Page 26 of When I'm Gone

The answer to that has the potential to set me off, so I don’t even dare go down that road. Chase is offering mesomething here, bigger than I understand, and I just want to soak it in and stop obsessing about my every single failing.

So logically, that’s when the timer goes off in the kitchen, rousing Chase and making him grumble as we extract ourselves from our entanglement. I miss him the very moment that he separates himself from me.

“I’ll go heat up something for you to eat. Why don’t you go take a shower and wash off all those bad feelings. I think we need a redo start to the day,” he muses.

“A redo?” I ask, propping myself up on my elbow and getting my first good look at my teenage crush’s bedroom. Emerald green walls, cream dresser with a mirror mounted above it, cherry oak headboard with the fluffiest white bedding I’ve ever seen. It’s masculine but stylish, and somehow not what I was expecting at all and exactly what I was hoping for.

“Yeah, a redo. Today is going to be a good day, I can feel it. So after breakfast, we’re taking a fucking nap and trying again.”

So, it’s that easy. It was a bad morning, so we just try again after some food and a nap. There’s no listing out how exactly I’ve ruined the day with emotions, no storming off, no panic that I’ve caused permanent damage.

It’s worth a shot. “Yeah, okay. A redo.” It’s weird on my tongue, like a foreign language that I can’t quite get the accent right with, but Chase lights up so I know I did all right.

“Good. You hop in the shower. I’ll be back.”

He’s off and out of the room then the beeping timer silences a few moments later. I pop into my room briefly to grab clean clothes and take the fastest shower of my life. The water hasn’t had the chance to warm up when I step in, but the chill doesn’t bother quite the same as it usually does, and I’m not in there long enough to really care.

Washing the bad feelings away seems to be a real thing, though, because my heart feels lighter when I step out. Chase and his infinite wisdom, I suppose. Dressed, I pad quietly into the kitchen in search of the aforementioned breakfast, but Chase isn’t in there. It’s not like this house is really big enough to hide in, so after poking my head around, I head back to his room. The door is open, like he’s waiting for me. Probably too optimistic, though.

He’s scrolling on his phone, head leaned back against the geometric headboard with sunlight illuminating his dark hair with chestnut and red streaks, looking so beautiful that my breath stutters in my lungs. Chase must feel my eyes on him because he looks up and smiles. My lord, that smile. Just for me. Like I belong here, with him, in whatever capacity we can have.

And I thought he was beautiful before… He’s breathtaking. He makes my fingers itch for a pencil. I thought that part of me had died.

Chase pats the bed, drawing my attention to the fact that there’s a serving tray on the bed beside him. “It’s going to get cold, sweetheart.” My legs move before my brain can catch up. As soon as I’m close enough, Chase lifts the covers so I can crawl into bed beside him while he lifts the tray with his other hand. When I’m settled, he presents it to me and it feels way more exciting than it should—like Christmas morning.

It’s not even that the meal is some extravagant thing, it’s a fruit salad and a toasted ham and cheese croissant, but he cared enough to make it for me. “This is so sweet. Thank you,” I say, my throat a little thick. “Was Brady mad that you didn’t go to work?”

I dig into my breakfast, which is lacking all of the foods I can’t stand somehow, while Chase turns to lay on his side facing me and fiddles with the blanket. “More hurt, I think. He’s probably feeling like I’m trying to kick him to the curb.”

The corners of his mouth turn down, like even the very idea upsets him. “This is hard for you, isn’t it?”

“Brady?” I nod, and he shrugs. “I think the part that sucks is that there’s no immediate solution for how he feels. Normally, any issue Brady and I have can be easily talked through and compromised on so we both can be happy. This is more complicated.”

“Is that a bad thing?” I fucking hate myself sometimes. I have to ask even though he assured me, like, half an hour ago that I wasn’t a burden to him.

“You aren’t a bad thing. And I don’t expect you to try and fix your relationship with him before you’re ready on my behalf.” His warm hand returns to my back. Up and down. Up and down. It’s calming. “Brady and I have been through a lot, we will be fine with some time. It’s not on you though, we’re adults. We can learn to navigate this with each other.”

He always speaks with such conviction, even when his voice is quiet, the tone is clear. “Do you regret asking me to come with you?”

“Not for a single second.” He’s absolutely unyielding. He sees that I’m finished eating so he gets up to put the tray on the dresser, closes the curtains, and comes back to bed before he speaks again. “I could never regret standing up for you, not that you need it, but I’m not blind and you’re very clearly going through a lot. Having someone in your corner is never a bad thing, and I’m not afraid to be that in front of Brady.”

His arms open for me and it’s an invitation I can’t refuse. As soon as they wrap around me, I feel like I can take a deep breath again. “Thank you,” I murmur into his faded black T-shirt.

He smells so damn good. Laundry detergent, woodsy, and a hint of salt.

My fingers trace the words tattooed on his forearm, “no matter what.” The question sits just on the tip of my tongueto ask him about it. It fits him, though. “Don’t say thank you, Easton. You don’t owe me gratitude for wanting to be your ally.”

“Mmmkay,” I mumble.

His voice rumbles in my ear as he whispers, “Get some sleep, Chaos. I’ve got you,” into my hair. I’m warm, I’m safe. Things will be better in the morning. I’ve got a redo for the first time ever.

CHAPTER 8

CHASE

In five minutes, the most perfect moment will be over. He’s beautiful in the gray morning light filtering through the curtains. He’s all sleep-warmed skin and rosy cheeks and utter peacefulness. The minutes have stretched into hours right in front of my eyes, and I still haven’t had my fill. He’s intoxicating. I’ve watched every twitch of his eyelids and fingers like I’ll be quizzed when it’s over. My hands are twisted in his T-shirt, anchoring him in place, itching for the feeling of his bare skin.

Easton is a messy sleeper, he’s got the blanket rucked up by his ears enough that my feet are uncovered. Somehow the case from the pillow behind my head is off and somewhere behind his shoulder. He literally wrapped the top sheet around his fist and yanked it loose, reasons unknown, but to hell with the damn thing. I am very impressed.

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