"Megan, a word with you please."
The manager on duty did not look happy, but Meg followed him to the employee lounge, where the scent of stale popcorn and pizza hung so thick in the air, she could taste them. He scraped out a chair from under the table where an empty soda can sat in a pool of condensation.
"Have a seat. How ya doin'?"
"I'm fine." She knew what he was going to say but sat anyway. Best to just rip off the bandage instead of prolonging the pain.
Mr. Reese pulled an envelope from his suit jacket pocket. "This is your last paycheck, Megan. I'm sorry. The theater's closing in three weeks. I can't afford to keep you on the whole time." Bushy eyebrows climbed over the rims of his glasses when he gave a helpless shrug.
She took the envelope and nodded. She'd known it was coming. This tiny two-screen theater just couldn't compete with the multiplex that had opened a year before, with its eighteen screens and restaurant food brought right to your seat.
"You're a hard worker, Megan, never gave me a minute of trouble. So, I tucked a letter of recommendation in there, too. Maybe that googleplex can use you." Mr. Reese said with a sad smile.
Meg laughed once, wondering if Mr. Reese made the lame joke on purpose, and shook her head. She wouldn't apply there. It... well, it wouldn't feel right.
"Thanks, Mr. Reese." She stood, took the soda can, tossed it in the recycle can on her way out.
"Megan?"
She turned at the door, surprised to see Mr. Reese's eyes wet. "Grab some boxes of candy on your way out. I know how much you like those things."
She grinned through the bright stab of pain. "Parting gifts?"
Mr. Reese shrugged. "A token of appreciation."
"Thanks. Um, bye. Oh. Here." She took off her name tag, put it on the table.
Outside in the cold night air, she felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. No anger, no fear, no regret. Just a numbness that was kind of a pleasant change of pace. She walked home, the bag holding two boxes of the Junior Mints Bailey loved and two boxes of M&Ms that she did banging her thigh with each step. It was early; she thought about heading over to Bailey's place, but didn't want to see any more of her wrapped in Chase's strong arms.
The pain stabbed her again, putting a hitch in her step, but she didn't falter. Tomorrow, she'd visit the stores within walking distance and find another job. She would have to buy canvas soon and—
"Hey."
Megan froze, one foot still in the air. Her lips instantly twitched up and she tried her hardest not to smile, knowing she'd fail miserably, but trying anyway.
"What are you doing here?" She put her foot down, forced herself to walk up the porch steps to the front door, where Chase sat looking like a poor abandoned puppy.
"Uh— waiting for you."
"Why?"
"I— I had a fight with my parents after dinner and had to get out for a while."
"You've been sitting here that long?"
Chase shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. Well, first I hid in the garage for an hour and pounded nails. Then, I came here. That was long enough ago to freeze my ass off."
"Pounded nails?"
He gave her half a laugh. "Yeah. I do that to channel my 'excess rage'." He quoted the pyscho-babble with an exaggerated eye roll.
"Does it work?"
He blinked. "Um. Yeah, it kinda does." He climbed slowly to his feet, wincing as he stretched.
Jesus, he must be frost-bitten by now. She dug her keys out of her pocket. "Why didn't you go to Bailey's?" She would not look at him. She would not let him see how much it hurt her to see him with Bailey.
Chase frowned. "I... I didn't think about it. I just... wanted to come here. Can I come in?"
Didn't think about it. She whipped her head up at that. And then the rest of his question penetrated her Jealous Green brain. He wanted to come in? Red alert! She swallowed hard and nodded. "I guess. For a few minutes."
She unlocked the door, shoved it open, flipped on a light in the living room. The clock on the wall said it was ten PM. Her mother wouldn't be back for hours yet.
Not good.
She tossed the bag of candy on the garage sale coffee table she'd covered in red paint that sat in front of the threadbare sofa and peeled off her hoodie. "Um, you can sit down." She sat on the chair, well away from the sofa.
Chase sat with a loud sigh, angling his body to face her chair. He filled damn near half the couch that way, his long legs stretched in front of him. He rubbed his hands together to warm them. She should make him hot cocoa or something. If she did, he'd want to stay.
She remained in her chair.
"Um. So how was work tonight?"
"Um." Meg looked at her hands, tried to force words out of a throat that had suddenly formed a lump. "Not so good, I guess, since it was my last night." She gulped.
Chase shifted in a blur, leaned forward, his hands hanging through the gap between his knees. The expression in his eyes went from weary to worried in a micro-second. "They let you go? So soon? That sucks. I mean, I figured they'd keep you on until the end, you know?"
"Yeah." She folded into herself, tried to stay positive. "I'm sure I'll find something else."
"Well, yeah, duh. You're a good worker."
Her lips twisted into a sneer. "And how do you know that?"
"I know you."
Her amusement disappeared.
He waited a moment and then made a sound of frustration. "Megan, why do you always do that?" He flung himself back against the cushions.
"What?"
"That." He retorted, waving a hand in the air between them. "Look uncomfortable whenever I say something nice."
"I'm not uncomfortable." She straightened her spine.
"Yeah, right. You don't even want me in here. You're so uncomfortable, you had to sit across the room from me. God! It's like you actually think I'm gonna attack you or something."
Meg's mouth hung open for a moment. "Um. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Jeez, how did her life get to be this soap opera?
Chase flung his head back and shut his eyes. "Megan. I came here because I needed a friend to talk to." He lifted his head and met her confused gaze. "You're the only person I feel comfortable talking with. I just wish you felt that way about me." He finished with a shrug, his eyes a storm of emotion.
Meg stared for a minute, her steel resolve now a puddle of molten indecision. "I'm sorry." She repeated, meaning it this time. "So. What happened today to cause this fight?"
He shut his eyes again and Meg wanted to protest. Even in the low light of the lamp on the table where she sat, his eyes drew her in and she wanted to see them. She waited, not patiently, while he collected his thoughts.
"It's not a pretty story. It ends with no college. No Lacrosse. No life -- except for watching my brothers and helping at the store."
She gasped. No college meant no degree. No degree meant no career. No career meant no financial independence. He'd be—
"Trapped." He whispered and she blinked at his uncanny ability to know exactly what she'd been thinking. "I don't know if I can stand it." He let his head fall into his hands. "I can hardly stand it now."
She ached to move closer to him, to put her hand on his back and rub small circles to comfort him. So she slid her hands under her legs and forced herself to remain in her chair.
"In September, I planned to go to community college. My parents won't let me go away to school, and I didn't get any scholarships, so that was the only option left. But today, there was a coach from Manhattan College at practice. He had a bunch of kids change their minds and decide to go to other schools. He's got spots to fill and decided to give us a chance."
He slouched lower on the old lumpy second-hand sofa. "My mom triple-booked herself today and somehow, that was my problem. She texts me in school, tells me I have to pick up Dylan at some birthday party because Connor's got music lessons and she had to take Ethan and Evan to the doctor. I don't have the car and she wants me to take the bus all the way home to get it, come back to pick up Dyl and then go to practice. I'm annoyed but I say okay because well — it's not really a choice, you know?"
Frustration rolled off his shoulders in waves but she let him vent.
"Then I find out about the coach and there's no way I can miss practice now. So I text her back, tell her I can't pick up Dylan. Only she never got that text. Dylan walked home by himself and I—"
He didn't need to finish the sentence. Meg could see the what-ifs play out on his face and knew every one of those scenarios ended horribly.
"Anyway, my dad shows up at practice, we fight all the way home, then I get the cold shoulder from my mom and then Dylan won't talk to me and Ethan and Evan are up my ass about old Micro-Machines they find in my room — which they're not supposed to be in and —" Chase flung up his arms in a huge shrug, let them fall. "Sorry. I guess I didn't use enough nails."
She shook her head, but said nothing. Sighing, Chase shut his eyes and scrubbed both hands over his face.
He lifted his head and turned Technicolor eyes burning with pride on her. "The point is, the coach liked me, Megan. Me."
The feeble bulb in the lamp next to her flickered once. Her stomach flipped and she squirmed in her seat. Yeah, even lightbulbs reacted to Chase's power.
"He told me to get the application in right away — there's still money left. I have no idea how much, or even if they'll give me any, but I have to try."
She nodded. Of course he did.
His phone buzzed. He dug it out of his pocket, frowned and ignored it, tossing it on the bright red coffee table.
"They must need someone to run an errand." He sneered at the phone. "Probably didn't even notice I was gone until now."
Meg knew that wasn't true. His family adored Chase. Whenever she saw them all together, Chase's mom and dad always wore smiles so full of pride, it gave her pangs in her chest.
"I don't know what to do, Megan. Can I stay here? I can sleep on the couch. Please?"
Yes, God, yes! Her stomach pitched and fell. Crap. "No, Chase. My mom would have a fit. Don't you have any — any like, guy friends who can help, friends whose relationship statuses aren't lies."
He snapped his mouth shut and stood up. "I'm outta here."
He was leaving. Good. That's what she wanted. So why did she suddenly blurt out, "You're already eighteen. You don't need their permission anymore."
His eyes widened as they snapped to hers. "You mean, just... just defy them?" He sank back down to the sofa.
Slowly, she nodded. "Yes. They can't stop you from doing what you want now."
He rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes they can. They can kick me out."
"You have money. You can get your own place."
"Megan, my money is their money. I work in the store whenever they need me. The credit card and the allowance are all theirs. I have nothing that's mine. Not really."
That was the entire problem, she knew. She suffered from the same problem — a deep need to do something that she could take pride in. Something that was hers.
"Chase, what do you want to do?"
He groaned. "That's the problem! I have no idea. I only know I really don't want to work in a bakery until I die." He angled his head at her. "What about you? What do you want?"
She swallowed thickly. Her plan, her future and everything in it faded to green when she looked in his eyes. Her heart raced and her throat tightened. What did she want? It didn't really matter what she wanted.
It was the one thing she could never have.