Chapter 23

I thought he would've heard me tap on his bedroom door, but maybe the sound of the water in the shower drowned it out. It's a good thing I spoke before he unbuttoned those jeans, otherwise life as I know it probably would have ended seeing Chase in that state.

CeCe ate dinner and then wanted to build a fort and watch a movie—something I didn't hesitate to jump on. I remember making forts as a kid and thinking it was the coolest experience ever. She was so excited to start the movie, but I'm pretty sure we both fell asleep within the first ten minutes of it even starting. To be fair, we had a pretty busy day. Chase warned me that it would be a longer one since he was staying for some recovery training after practice, so I fully expected to be the one to get her dinner ready.

"She's having an early bedtime tonight, I take it," Chase says, noting the time and CeCe still sleeping in the fort.

"She ate dinner already and we brushed her teeth. She seemed really tired today, we were busy."

Chase kneels down in front of the opening in the fort and I hear his knees crack as they bend. He lowers himself even further to duck under the blanket and when he reemerges from the floor, he's already knocked over the two stools on the end and the fitted sheet is being stretched to its limit as he rises with CeCe in his arms.

Her sleepy eyes open and close slowly, and I whisper goodnight to her as Chase carries her down the hall and into her bedroom.

Taking the stools two at a time, I line them back up along the kitchen island and then go back one by one for the dining room chairs. There's zero percent chance I attempt to fold a fitted sheet so I toss it on the couch and fold up the comforter before grabbing both and putting them back in the closet.

"Thanks for today," Chase says when he walks out of her bedroom.

His eyes linger on mine for a moment, letting a deep sigh leave his chest. His hair is still damp from the shower and the pair of sweatpants he's wearing are making my imagination run amuck. The white t-shirt clings to his shoulders, letting every muscle be displayed. I've never looked at a man the way I look at Chase. And that sounds… awful to admit, considering I've been in relationships before and I've loved other men—at least I used the word, even though I don't think I truly meant it.

"You don't have to thank me every time I watch her, Chase. I like being with her and I'm happy to help you."

He nods and reaches into the cabinet above his refrigerator.

"Well then, thanks for the picture today. The one that actually came through."

I laugh, recalling the mishap from the first photo that apparently got lost in text message land somewhere.

"I saw something in your room, though, when I was in there. I wasn't snooping, I swear. But it caught my eye."

"Trust me, Kincaid, I've already assumed you've been snooping."

I gasp dramatically. "Rude."

We exchange smiles and he takes a seat at the island while I'm pulling my phone from the charger.

"You still have the guitar." I soften my features as he looks at me. I'm sure he didn't see that coming.

The sun's already setting and the golden hour is upon us as I can see pinks and oranges, causing the light in the sky to look softer and less harsh than it has all day.

The light drifts into his apartment and the rays bring out the golden flecks in his eyes. I wish I knew how to tell him how one look from him makes me feel. How the tenderness of his eyes make me feel at peace and comforted. How the stature of his body close to mine gives me so much safety and such a feeling of assurance.

He nods slowly. "I do."

A low roar of thunder stirs both of us to focus on the window, not seeing any dark clouds, but knowing it's probably coming.

"I loved hearing you play that guitar growing up. I remember you would just walk around the house strumming notes. I was in awe of you." A faint smile spreads across his lips. "Just another thing that had all the girls swooning, huh?" I joke.

I can tell he's reminiscing on those years too.

"Do you still play it?" My head tilts when I lean against the counter.

He exhales, his eyes closing briefly.

"I haven't in years. Used to… but now I just can't."

I nod slowly. "Can I show you something?" I ask, pulling myself up from the counter.

He nods and sits still like he's waiting for me to pull out my phone or something along those lines, but when I start to move down the hall he follows.

"CeCe did this. I thought it was sweet and wanted to show you."

The wooden frame that CeCe was holding earlier is back on the whiskey barrel in the corner of his bedroom, except this time there's a tiny pink foam heart sitting next to it. It's exactly like the ones that she handed out the other night around the dinner table.

"There was no prompting in this, by the way. She did it all on her own."

"The pink foam heart," he says softly, looking at the picture in the frame and letting himself smile for a change. "Did she ask about him?"

I shake my head no, seeing a sigh of relief leave his lips.

"It's okay to talk about him, Chase."

His hand pulls at the back of his neck and he sighs on a shaky breath.

"I know, it's just… Never mind."

My initial instinct is to comfort him. I can see the struggle in his features as he holds back. He's not a hugger, not someone who gets close to people–but I am. I touch my fingers to the inside of his forearm, feeling the strength that he physically exudes, but knowing that beneath the surface, he's soft and tender.

"Sometimes, it still feels like it happened yesterday and I guess that's why I just don't let myself think about it much or talk about him. It's fucking hard."

My chest constricts as I look at him. "I know. You were such a pillar of strength for your mom and Abby. Did you even let yourself grieve?"

He scoffs under his breath and it makes me feel like we shouldn't be diving into this. Like I'm forcing him into a conversation he isn't ready for, but when I open my mouth to apologize and change the subject, he cuts me off.

"I gave myself a day." His eyes find mine, a soft brown and slightly glossy. "I cried. I threw things. I cursed up to the sky and ultimately drank myself into an oblivion. And you know what it did?"

I shake my head, feeling a lump form in my throat.

"Nothing. It did nothing . He was still gone and I was still left with this pain." His throat clears and he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I gave myself that day. And now I handle my grief on my own terms. I process it how and when it feels right to me."

"Grief looks different for everyone. People handle it differently all over the world, but the bottom line is always the same. Knowing grief means we know love."

He presses his lips together before he looks back down to the guitar and inches closer to it, gripping the top of it lightly. He's looking at it as if he's wanted to touch it for years.

"He loved this damn thing. I only started playing it because he loved it so much. He took an interest in my football and I just wanted to take an interest in something he loved too, you know? I was never very good, but it was enough to impress girls in high school." His eyes shoot up to me and I roll mine. His minor skills definitely worked on me.

"I think I've only played once since he died. Every time I would go to pick it up, I'd hear him. I'd hear his two cents that I used to beg him to stop giving me, but now I'd do anything to have that back."

My eyes well up thinking of Jack. God, I loved him. He was a second father to me in every definition of the word. When he passed away I felt so much sadness for Abby and Chase, but a sadness for me too. My parents traveled so much for work, and Jack and Diane filled their shoes in so many ways when they were out of town. It doesn't compare to how Abby and Chase miss him, but he was such a riot. His kindness and sense of humor were things I always appreciated growing up.

"It makes you feel close to him, but that's hard too. I get it," I say. "But still, using the term ‘used to' about something you loved so much is a pretty sad phrase in any language." My hand running through my hair, I risk getting a little closer to him. "Do you miss it?"

"Yes," he says without hesitation or second guessing. Like he's been waiting for someone to ask him the question so he can admit it.

"You're right, it was one of the things that always made me feel connected to him, and I want to pick it up again. I want to be able to pass this down to CeCe, to give her a glimpse into something that he loved so much. I don't know, I fucking freeze up when I try," he professes, pulling it from the stand and taking a seat on his bed.

His curtains are open, letting the moonlight drift in and the sound of rain that's now drizzling is relaxing to say the least.

"You can play it for me, I won't tell a soul you serenaded me on this rainy night."

A small laugh escapes us both as I stare down at the strings, watching his fingers feather over them lightly.

"For all I know, I don't even remember how to play it." He chuckles, pulling it closer to him.

I'm not surprised Chase misses playing it. But I'm also not surprised he wants to avoid playing it either. Knowing him, he probably keeps it in this corner because it's not within direct eyesight when you're in the bedroom. It's almost hidden away, something to be kept a secret.

I take a seat next to him on the bed, feeling my pulse race as I get closer, but I can't help it. I know he set these rules into place, but I just… I want him to know that it's okay to let people in, to let people be close to you.

"Do you want to try?" I ask.