No Good For Anyone (12 page)

His heart twisted. All he wanted to do was protect her. But instead, he’d hurt her, had screwed everything up the way he always did. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, wanted to explain everything to her. But he couldn’t. Couldn’t say the words out loud, couldn’t tell her that he wanted her to stay here with him, to wait for Max.

He looked at her, hoping she could see in his eyes how much he needed her.

And it must have worked. Because after a moment, she sat back down.

“I should have called you,” she said softly.

“About Max?”

She shook her head. “After…I mean, after we spent the night together.”

“What are you talking about?”

She took a deep breath and twisted her hands in her lap. “I went into The Gristmill today, and your friend was working. He told me you were upset that I never called you.”

He would kill the son of a bitch. What right did Bo have to go around blabbing his personal business to strangers? “He had no right to tell you that.”

She could see he was angry, and so she said quickly, “He only did it because he could tell I was upset.”

“Doesn’t matter.” His rage boiled up inside him, and he wanted to take it out on someone. Bo seemed like a good target. He leaned back in his chair, his fists clenched at his sides. “But I’ll deal with him later.”

She stood up, her dark eyes flashing. “You know what, Chace?” she said. “You need to get over yourself.”

Her reaction surprised him. Why was she yelling at him? She knew what happened, knew that he was damaged. What did she expect?

“I need to get over myself?” He tipped his head back and laughed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that shit happens in life, Chace. Horrible, terrible things sometimes happen. And as hard as it is to accept, you have to realize that sometimes there isn’t a reason. Sometimes there isn’t anyone to blame. You need to stop punishing yourself and get your shit together.” She lowered her voice and shook her head at him. But still, there was no pity in her eyes. Just anger. Anger that he was wasting his life. “It’s not your fault,” she said softly. “It’s really not your fault.”

The words sent a shock of relief jolting through his body. It was one thing to be told that by people who had to say it. But he knew Lindsay wouldn’t lie to him. She was too mad. And he trusted her opinion. He knew she was smart, and that she had a good head on her shoulders.

He took in a deep breath, his eyes suddenly filling with tears.

He stood up and took a step toward her, but before he could get there, the door to the back room opened and Dr. Felder came walking out, Max on a leash beside him.

“Here he is!”

Chace and Lindsay turned. Max had a cone around his neck, one of those big white plastic things designed to stop dogs from scratching at their wounds. When the dog saw Chace, his tail began to wag dopily bag and forth.

“Hey, boy,” Chace said, giving him a little pat on the nose. A line of stitches ran from Max’s ear down across his snout.

“He’s going to be okay,” Dr. Felder said. “He needed stitches on that gash on his face, but the ones on his stomach should be okay as long as you keep them clean. He was limping a bit, but his x-rays don’t show anything, so he’s probably just sore from whatever fight he got into.”

He looked at Lindsay. “You were lucky to find him when you did. His injuries weren’t that severe, but he was losing a lot of blood. If he’d stayed out there much longer, he may have become too weak to move.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Chace said.

“I’ll prescribe him some pain killers, and he should rest and take it easy. He can eat whatever he wants, although watch to see if the pain killers are making him nauseous.

If they do, call me, and we’ll see about switching him to something else.”

Chace nodded, and the doctor disappeared back behind the door to get the medicine and write up the bill.

Max was licking Lindsay’s hand.

“I’m glad he’s going to be okay,” she said.

“Thanks again for bringing him in.”

She looked at him, her dark eyes on his. He knew she was waiting for him to say something, was giving him a last chance to tell her he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant to blow her off, that she was right, that he needed to get on with his life. But he couldn’t.

The moment had passed.

So instead, he looked away and back down at Max.

Lindsay shook her head. “Goodbye, Chace,” she said.

And then she walked out.

C
hapter
N
ine

Maximilian wanted to play. The whole ride home he acted like he was fine, licking Chace’s hand and trying to poke his snout underneath Chace’s arm.

“You’re supposed to be sick, Buddy,” Chace said. “The doctor said you need to take it easy.”

But the car ride must have tired the dog out, because as soon as Max got in the house, he walked into his crate, flopped down, and fell asleep. The pain killers were making him loopy and drowsy.

Chace didn’t want to leave him alone, but he had some business to take care of.

“I’ll be right back, buddy,” he said to Max. But Max was already asleep, his breathing slow and content as he worked on starting the process of recovering.

When Chace got to The Gristmill, he turned his truck off and sat in the parking lot. The bar was starting to get busy -- it was Friday, and the fishermen who had cut out early for the day were starting to file in, along with the tourists who’d decided to get a jump start on the weekend.

Whatever. An audience never hurt anyone. Chace waltzed inside and right up to the bar, drumming his fingers against the wood impatiently. His body was wound tight with electricity.

Bo was down at the other end, pouring glasses of beer out of the tap.

Chace stood there, waiting, his impatience growing with each passing second.

When Bo saw him, the smile on his face disappeared. After fifteen years of friendship, he knew why Chace was there, knew he was pissed about what Bo had told Lindsay. Bo nodded, held his finger up to signal one minute.

Chace walked outside and paced in front of the bar.

Thirty seconds later, Bo appeared in front of him.

Chace stared at his friend. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t punch you.”

Bo shook his head, rolled his eyes. “I’ll give you three good reasons. One, we’ve been friends for fifteen years. Two, I’m one of the only people you’ve got left. And three, I’m not really the one you’re mad at.”

“Oh, I’m plenty mad at you,” Chace said. He rolled up his sleeves. “And the other two reasons don’t count.”

“’Course they do.”

“No.” Chace shook his head. “You might be all I have left, but you’ll forgive me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because of reason number one. We’ve been friends for fifteen years.” He took a step toward Bo.

“Jesus, Chace,” Bo said. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“About what? Hitting you? I’m trying hard not to, but I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out.”

Bo shook his head. “I really can’t fucking believe you, man. You’re acting crazy.”

“You had no right to tell her.”

“She was upset! She had no idea what the hell was going on. You were a complete prick to her. What was I supposed to do? Let her sit there and cry and act like I had no idea why you were doing what you were doing?”

“She was crying?” This threw him off. He’d pictured the conversation differently, the two of them sitting there in the bar, talking about him behind his back, about what a fuck up he was. The thought that Lindsay would be crying over him hadn’t crossed his mind. “It doesn’t matter,” Chace said, shaking his head. “You’re my best friend. You’re supposed to be loyal to me.”

“I am loyal to you!” Bo shouted. “I’m still here, aren’t I? Even when you were passing out drunk on my bar, never paying your tab because you were sinking every last penny you had into that damn restaurant, I was here. I was the
only
who was here, Chace. And you know why? Because I’m the only one who realizes what that hell it is you’re doing.”

“Oh, yeah?” Chace said, “and what’s that?”

“You’re punishing yourself. You’re trying to push people away, Chace. You don’t think you deserve anything good because of what happened. That’s not true. But it’s going to start being true if you don’t get your shit together.” Bo shook his head.

“Look at you,” he said. “You have a girl that loves you. And what are you doing?

You’re down here, trying to pick a fight with your best friend, because God forbid he gave her a little insight into what’s going on in that fucked up head of yours.”

“Shut up,” Chace said quietly. His hands were clenched into fists by his side. If Bo didn’t shut up, he didn’t know what he would do. The words were hitting him like shards of glass, and all he could think about was stopping it.

“I won’t shut up,” Bo said. “Someone needs to tell you this. You need to start getting your shit together, Chace. You need to stop spending your nights prowling for women. You need to stop letting the staff at the restaurant run rampant over you because you’re afraid they hate you for what happened to your dad. That accident wasn’t your fault, man, but what you’re doing now is. You’re fucking up your life, and I’m not going to stand around and watch it.”

And with that, Bo went back into the bar, leaving Chace standing outside in the parking lot, alone.

***

The next morning, Lindsay’s phone rang at seven am.

She groaned and rolled over on the couch, where she’d fallen asleep. After she’d left the animal hospital, she’d come home and heated up some soup. She’d realized she could pick up Chace’s wireless signal, so she spent the rest of the evening on the computer, navigating the mouse with her left hand as she caught up on the message boards of her favorite writing websites.

When she started getting sleepy, she loaded up her Netflix on demand and fell asleep watching movies on her laptop. Hopefully Chace had some kind of limited streaming plan, and he’d get a bunch of overage charges on his bill.

“Hello?” Lindsay croaked in the phone.

“Lindsay!” her mother shouted. “What is going on? I’ve called you about a million times!”

“I know, Mom.” Lindsay sat up and pushed the hair out of her face. Why was her mother talking so loud? It was only seven in the morning. “Didn’t you get my text?”

“Yes, you said you’d sprained your wrist and you were resting, but that everything was fine.”

“Okay, so didn’t you take that to mean that I sprained my wrist but I was resting and everything was fine?”

“No! Because I needed to hear it directly from
you.
And you weren’t answering your phone, so I was going to drive up there and check on you, but then your sister said no, I shouldn’t, that she’d talked to you and that you were okay.”

Lindsay said a silent thanks to Jaime. “I’m fine, Mom. I’ve just been sleeping a lot,” she lied.

“Well, you could have told me!” her mom yelled. “Here I am, sitting over here by myself, completely in the dark about your condition! You just waltzed out of that restaurant with a strange man, not even caring that I was worried about you.”

As her mother made it all about herself, raging on about how selfish Lindsay had been about her broken wrist, Lindsay leaned back against the pillows. She drifted back to sleep for a moment, only to be jolted awake a moment later by a knock on the door.

She looked out the window and saw a glimpse of a Comcast truck in her driveway.

“Sorry, Mom,” she said quickly. “I have to go. The cable man’s here.”

“On a
Saturday?”

“Yes, Mom, on a Saturday.”

“Why would you schedule the cable man on a Saturday? You have all week to do things like that.”

“No, I don’t,” Lindsay said. “I write during the week, remember, Mom?”

“Well, yes, I know you write during the week, Lindsay, but you can write anytime. Do you know they charge a five dollar fee for connecting service on the weekends? It’s just another way to – ”

“Gotta go, Mom,” Lindsay said. “The man’s here and he really needs to get started.”

She disconnected, feeling bad for hanging up on her mother, but really. Her mom needed to learn that she couldn’t just call up yelling at her first thing in the morning like that.

“Hi,” she said when she opened the door to the cable guy.

“Good morning,” he said, a smile on his face.

He pushed past her into the house. She went to close the door, but before she did, she caught a glimpse of Chace. He was working on cutting down the last of the fence.

He’d reached the middle of the yard now, and was making good progress. She watched him for a moment, the way the muscles in his back flexed with each movement.

And then she shut the door and slipped back inside before he could see her.

C
hapter
T
en

Over the next week, Maximilian’s wounds healed wonderfully. Dr. Felder removed his stitches, but, much to Max’s dismay, left the cone on. He was back to his old self, though, running around in the yard, chasing rabbits, and causing mischief.

Every morning, Chace would get up and take him for a long walk through the woods. He wanted Max to be able to get his fill of the scents he loved, but wasn’t going to take any more chances with letting Max wander around unleashed. He’d made the mistake of thinking that just because Max was a dog, he should be allowed to run free.

But that wasn’t the case.

After their walk, the two of them would return home and Chace would set out a bowl of food for Max, then head back outside to finish working on the fence. He needed to finish it more than ever now that he was determined to keep Max in the yard.

The following Monday, a week and a half after he’d first started, Chace hammered in the last post. He stood back, admiring his work. The fence looked great.

One any man could be proud of.

His eyes flicked toward Lindsay’s house. He hadn’t seen her since the day they’d fought, the day she’d yelled at him in the vet’s office. When he got home from the restaurant at night, he’d hurry inside, his head down, determined not to accidentally run into her.