What the hell is Ryan doing here?
There’s another rapid-fire bang of a fist on wood. I’m suddenly aware of how flimsy the apartment door is. How the only thing between him and me is a piece of wood and a thin key-turn latch that I’m not sure would hold against a determined shove.
“I need to talk to you,” Ryan shouts. “I know you’re in there. I saw the light. I heard the TV. Come on, Serena, open the door.” The words are slurred. He sounds drunk. Really drunk.
I stand and edge back toward my bedroom, grabbing my phone from the couch as I go. Another bang.
“Please,” he says, tone wheedling. It’s almost enough to make me relent. I take a step toward the door, but then another bang comes, rattling the door so hard, it’s not the catch I’m worried about but the hinges, too. “You didn’t need to get me fired.” Any softness to his voice is gone. Replaced with something dark and venomous.
Fired? What the hell? I was planning to have a quiet word with Gina in HR later this week. She’s a total sweetheart, and I know I can trust her to give me the best advice for how to handle Ryan’s blackmail attempt. I know Gina will have my back. I should’ve gone straight to see her last week, but I was too angry on Thursday to think clearly, and Gina doesn’t work on Fridays or Mondays.
I reach my bedroom and slip inside, pushing the door quietly shut, even though I know it won’t make a difference if Ryan breaks in. I unlock my phone and hesitate. I consider calling the police. My fingers hover over the keypad, heart pounding. But what would I say? That my ex is outside, yelling and drunk? That he’s banging on the door and I feel scared. It sounds like nothing. Like an overreaction. Like something I should be able to handle myself.
If I call Liv, she’ll turn around and come straight back, but I don’t like the anger in Ryan’s tone, and there’s no way I’m putting Liv in danger.
I think of waiting Ryan out. Maybe he’ll leave. Maybe this is just a bad decision brought on by too many drinks. But then another round of pounding comes, followed by Ryan’s angry jeer, “Open the door, Serena,” and I know he’s not going away. I need to do something.
My breath comes in short bursts as I tap call, reaching out to the one person I know will help. The one person I trust over any other. The one person who will drop everything, no matter what, to be here—Chase.
It doesn’t matter that things between us are complicated or undefined. It wouldn’t matter if we were on the other side of the world or hadn’t spoken for a year; if I needed him or him me, we’d be there. Period. I hit call, barely able to hear the ring tone over the roar of blood in my ears. Ryan screams my name. In the next second, he throws himself against the door, and I swear thewalls of my room tremble. Even if Chase comes, it might be too late.
NINETEEN
CHASE
The main kitchen at Oakwood smells like cookie dough and chocolate chips.It smells like my childhood, I think, breathing it in, feeling the weight on my shoulders lift for the first time today.
The second our flight touched down in Denver early this morning, I came straight to the ranch, spending most of the day holed up in my place—just me, my thoughts, and the miserable echo of a loss against the Tidalrunners I can’t stop replaying.
It was hunger and an empty fridge that had me walking up to the main ranch. Not to mention the fact that if I spent one more second in my head, I was at serious risk of ending up as grumpy as Dylan during his ACL recovery or as pitiful as Jake every time Harper leaves for a three-day book-signing tour. I love my brothers, but they both have a streak of grump in them I’ve never bought into.
So I walked over to the main house, let Dylan make me a sandwich in exchange for my help restocking hay bales in the barn. There’s something about lifting and hauling and sweating that makes the stuff in your head get a little quieter. Dylan didn’t say much, giving me my space. He’s always known when to push, and when to hold back.
And now it’s after dinner and I’m still here, sitting at the huge bench table, watching Mama and Madison work at the counter like a pair of seasoned bakers. This might not be Mama’s kitchen anymore but she’s right at home with Mad perched on a stool just like we used to when we’d help her bake. Mad’s tongue peeks out the side of her mouth as she carefully spoons dough onto parchment paper, eating as much as she’s putting down to bake.
“You sure you don’t want to add cayenne to that batch?” I call over. “Give it a little kick?”
Mama shoots me a warning look. “There’s a reason you’ve been banished to the table, Chase Sullivan.”
Madison giggles before rolling her eyes in a move so like her mom’s that I laugh. It’s the first time I’ve cracked a smile all day. The first time I’ve felt like I’ve stepped out of my own head. My thoughts leap straight to Serena. I don’t know what it means that we haven’t spoken since the fair, only that I can’t stop thinking about her. Can’t stop rewatching her morning weather report just to hear her voice.
Mama slides the last tray into the oven and claps her hands. “Alright, Miss Madison. Off you go and wash up and get your pjs on before your mom gets back from late-night shopping with Auntie Flic and thinks you’ve turned into a ghost.” Mama smiles, waving the wooden spoon at the flour Mad has spilled down her tee.
Mad leaps from the stool and rushes out of the room. I swear I’ve never seen that kid walk anywhere. I stand, heading over to the kitchen to help Mama tidy.
“You about done sulking and ready to talk about the game?” she says, handing me a dishcloth.
“Nope,” I reply, grabbing a mixing bowl that needs drying and pretending I can’t feel Mama’s eyes on me.
“It was a tough one to watch,” she says casually, like she’s talking about a TV show.
I sigh. “We just never found our rhythm. I was off. Everyone was off.”
“Mm-hmm.” Mama hands me a tray from the sink to dry. I know whatever is coming, Mama has been building to it, waiting until I’ve pulled my head out of my ass so I’ll listen.
“On your worst days, Chase, you’re still one of the best quarterbacks in the NFL,” she says. “But on your good days, you’re ten times better than anyone else. Last week against the Trailblazers was some of the best football I’ve seen you play.”
I remember the way the ball felt in my hands, the power thrumming through my body, the knowledge that Serena was watching from the sidelines.