Chapter 6

I'd love to say I'm excited to clean out my closet this morning, but I'm not. I feel an overwhelming sense of dread knowing that I have to sift through items and decide if I want to save them or donate them. I've been putting this off for weeks, but finally decided today is the day.

Growing up, I've always loved clothes and fashion. I'd spend weekends at the mall and in different boutiques, always looking for something that was a standout piece. My closet and dresser are packed to the brim—explaining why I'm dreading having to sort through everything. My love for clothes hasn't changed with age, but my body has. I'm not ashamed I'm not the same size as I was back in high school; hell, I shouldn't still look like I'm eighteen when I'm closer to thirty.

Having thighs and hips, a bigger bust and maybe a little extra around the edges has never felt like an issue for me. And confidence isn't something I generally lack. I've always embraced the body I was given. Sure, I'm not as thin as Abby or as tiny as Mia, but I've never been those things. I've always been a little taller and curvier, but it wasn't until recently that I started to wonder if maybe that wasn't actually as great as I used to think.

Drew basically stopped touching me toward the end of our relationship and I'd be lying if I said it didn't cross my mind that maybe my body was no longer desirable for him. But I refuse to let the opinion of one very small-minded man dictate how I view my body. If I workout, it's because I like the feeling of it, the high afterward, and the strength I feel. And it will have nothing to do with trying to make someone like him want me.

I've spent all morning tucked away in my closet, barely making a dent, but now that it's nearly two o'clock, I have to get myself ready to head over to Chase's. I've been living in this oversized t-shirt all day and while I wish it were acceptable to walk the streets in this and nothing more, I don't have that level of confidence. But as I stand here looking at thousands of dollars' worth of clothing, all I can think of is, wow I have nothing to wear.

Sighing, I grab a pair of distressed denim overalls, pulling them up over my thighs before grabbing a yellow tank top and tossing that on as well.

Overalls , I say to myself with a laugh. When was the last time anyone saw me in these?

CeCe and I have spent the last hour coloring pictures out of this giant coloring book. When she brought the book out to the living room it was nearly as tall as her. She's so into arts and crafts, which I love. Her creativity is nonstop and her imagination is limitless. I've been around kids so much in the last few years with my job and then between CeCe and Mia's boys, it's given me such an appreciation for how their minds work. I joke that even though I'm the adult in the situation, I always feel like I'm the one who is learning. I think there's something to be said about how filterless kids are. Sure, sometimes it's absolutely hilarious to hear what they think about things, but a lot of the time it's actually pretty thought provoking. Being asked "why" a bunch of times eventually makes you think about a question more thoroughly.

There's an ungodly amount of crayons spilling out of her crayon box on the floor as we finish up and even some markers and colored pencils. Chase really doesn't hold back when it comes to enabling her artsy side, it's like he bought out an entire store here. Some of the crayons have glitter and sparkles and some are even ombré colored. There are a handful of markers that are supposed to be scented; although, they all just smell like regular markers to me. I had high hopes for the one called strawberry shortcake, but it didn't live up to my expectations.

"How'd I do?" I ask, holding up my picture just as I hear a door close and then heavy footsteps coming from behind me. CeCe takes off running toward the kitchen.

The low rasp of Chase's voice breaks the silence as he greets her and she immediately starts telling him all about her day. I stand to my feet, placing the picture I colored on the end table near the couch and walk over to the island where Chase is now standing holding CeCe. My heart starts to race and my stomach does somersaults as I watch him interact with her. This always happens when I see him in dad mode, it's one of the few times he looks genuinely happy and it's intoxicating to watch him light up like he does around her. His usual face is so stoic and a little… sad looking sometimes, but when he's around her, he shines.

Growing up, Chase was pretty outgoing and he was social—or at least more than he is now. Kristen hardened him. She hurt not just him, but the most important person in his life and sometimes I think he still isn't over it. Over her, yes, but the situation—what she did and how she did it—no. She took his ability to see the good in people and I don't know when he'll get that back.

"Did everything go okay? She seems to be feeling much better." His face becomes indifferent when he looks my way.

"Yeah, everything was great. She seems to be in much better spirits, so I'm sure those antibiotics are doing their job. We actually spent the majority of the time coloring. My masterpiece is on the end table if you'd like to hang it on the fridge." I smile, and he cracks the tiniest smirk as he nods, pulling his feet out of his shoes and placing his phone and keys on the island.

A small breath of relief leaves his chest now that he's home and sees CeCe is, in fact, alive and well. I don't take his lack of trust or conversation personally. It's who he's become in the last few years. Except around CeCe, of course. He's tired, you can tell. Doing everything on his own takes a toll on him, but he'd never actually admit it to anyone.

"Why don't you go get cleaned up for dinner?" Chase ruffles CeCe's hair before she skips down the hall and he turns on the sink.

"How was practice?" I ask, tapping my fingers together in front of me. A weird nervous habit I developed around Chase when I was younger. My eyes follow the way his hands move under the faucet as he washes them. I could watch this man be still for a painting and my insides would still overheat.

"Another day in paradise." He swats his hand at the faucet, turning it off and grabbing the towel.

His jaw clenches and he spreads his hands out on the marble countertop, flexing his fingers while his brown hair curls just slightly atop his ears. God, I love when he lets it grow a little like this. A little messy and a little unruly… it's sexy.

"That bad, huh?" I ask, knowing that their coach has been on their asses. "I'm telling you, move Frank to left guard and it'll help. Who do I have to call?" I ask, playfully, getting another small smirk out of him as he dries his hands.

"Summer Kincaid with all the answers." He smirks again. If small smirks and half smiles are all he'll give right now, I'll take it and count it in the win column. I want him to trust me and feel comfortable with me being here more now. The fact that we've known each other as long as we have doesn't seem to matter when it comes to CeCe. He's still on edge and overprotective, almost to a fault.

There are moments when I look at Chase and think, get over him. And then there are others, many others, when I'm around him watching him do the most normal, everyday tasks, like filling a pot with water to boil, and my heart just pounds . Something embedded within my DNA is just so hopelessly in love with him. I can't shake him. You'd think after years, literal years, of nothing happening and him never reciprocating the feelings, that it would be easy to let it go. But I just can't.

"Do you want help?" The offer falls from my lips before I can register what I'm asking, knowing he's likely going to turn me down. I can't imagine he wants two favors from me in one day.

"With?" He doesn't turn around to face me, just reaches for a box of macaroni and cheese from the pantry.

"Dinner. I can help if you want."

"Cooking wasn't part of our agreement, I've got it."

I sigh, rolling my eyes as I walk around the island.

"You're acting like this is some kind of business deal with a stranger from Craigslist. We're friends, I can help you as a friend. Plus, you look exhausted. I can throw macaroni and cheese together for CeCe while you relax for fifteen minutes." I pull open one of the drawers and grab a spoon and make my best attempt to scoot this wall of a man out of my way.

"What was that?" he asks with a low chuckle.

"My shitty attempt to move you out of the way, obviously. Just go relax. You don't have to do everything yourself. I'm here, let me help."

I can tell he wants to tell me to kick rocks. Chase has these tells I've learned over the years and it's so easy for me to see when I'm being too much for him. His nostrils are flaring and his breath begins to deepen. But then the soft smirk from his chuckle falls into a stare and he looks down at me, letting our gazes interlock for a brief moment until his eyes flick to my mouth and back up. Within seconds, a door opens down the hall and CeCe runs toward him calling his name.

"Go," I whisper.