Page 24 of When I'm Gone

It earns me a knowing smirk from Blake, but I can’t find it in me to care. I mean it more than I’ve meant anything in my life. Maybe this is how Brady felt when he met me. This deep-set knowledge that this person needs you whether they can admit it or not. If I could take even the smallest bit of pain he’s obviously feeling away, I’m going to do it.

Blakely waits until he’s out cold and I’m halfway there before telling me she’s leaving. “Shit,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes. “I forgot you had a return flight to get to. I’ll take you right now.”

She shakes her head, looking pointedly at Easton. “Nope. There’s already a car outside for me. You look like you have more important places to be tonight.”

I frown. “It’s not what it looks like.”

When she ruffles my hair as she walks past, I roll my eyes. “I didn’t say a thing. Make sure Easton has a good time at the art exhibit for me, okay?”

The argument isn’t worth waking him, so I accept defeat. “Promise. See you next time?”

“Always,” she swears on her way out the door.

My, oh, my, how things can change over a measly twenty-four hours.

~~~

Easton

For the last few years, dreams have not been my friends at night. My eyes close and those suckers come out with sledgehammers and beat the ever-loving shit out of me until dawn. You get used to things over time, you know? Slowly, my body conditioned me to try and avoid dreaming at all costs. I barely sleep, and when I do, it’s not like it feels any better when I wake up than when I’ve spent all night staring at the ceiling fan. So really, I’m indifferent. It’s all just hours I’m trying to survive anyway, so either way, no sense in crying over it or anything.

So I thought.

A warm hand is currently rubbing circles on my back, firm and slow like my mom used to do when I had a nightmare. At first, I think it’s her. Maybe it’s a Sunday morning, and she needs me to be up in time for church. After that, we’ll come home and have a great big lunch. It doesn’t matter what it is, it will be delicious, but I really want lasagna.

Then I hear the voice: deep and smoky, urging me to wake up. “Come on, Chaos. Let me see those pretty eyes so I know you’re listening.”

I groan and try to burrow into the pillow like a mole. Sunlight bad. He chuckles. “I know. You can go back to bed in a minute, I just need you to hear me.”

“Why?” I croak.

His hand is on my forehead now, smoothing my hair away from my face. “Mm-mm,” he chides. “Eyes first, then I’ll talk.”

The task is harder than he makes it out to be; I feel likethey’re glued shut. Eventually, I pry them apart and blink Chase Adler into existence.

Even blurry, he’s fucking gorgeous. “Good boy.” The praise slides over my skin and makes me shiver. Chase thinks I’m cold and tucks the blanket in around me tighter. “Morning. I left you some breakfast in the microwave and set the timer so it should start beeping at you in an hour.”

“Joy,” I rasp.

Another one of those throaty chuckles. Damn, it’s a good sound. “Our flight is at three-thirty so don’t worry about rushing to get ready. But you do need to get up and eat, okay?”

“Mmm.”

“I’ll take that. There’s some leftover Chinese in there for lunch. It’s in the fridge with a sticky note on it. Be ready to leave after lunch, I’ll come pick you up.” Seems easy enough. That’s a lot of words, though, so I just nod. “Oh, and my old phone is on the coffee table. It doesn’t have a SIM card but you can use it on Wi-Fi just fine, so text me if you need me. I mean it.”

He keeps up with stroking my hair, and I’m about sixty seconds from asking him to call out just so he can keep doing this to me all day. “We’re only going to be gone a couple of nights, so you don’t have to take a bunch of stuff if you don’t want to.”

I can fit everything I own in a duffel bag, but I get the point. “Repeat it all back to me.”

Umm. Fuck. Why can't I just ask him to cuddle me all day long? I’ve never slept so well, and to my core, I’m greedy. I want more. A pathetic whine climbs out of my throat, and I’m too slow to stop it.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs, cracking the dam inside me. Fuck. Can’t he just yell at me sometimes? Does he always have to be so sweet?

My eyes start to sting. It’s too much. I’m almost positive he slept in this ugly recliner so he could hold me all night, and then he got up and went to so much effort to make sure I’m eating. Now he's still being perfect in the way he’s touching me. No one has ever used this much tenderness with me.

“Oh, Easton.” He drags his thumb across my cheekbone and it comes away wet. What is he doing to me? Either he’s making me forget how to string words together or turn into a fucking crying mess.

I was fine a week ago,I want to scream. Now the slightest human decency makes me crumble.

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