Aria by Jennifer Hartmann

13Chapter Thirteen

“Wake up, seepy head!”

Chelsie startled awake. Her eyes were glazed over from sleep. She tried to focus on the source of her disturbance, but she was distracted by a familiar smell in the air. “Is that… pancakes?”

“Yes, Miss Chelsie! Daddy made us pancakes.”

Chelsie’s gaze landed on Sam, who was bouncing with excitement on the bed. Chelsie rubbed her eyes with a yawn. “Hi, Sam,” she greeted.

Sam bounced harder. “Are you excited for pancakes? I helped crack the eggs,” he said with pride.

It had been a long time since Chelsie had awoken to the smell of pancakes. Devon was not the culinary type. Ancient memories danced through her mind of her father making Sunday morning pancakes, and U2 playing through the speakers. She had lived for Sunday mornings.

“Come on!” Sam begged, pulling at her arm. “They’re getting cold.”

Chelsie smiled and threw off the covers. “Let’s go.” She followed Sam down the stairs, checking her appearance in the hall mirror. She cringed at the knots in her hair, smeared mascara, and yesterday’s clothing. She looked like a walking one-night-stand, only she had no fun stories to share. Chelsie ran her fingers through her tangled mane and frantically wiped at her raccoon eyes. She straightened her shirt and shrugged in defeat – not much else she could do.

“Mornin’.” A familiar voice greeted her in the kitchen. Noah was plopping a stack of pancakes on to each plate. “Syrup is on the table. I kind of overdid it on the butter, but when it comes to pancakes, go big or go home, right?”

“I completely agree,” Chelsie said, her stomach growling. “It smells wonderful.”

“Old, family recipe,” Noah told her. He set the plates down at each chair. “Cinnamon is the secret ingredient.”

Chelsie took her seat and eyed the steaming pile of flapjacks. A bowl of fresh fruit was set in front of her. She snatched a grape and popped it into her mouth. “Such service,” she said to Noah. She watched as he made his way around the kitchen like he was trying out for a competitive cooking show. “I had no idea you enjoyed cooking.”

Noah glanced at her as he lit up a skillet and tossed bacon slices in the pan. “Enjoy, yes. Do I have time for it? Almost never,” he admitted. “My schedule is insane. I’m lucky if I have time to make a sandwich. Rosa usually takes over in the cooking department.”

Chelsie decided that was a shame because he had made some mighty fine pancakes. She shoveled another forkful into her mouth. “These are so good. Thank you.”

“Did I do a good job?” Sam looked between the two adults, searching for praise.

“You sure did, buddy,” Noah said. He strolled over to the table, carrying a platter of sizzling bacon. He took a seat next to Chelsie.

“Miss Chelsie? Why did you have a sleepover in Daddy’s room?”

Chelsie almost choked on her pancakes. Sam was using his fork to make designs in the syrup on his plate. She cleared her throat. “Well, your dad got home a little late last night and I was really tired. It was better for me to stay and sleep instead of drive home.”

“Because you might crash in your car?” he wondered.

“It was possible,” she explained. “It’s always better to be safe.”

“Can you have a sleepover wif me in my room? I have a sleeping bag you can use.”

She chuckled. “That would be fun. Thank you.”

“Miss Chelsie?”

“Yes, Sam?”

Sam set his fork down with a clumsy clatter and began to swing his legs back and forth. “Can you be my mom?”

The question sucked the air out of Chelsie’s lungs. She looked over at Noah, but she couldn’t read him. She hated when she couldn’t read him. “U – Um, well…” Chelsie did not know what to say to the child. She swallowed back an assortment of explanations and excuses – nothing felt right. How could she respond without breaking his heart? No matter how she phrased it, the answer was still no.

“Sammy… Chelsie can’t be your mom,” Noah said.

“Because she’s already someone else’s mom?” Sam asked, unaware of the tension growing in the room.

“She just can’t. Now, eat your food.”

Chelsie set her fork down and folded her hands on the table. “Sam, it means so much that you would ask me to be your mom. I care about you a whole lot. Being your mom would be very special,” she explained. “But I can only be your friend.”

Sam picked at a dollop of dried food that was stuck to the table. “Is it because I’m bad sometimes?”

Tears stung at Chelsie’s eyes. Her heart ached. “Oh, honey, that’s not it at all. You’re a good boy.” She reached out her hand to him, but Sam pushed his chair back and hopped down.

“Nobody wants me,” he said tearfully, then walked out of the room.

Chelsie raised her hand to her mouth. She turned to look at Noah. He was leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed. “I – I’m sorry if I butchered that. I didn’t know what to say. I…”

“It’s fine. There’s nothing else you could have said,” Noah told her.

He opened his eyes and the sorrow on his face was unmistakable. Chelsie bit down on her tongue and wrung her hands together on her lap. “I had no idea he had been thinking about that,” she said.

Noah let out a heavy sigh. “Maybe I need to start thinking about that,” he considered. “Settling down. Laying roots. Maybe that’s what he needs.” Noah zoned out momentarily. “Sometimes I just wish…”

Chelsie braced herself for the rest of his words, but they never came. She reached out her hand and placed it on his knee. “You’re doing a good job, Noah. He’s going to be okay.” His face had turned stoic. The sadness had left his eyes as quickly as it had appeared. He drew his lips in a tight line and pushed his tongue against his cheek.

“You should probably go,” he said.

Chelsie glanced down at her half-eaten plate of breakfast. She could tell his suggestion was a kindly disguised order. She was okay with that – she understood.

Only… she had nowhere to go.

“Thank you for the pancakes,” she told him, pushing herself away from the table. Chelsie’s shift at the The Pit Stop didn’t start for another four hours, but maybe she could clock in early. Her leisurely morning plan of playing dinosaurs and board games with Sam had disintegrated.

Chelsie debated going to the condo in hopes of a happy ending with Devon, but she couldn’t stomach the thought of his possible rejection – not just yet.

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” Noah said as Chelsie stood from her chair. “You didn’t finish eating. Please sit.”

Chelsie’s palms were sticky with syrup. She rubbed them against the front of her jeans and massaged the tiny balls of fibers that had transferred over between her fingertips. She was contemplating his offer. More time with Sam and Noah was never time she regretted.

However, she knew her lingering presence was only confusing Sam. Distance might be for the best.

“Thanks,” Chelsie answered. “But you’re right. I should go.” She watched as Noah rose from his seat, either in protest or to walk her to the door. She held out her hand. “I can let myself out. I appreciate everything you did for me.”

Chelsie turned and walked through the kitchen to the living room. She snatched up her purse that was draped over the back of the couch. As she approached the front door, she felt a hand wrap around her wrist before she could reach for the handle. Chelsie spun around, startled.

“I don’t want you to think you can’t come back.”

She stared up at Noah. His eyes were solemn, as if needing confirmation that he hadn’t scared her away for good – that they both hadn’t scared her away.

“I’ll be back. You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Chelsie said with a grin.

It was the truth. She had tried to stay away, but she missed Sam.

She missed them both.

“You have a place here if you ever need it,” Noah assured her. He took a step towards her.

If things don’t work out with Devon.

“I know,” she said, pushing the thoughts out of her mind. “Tell Sam I said goodbye.” Chelsie reached out to give Noah’s hand a gentle squeeze before turning to open the door.

She hesitated briefly. It was the slightest pause, and one Noah may not have noticed. But Chelsie noticed. She felt something deep in her bones. It was only a fraction of a second, but the feeling washed over her and stayed with her all day.

Remnants of it lingered during her impromptu coffee date with Lisa that morning. They had talked of books they had read, the good shows on Netflix, and their plans for the week. Every so often, Chelsie would drift away and ponder that poignant moment.

As she walked into work that afternoon, her mind wandered, and she forgot her punch-in code. She was still distracted. Her thoughts were cloudy.

“You’re late,” Jerry admonished. The pungent smell of his body odor assaulted her as he stormed by.

Chelsie fumbled with the keypad until she regained her senses. 5609 – the street number of her childhood home.

Yes, that was it. How could she forget? That place held her most precious and beloved memories. That house had her dreams and aspirations carved into its plaster walls. It would forever be her home.

That was why she was shaken. That was why her mind kept recycling that moment over and over.

Home. For one alarming and consequential second… Noah had felt like home.

***

It was a slow night at The Pit Stop. Tips were unkind, the music made her head throb, and Jerry was on a roll. Chelsie glanced up at the band playing on stage and recalled the night she’d met Freeze Frame for the first time – the night she had locked eyes with Devon Sawyer and her life was forever changed. A wistful sigh escaped her lips. She wanted to go back to that night. She wanted to turn back the clock and tell Devon the truth about her ugly past. She wanted to do things differently.

“Chelsie! Get these appetizers out.”

Chelsie jolted where she stood and trudged back into the kitchen with heavy feet. Sometimes she wondered why she kept her meager job as a waitress and allowed her boss to treat her like trash.

“You’re on my last nerve. Get your shit together or go home,” Jerry shouted. Beads of sweat fell from his round face and soaked the front of his button-down shirt.

Home.

Chelsie picked up a tray of stuffed mushrooms labeled ‘Table 5’. She looked through the kitchen door at the bustling venue. She hated her job. She hated the noise. She hated her boss. No matter how much Chelsie’s life had progressed, he always managed to make her feel small.

Why am I here?

Chelsie froze when she realized she’d spoken her thoughts out loud.

Jerry stopped in his tracks. His face was redder than a ripe tomato. “What did you just say?”

Chelsie’s heart began to race. “I…”

“You’re here because I pay your goddamn, sorry ass to be here!” His voice was loud enough to startle the kitchen help. They quickly averted their eyes.

Normally, Chelsie would cower like a scolded child, but today she felt… different. She refused to be bullied by Jerry. She refused to work at a job she hated. Chelsie didn’t have a rent payment anymore, and while she hated falling into old, dependent patterns, she knew she’d be okay until she found a better job. She just wanted to be free.

Chelsie set the tray of appetizers back onto the counter. She unclipped her nametag. “I quit.” She did not wait for Jerry’s reaction. She turned around and pushed through the swinging doors with a feeling of liberation.

As Chelsie weaved through the crowd of patrons, she pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Lisa and Julia. She bumped into someone along the way. “Oh! Sorry.” Chelsie looked up and immediately recognized the man. “Miles?” Her eyes drifted to his right and Chelsie frowned at the mysterious woman on his arm.

“Uh, hey, Chelsie. Forgot you worked here.” Miles scratched the back of his neck and pulled away from the raven-haired beauty.

“Who’s your friend?” Chelsie asked. She already knew.

“Oh, uh, nobody.”

The woman scoffed and crossed her arms over her low-cut blouse.

Chelsie narrowed her eyes. “Well, good to see you.”

Miles nodded and guided the woman away from Chelsie and towards the bar. Chelsie’s heart hurt for Lisa. There had been signs Miles was unfaithful, but nothing concrete. Lisa was going to be heartbroken.

It was time for damage control. The drive to Devon’s condo had gone by in a flash. Chelsie had been so lost in thought, she was driving on auto pilot. So many scenarios played through her mind as she sat silently in the parking garage. None of them were good.

She had to get this over with. She had to win him back.

Unlike the drive over, the elevator ride to his high-rise unit was painfully slow. Inch by inch. Second by second. Chelsie felt like she was choking on her own heartbeat.

When she arrived at his door, she knocked. She didn’t know why she knocked. She had a key. Yet, she felt like a visitor – an outsider. So, she knocked.

Devon opened the door looking disheveled. His hair was a matted mess and he was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Maybe he was thinking the same thing about her. Chelsie wondered if he’d been depressed over their separation, but then she got a whiff of the alcohol on his breath. He was hungover. Or drunk. She wasn’t sure yet.

“You have a key,” Devon said.

“I know.” He was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Can I come in?”

Devon moved to the side to allow her entry. His movements were sluggish. Chelsie wondered if he was hesitant to let her in, or if it was the effects of the booze slowing him down. Either way, Chelsie felt a potent lump growing in the back of her throat as she made her way into the living room. She hadn’t even set her purse down before he spoke.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

Chelsie froze. “What? No. God, Devon.” She decided she was offended by the question. She had no right to be, but she was. She was angry and insulted.

“Do you think about sleeping with him?”

Outrage bubbled in her belly and her face grew hot. “Devon. Stop.”

Devon began pacing the room, stopping only to grab a half-empty bottle of rum from out of his liquor cabinet. He took a swig straight from the bottle and Chelsie grimaced. “I’m not sure why you’re surprised by those questions,” he said, screwing the cap back on and dangling the bottle at his side.

Chelsie’s jaw tensed. “I’m surprised you would think that of me,” she told him. She stood firmly in place and only followed him with her eyes.

He gave her an incredulous look. “Really? After all your lies? After all the late nights and cuddle fests you two have had? The entire world thinks you’re fucking each other, and you’re shocked the thought has crossed my mind, too?”

“The world doesn’t know me! You know me. I would never cheat on you. Noah is my friend. That’s all,” Chelsie argued.

Devon let out a dry chuckle. “No. I thought I knew you.”

His words stung, but he wasn’t wrong. Chelsie had downplayed her life and had omitted character defining details about her past. She was prone to cowering and concealing, always afraid of what Ian might think or do. Chelsie had progressed over the years, but old habits die hard when you’re programmed to constantly be afraid.

Devon was right. He didn’t truly know her. Not like Noah did.

She was being unfair.

Chelsie’s shoulders slumped and her body lost the tension it had been holding onto in defense. She let her anger dissipate. It was time to apologize.

“Devon, I am so sorry. You’re right. I made a bad call and you have every reason to hate me.”

Devon stopped pacing and tapped the bottle of Bacardi against his thigh. “I don’t hate you.”

She couldn’t help the tears that filled her eyes. She wanted to claw at them. She hated being so vulnerable in front of Devon. “I didn’t mean to tell him,” she said. Chelsie flinched when her voice cracked. “It was the night we all went out for the first time. The night he got me drunk and had to take care of me.”

Devon wasn’t looking at her. Maybe if he just looked her in the eyes, he would see how much she cared – how much she was breaking inside.

“I don’t even remember telling him, Devon,” she continued. “I was drunk, and I guess it just came out. He stopped by my apartment the next day to tell me what I’d said. I would never willingly tell him something like that. Especially over you.”

Devon looked at her. Finally.

“Why didn’t you just tell me he knew? I asked you and you lied. I’m just… I’m having a hard time getting over this,” Devon said as he took another swig of the liquor. He set the bottle down on the coffee table and sat down on the loveseat across from where Chelsie was standing.

Her bottom lip quivered. She bit down hard, almost enough to draw blood. “I screwed up. I was so afraid of losing you,” she said. “I spent years of my life having to monitor every word that came out of my mouth because there might be consequences. This is my first relationship since Ian and… I’m still trying to figure everything out.”

Devon’s face was resting in his hands, his elbows on his knees. He sat up right, shaking his head. He looked so… dejected. “That guy had it out for me, you know.”

Chelsie looked up. She had been entranced by the chipped nail polish on her forefinger. “Who?”

“Your ex. That asshole was out for blood.”

Ian. It always came back to Ian.

“God, I’m sorry. I hate that he’s back. I hate that he’s trying to work his way back into my life. The things he’s capable of…” Her voice trailed off, the memories rushing back. The pain felt raw; the fear palpable. Her trauma felt like it was yesterday. She could almost smell him in the air. His woodsy cologne. His chewing gum. His peppermint shampoo.

“You need to go to the police,” Devon told her.

Chelsie shook her head adamantly. She wished people would stop saying that. “No. They are useless. Trust me.”

“You can get a restraining order,” he said.

“It’s a piece of paper, Devon. If he wants me, he’ll take me.”

Her words sent a chill down her own spine. Chelsie began to pace the room, her hands running through her unwashed hair.

Devon finally stood. His balance was unsteady. The alcohol must have started taking effect. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said.

Chelsie stopped and lowered her arms with a sigh. “I know,” she replied.

Devon moved towards her and bumped into the coffee table along the way. He pulled her into a firm embrace, resting his chin on top of her head.

Chelsie let her worries escape her. She pulled him closer and nuzzled her cheek against his chest. “Are we okay?” she mumbled into his t-shirt.

Devon was silent. He never did reply to her. He held her for a while longer, and then they made love as if nothing had happened.

Chelsie was restless that night. She felt cold despite the warm blanket and Devon’s body heat pressed against her back. She kept hearing noises, so she would create elaborate stories in her mind of Ian breaking into the condo and shooting Devon in the face, then raping her until she went numb. The noises were nothing but a whoosh of wind or a creak in the mattress, but her vivid tales played out until she fell into an uneasy sleep where Ian continued to haunt her.

When she woke, she was still so cold.