I wanted to tell her that she should at least meet him, because why not? But given her earlier comments about my tendencies to interfere in people’s lives and give unwanted advice, I imagined myself zipping my lips tightly closed.
By the end of the evening I’d decided that I should apologize to Chase. Not that I thought we should keep seeing each other, but like Anjali had said, an apology never hurt.
So after Anjali had left, I picked up my phone and typed in a short message. It took me several tries before I got it right. Hi Chase. I want to apologize for giving you advice you didn’t want or need. It wasn’t my place. Your career and health decisions are up to you. It wasn’t my intention to interfere, just to help. I hope everything works out for you and wish you all the best.
My eyes dampened as I re-read it several times and my finger hovered over the send arrow before finally tapping it.
There.
And because I didn’t want to sit around pathetically waiting to see if he got it or replied, I shut off my phone and went to bed.
* * *
—
“You have a visitor, Ms. Banks. Chase Hartman is here to see you.”
My eyes popped open wide listening to the doorman of my building announce Chase’s presence downstairs.
Jesus! What was he doing here?
I’d been sitting at my piano working on a song, fingering out a melody, jotting down notes and lyrics and recording some on my phone, when the doorman had called up. This took me by surprise and my hands broke out in a sweat, my pulse spiking.
“You can send him up, thanks.”
In a panic, my head swiveled around the apartment. My breakfast cereal bowl and spoon still sat on the counter, along with the box of Cheerios. Actually, the empty wine bottle and glasses from last night still sat there too, as well as the plate I’d used for cheese and crackers.
Chase liked things neat, and I was a slob.
I was also still wearing comfy at-home clothes—a pair of gray cashmere lounge pants and a matching long cardigan over a cami. I had no makeup on, and I lifted a hand to the messy knot my hair was in.
Well, no time to do anything about these issues. The knock at the door announced his arrival.
I sucked in a few shallow breaths as I padded in sock feet to the door. I confirmed it was him and opened the door.
“Hey.” His good looks made my knees weak. A layer of stubble roughened his strong jaw, his skin still attractively tanned from our few days in the sun, his brown eyes so warm and beautiful. He wore a black wool jacket with a maroon scarf around his neck, and jeans. He held up his phone in a gloved hand. “I got your text message.”
Chapter 16
Chase
I stared at Jordyn with a longing so fierce I nearly dropped to my knees. I’d gotten used to seeing her like this—naked face, soft and vulnerable and real, and casual clothing—but it still wowed me. I loved how she looked all glammed up, but it felt like a privilege to see Jordyn Banks like this. Every. Single. Time.
“You know you can just hit reply.” She raised one eyebrow.
“Smart ass,” I managed to mumble.
Her lips quirked but I could see the nerves in the way her eyes flickered. “Come in.” She stepped aside and I walked in.
The first thing I noticed was the papers strewn over the piano, some on the hardwood floor. “Were you writing?”
“I was trying.” She lifted one shoulder, wrapping her sweater tighter around her. “It was going okay.”
“Sorry to interrupt.”
“No, it’s fine. Would you like some coffee?” She gestured to her kitchen. I took in the Keurig and used K-Cups littering the counter around it, not to mention an assortment of other dirty dishes. I had to smile.
“Sorry,” she muttered, strutting into the kitchen. “You probably want to clean this up.”
“Yes.” I followed her, hands in my jacket pockets. “But I’ll restrain myself. I’ll have a coffee, sure.”
She set about making us coffees, and I resisted the urge to pick up the dishes and put them into the dishwasher, even though I only wanted to help, not insult her.
“So you really came all the way over here to reply to my text?” She leaned against the counter.
“It’s not all that far,” I pointed out. “And yes, I did.” I caught her eye. “I want to apologize too.”
She pressed her pretty lips briefly together. “No need for you to apologize.”
“Yeah, there is.” I shoved a hand into my hair. “I overreacted when we talked yesterday. I’m sorry.”
Her tight mouth relaxed. “Okay.”
“And I’m getting an appointment at the Mayo Clinic.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yeah. The team’s arranging it. I talked to Coach about it after practice this morning, and how I felt I was letting everyone down and I just wanted to keep playing, and he told me not to be stupid and figure out what’s going on.”
She said nothing, taking the mug out of the coffee machine and sliding it over the counter toward me.
“Which is pretty much the same thing you said.”
Her lips twitched into a tiny smile. “Yes, it is. But I’m still sorry. I don’t mean to be meddlesome. I know I can be…My friend Anjali came over last night and reminded me that I do tend to be like that.”
“Yeah?”
She sighed, turning her attention to the cup of coffee she was making for herself. “She reminded me of when I told her to stop seeing that asshole Jay Koslowski when he was screwing around on her. She’d accused me of wanting her to be single because I didn’t have a boyfriend.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. That kinda hurt, because that wasn’t the case at all. I was just worried about her. And pissed off for her. She apologized later. It was said in the heat of the moment, and mostly because she knew I was right. He was treating her like crap. She just didn’t want to admit it because she thought she was in love with him. And then she reminded me of the time I told my friend Malik that his manager was a dick because he was stealing money from him; he was mad too.”
“Huh. Was he stealing money from him?”
“Yeah.”
“But he was mad at you?”
She smiled. “At first. He did fire him eventually. I think he was more upset about the fact that I realized what was going on before he did.”
I nodded.
“So anyway, I do tend to butt in where I’m not wanted.” She picked up the mug that said Without music life would B? and lifted it to her lips. “You said something the other day though. Something I didn’t understand.”
“What?” I picked up my mug too.
“Let’s go sit down. And I can take your jacket. Sorry, I’m a terrible hostess. I was surprised you were here.” She carried her mug into the living room and set it on the brass and glass coffee table.
I did the same, unwound my scarf and shrugged out of my jacket. I handed it to her and she hung it in the closet.
“You said something about people not caring about you unless you’re perfect.” Then she sat next to me and picked up her mug. “You do tend to be a perfectionist.”
I lifted my hands. “No, I’m not.”
She smiled. “You are. Your perfect clean and tidy home. Your perfect clothes. Your car is spotless inside and out, and you’ve told me how fussy you are about your equipment—taping your sticks, sharpening your skate blades, your game-day routine…”
“Okay, okay. I do like things…uh, perfect.” I closed my eyes briefly, shaking my head. “I’m an idiot.” Despite having just outlined how obnoxious I was, her eyes were soft and warm and engaged. It was tempting to tell her all my shit, but really, who needed to know what an insecure tool I was. I just needed to stop being an insecure tool. “I was worried about what the team would think about me if I couldn’t play, but like I said, I talked to Coach and they don’t want me to take chances with my health.”
“I’m happy to hear that. I was worried that maybe the team would make you play hurt.”
“Fuck no.” I stared at her, aghast.