Page 29 of When I'm Gone

That plate at Easton’s mercy is going to be scrubbed down to paper thin before this conversation is over.

“I love you, Easton. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

There it is, the spark that caused the inferno. “You’ve gota lot a fucking nerve,” Easton seethes as the throws the plate down in the sink, shattering it, and spinning around to face his brother. Sixty-five tiles and I’m out. Shit.

“Can you clue me in to your problem with me, Easton? Because I don’t have the slightest clue.”

Was Jamestown the right color for the lower cabinets? Why call it that? It’s dark teal, why not just say that? I thought it matched the counter, but I easily could have gone with black. It felt like the lazy choice though, everything goes with black.

Easton stalks forward and jams his finger in Brady’s chest. “My only problem with you is that you won’t leave me the fuck alone. I don’t know how much clearer I can make it. I don’t want to be around you.”

This is going well.Sogreat. “I just fucking found you again, like hell am I leaving you alone,” Brady exclaims.

Easton turns all that fury my way, yanking my attention away from my awkward musings and throwing me straight into the flames. “Didn’t you say we were going to be late? Why haven’t we fucking left yet?” Before he gave me insight into that pretty head of his, I would have only heard the anger and assumed he was just taking it out on me. But now, it’s crystal clear. Easton is begging, pleading, with me to get him out of here.

And there’s my cue.

“We can go,” I tell him. “Go start up the car, I’ll be right behind you.”

He’s gone in a whirl, taking the car keys off the hook and snagging our bags from the brown leather couch on his way out.

An apology is already halfway out of my mouth when Brady speaks over me. “I’m?—”

“Don’t,” he snaps bitterly. “Don’t apologize or pacify me or whatever you’re about to do.”

“Okay.”

“Great.”

I hesitate. “So… what now?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Take care of him.”

No. No fucking way. I know that tone, that’s the classicThe Better Man Won, now all I can do is bow out gracefully.“Don’t you fucking dare, Brady,” I growl.

“What, Ace? Fucking what??”

There’s defeat in his anger, an awful combination of pain, regret, and something damn close to jealousy. “You cannot give up on him, Brady. You’ll never be able to live with yourself. You’re his brother. That means you’re supposed to stand beside him when it’s hard. Not give up after two fucking days because he’s not being nice enough for you!”

“I’d like to see how Mr. Perfect Response for Everything would handle being hated like this. I really fucking would. Losing him almost destroyed me, you had to hold me together for months! And now he’s back and can’t stand to be around me. I can’t even be happy he’s alive because I don’t know what I did to him!”

I need to go because if I don’t, I’m going to say something I’ll regret.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Brady, and if you let him go again, you’re not the guy I thought you were.”

Like that. Fuck. Brady pales as it sinks in. “The fuck do you mean let him?”

I should apologize. Make amends before Easton and I leave the damn state together. “See you around, Brady.”

Yeah, not happening apparently. I grab my phone and wallet and take off. I’m not doing this right now. This already has Easton freaked out, and the longer I stay in here, the worse it’s going to get. I don’t look back to see the devastation I caused on my best friend’s face.

Can’t keep his little brother waiting, after all.

Easton says nothing when I get into the car and neither do I. His leg is bouncing at the speed of light though, so I know he’s working up to it. When I turn my head over my shoulder to merge on the interstate, he finally lets it out.

“Can we just get it over with?”

Things with him never go how I expect them to. “Say again?”

---