"Sure," he answered. He passed Chase to open his front door and let him in.
Chase followed him to the living room and dropped onto the couch next to him. Jackson had half-expected him to sit on his lap. "I'm sorry I ran out on you."
"Oh, no. It's all right," Jackson told him, but his curiosity was ignited. Chase was admitting to doing that, then? What was going on? "Can I ask... what that was about, though?"
"I was nervous," Chase admitted. He'd drawn his hands out of his pockets and he was fidgeting with his fingers in his lap. "Am nervous," he corrected himself.
Jackson raised his eyebrows, remaining calm so he didn't startle Chase. "Oh, yeah? Well, you don't have to be. We can play it cool if you want."
"That was the first time in ages a guy reciprocated. And I just... uh... Do you want a date?"
Jackson wasn't expecting that. Is he interested, or is he just offering to be polite? "If that's what you want, too, then yeah. You don't owe me one." The look Chase gave him, his brows slightly furrowed and those cute lips parted slightly, made Jackson think nobody had said that.
"No," Chase agreed a few moments later. "I suppose I don't, but I... I like you."
Jackson's heart soared. He tried to hide his feelings, but he knew he was an open book. Everyone teased him for it. He was already smiling as he watched Chase. Following his instincts, Jackson leaned in. "Can I kiss you?"
"Oh, yeah." Chase shook out the nervous jitters with a quick laugh and leaned in to press his lips against Jackson's.
The kiss was short and sweet this time. Jackson took his time gently sliding and caressing his lips against Chase's. When they pulled back, their eyes fluttered open again as they stayed close to one another. Chase's arm brushed against Jackson's shoulder. The sparks that ignited made Jackson want to hug him and slide closer.
Chase looked much calmer now, his shoulders down and his muscles loose again. "Cool."
"Very cool," Jackson agreed with a grin. "You're really cute. I didn't think you were into me..."
"I didn't think you were into me!" Chase rebutted, and Jackson laughed. "When did that happen?"
Jackson shrugged. "I thought you were cool from when we first met at the show."
"Three months later... you slow-played that one," Chase laughed. He pulled himself up to his feet. "I don't want to run, but I gotta get to work and then fencing... I just wanted to stop by and sort us out first."
Jackson stood up again, too, to walk Chase to the door. "I'm glad you did. What's your work schedule like?"
"All over the place, and then fencing classes too... but I'm off on Monday night."
Jackson could be free any night he wanted, so he nodded. "That conveyor belt sushi place has Monday night specials..."
"Yes, please!" Chase exclaimed. "I've been dying to go out for sushi with someone. Floyd hates fish."
Jackson burst out laughing. "Oh. Well, I'm glad I can fill a sushi niche."
"You can fill..." Chase actually stopped and blushed, which made Jackson stare. He wouldn't have held back the comment before. Something was different. "Never mind."
Jackson swatted Chase's arm playfully. "Naughty. Get out of here. Don't be late for work."
Chase laughed again and leaned in and up to peck his lips. He nearly pulled the door open in his own face in his rush to get out the door. Jackson bit back a laugh, leaning in the doorway to watch him jog down the street, smiling all the way.
That broody, anxious air was gone, and Jackson was glad to see it go.
Chapter 15
Chase
"Oh, my God," Chase mumbled to himself for about the dozenth time that day. All through his work shift, he'd been consumed by thoughts of the upcoming date on Monday. Floyd had eyed him when he came in to take the evening shift but he let Chase go without asking him why he was beaming.
Chase couldn't believe he'd pushed through his anxiety. He'd actually come back to Jackson and asked for a date.
Still, his anxiety was there. I haven't been on a date in ages. What the hell am I doing?
When he silenced that part of himself, the answer was clear: he was following his instincts. Jackson was worth a date. If only just to see how it went.
Once Chase got back to his apartment building, he let himself into the lobby. He fumbled around to find his key and check the mailbox. Probably just bills and junk, but he had to pay them sometime.
He closed his fingers around a small stack of envelopes and glossy fliers and pulled them out. He rifled through them before he even shut his mailbox again. Fucking post office guy kept bringing grocery flyers he didn't want.
Chase went stock-still when he flipped past the flyer to a plain white envelope. There was familiar handwriting: C. MacLeod.
"Oh, shit, no."
They found me.
His hand shook as he closed and locked his mailbox. He yanked the lobby door open and jogged up the stairs to his apartment just one floor up.
When did I last check it? Wednesday? Thursday?
Is this a warning?
Fuck, I should have been checking my mail daily, just in case. This was bound to happen...
Chase headed straight for his dining room table, tossed the rest of his mail aside, and opened the letter.
It was a single sheet, not even a full page, handwritten, and a newspaper clipping was enclosed.
Dear Charlie:
We've been thinking of you much lately and missing you. In a few months it will be the holidays. We hoped you'd have come around by then, but instead you have moved further away?? What is in New Brunswick for you? Your family is all here.
The congregation would welcome you back too. Fr Williams has kindly agreed to help you find a better path. As you know, we are worried for your spiritual salvation. We have nothing against gay people, we just don't want our son to be one. We hate the sin but love the sinner. Your uncle has told you before how we feel but it bears repeating. Many people are doing good work in this field, see enclosed. You have the fortitude to become one of the lucky few to escape that path.
Luke misses you too. His grades include As in Math, Art, and Bible Studies. You know he would love to hear from you again. He drew you a Thanksgiving card at Sunday school and we were going to enclose it but he wants to give it to you in person. Buddy is getting older but still plays with tennis balls like always. Sometimes he lies on your bed and won't come eat until we pray with him. Your aunt and uncle moved to Colorado, and Grandma asked about you the other day. Your uncle said he wishes he could get through to you again. He misses his nephew. Sad that we didn't have news to share.
Please stop running and come to God. We're waiting to welcome you with open arms.
Your loving family,
Mom, Dad, Luke, & Buddy
Chase wiped his eyes, throwing the letter on the table and drawing a deep breath as tears stung. This was the very fucking stereotype of what happened when a kid came out. Hilariously, hellishly, he was living it. Some people thought it was over these days, but obviously not.
He wished he could say he hated his parents for writing the letter, or for using his little brother and dog against him. For tracking him down when he'd moved to another fucking province and changed his name and left everything to escape their phone calls, visits, emails, prayers...
But he didn't.
He just hated what they'd become.
Chase swallowed back his bitter words, stomping over to the coffee table to grab a pen. He leaned over the dining room table and, in huge letters, scrawled over the letter.
I am a fag.
His lip curled, he repeated the phrase over and over in smaller text. He wrote sideways across the letter to blot out everything they'd written.
I am a fag. I am a fag. I am a fag...
By the time he got to the bottom edge of the paper, his hand was cramping from holding the pen so tightly. The angry tears stinging at his eyes had given way to pure fury ripping through his bones.
How dare they try to guilt him? How dare they use his little brother, ten years old and already being indoctrinated by those bastards, against him? How dare they throw those words at him and now pretend to care about him?
First, they could answer for what they'd done. Then, maybe in another few years, he'd consider talking to them.
Chase's hands shook as he shoved the paper back into the envelope along with the clipping about some reparative therapy bullshit. He taped it shut, crossed out the address, and wrote his old home address on it. He had to search his junk drawer for a good minute before he found stamps. He slapped one on and strode down to the post box at the end of the street to drop it in. When the handle slammed shut, his letter swallowed by the system, he didn't regret it for a second.
For the first time since he'd read the letter, he took a long, deep breath. He let it out, pushing away from the post box again.
It was a warm summer evening. Maybe he'd eat out on his balcony.
As he pushed his empty bowl back across the flimsy plastic table, Chase licked the last few Sidekicks away from the insides of his cheeks. They were great for creamy, flat noodles, but they had an annoying feeling in his mouth.