. You’re scaring me. I’ve been trying to get your attention for five minutes.”
Something about her tone spurred him to act. His fingers uncurled, but he’d been clutching the metal so hard he’d lost feeling in his hands. No. He was numb all the way to the bone.
How long had he been standing there in shock? Absolutely lost in grief and disbelief?
She took his keys and half-shoved him in the truck and slipped into the driver’s seat. “We need to find a place to stay tonight.”
“Fine. Just find a liquor store first.”
“Chase. I don’t think that’s a good—”
“Find a goddammed liquor store.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chase had crawled inside a bottle for the past two days. How he hadn’t passed out wasn’t a testament to his ability to handle his liquor, but a testament to his stubbornness.
Ava had never felt so helpless. She wouldn’t mother him. She wouldn’t press him to talk. So she curled up beside him on the bed, offering her physical presence while he steadily polished off another bottle of rotgut whiskey.
He absentmindedly stroked her hair while he clicked through TV channels. Occasionally he’d switch out the remote for the bottle. His body temperature was warm despite that he only wore a pair of athletic shorts. He didn’t speak. At all.
He hadn’t moved either. Not even when her phone rang yesterday and she’d left him to take the call outside.
She hadn’t wanted to talk to Marnie—it didn’t matter what offer the woman dangled. No way was she leaving Chase alone at a time like this. No way. But Marnie hadn’t understood Ava’s absolute refusal to listen to the pitch for another audition. Not even after she explained she was dealing with a friend’s death. Her agent went on a tirade about sticking her neck out for her client, complaining bitterly about Ava’s lack of consideration for Marnie’s reputation. Ava half-listened, her mind elsewhere, mainly on the devastated man hiding in the motel room, just out of her reach.
Chase’s cell phone buzzed on the nightstand, startling her. He didn’t bother to grab it. The buzzing rings stopped for a couple minutes, then the phone began to vibrate again. Ava looked at him. “Aren’t you gonna get that?”
He shook his head.
The phone quit ringing.
Five minutes later it started again.
Chase took a swig from the bottle when it stopped.
By the third attempt, she rolled off the bed and picked up his phone. Caller ID read: Ryan Ackerman. She shivered and answered it anyway. “Hello?”
“This is Jackie Ackerman. I’m looking for Chase. He didn’t leave me a way to contact him. I found his name on my son’s phone, so I’m hoping this is the right number?”
“Yes, it is, Jackie. This is Ava.” She felt Chase’s gaze snap to her. “Did you want to talk to him?”
“Can I?”
“Sure. Hang on. Let me get him.” Ava covered the mouthpiece. “You need to take this.”
“I can’t.” His voice was rough from too much whiskey and too little use.
“You have to.” She spoke into the phone. “Jackie? He’s right here.”
Chase muttered and set aside the bottle to snatch the phone Ava held out to him. “Hey, Jackie. No. It’s all right, you’re not a bother.”
A bunch of “Uh-huhs” followed. Then, “Of course I’ll be there. No. That’s fine. I’ll find it. See you. Thanks for letting me know. Take care.” He punched the off button and tossed the phone aside.
Perched across from him on the other bed, Ava waited a minute before she asked, “What’s going on?”
He held up the bottle, studying the two inches of remaining liquid. “She gave me the time and place for Ryan’s memorial service. Memorial service. The kid had barely begun to live. Is there anything worse on this whole f**king planet than memorializing a promising life cut short?”
The lump in her throat prevented response.
“We all have to f**king sit there, looking at the goddamn picture of him, or the f**king casket, and pretend he’s in a better place? That this is some kind of master f**king plan? Wrong. Goddammit everything about this is so wrong I…can’t…even…” Chase tipped the bottle up and sucked it dry in three greedy gulps.
Ava wanted Chase to lash out. To act out. To lose control and throw the bottle at the wall as hard as he could, screaming his rage and frustration as it shattered. But he’d closed himself off.
Or so she thought.
Chase lurched to his feet and staggered to the bathroom. Slamming the door behind him. Attempting to keep her out.
Not a f**king chance, McKay.
She leapt up after him, but paused, unsure what to do. Pressing her back against the wall outside the bathroom, listening to him retch. Her belly roiled. Her heart seized with his every distressed whimper. Her tears fell freely as she heard him trying to hold back his sobs.
Time passed in a vacuum of misery.
After she heard the toilet flush for the third time, she curled her palm around the handle, praying he hadn’t started locking the door. The door swung open with a loud squeak.
Chase sat on the floor, his face hidden in his hands. He said, “Get out,” in that dangerously low tone.
She parked herself next to him, hip to hip. When he didn’t bark at her to leave, she placed her hand on his knee, wondering if he’d accept her need to soothe him.
Try.
“You want some water?” she asked.
No answer.
She counted to one hundred. “Chase? Do you need—”
“I don’t need anything. Just go.”
“I can’t.”
“Don’t you understand? I don’t need you.”
Ava ignored the sharp pang his words caused. “But I need you.”