Page 33 of When I'm Gone

Know Eastonstill doesn’t seem right, but I have a feeling no one will listen to me either. “Nice to meet you,” I say instead.

“It’s about time, son.”

What is with these people? I avert my eyes and find a way out of this conversation. Gaping, I ask, “What the hell is that?”

Almost the entire backyard is taken up by five kiddie pools with tarps connecting the four outer ones, leaving one in the center of a diamond shape. The herd of siblings seems to have filtered out behind us without me noticing. Emerson claps me on the shoulder, jostling me from the force. “Better eat up because you’re in for it now, man. You’re obligated to play at least one game of Break Neck Baseball, and you’ll need your strength.”

I eye the bottle in his hand warily. “Why in the name of all that is Holy does this involve dish soap?”

Oh, how he laughs.

CHAPTER 10

EASTON

Ireally need therapy to tackle my issues with saying no to hot guys. My fight-or-flight instincts were working just fucking fine. I was picking flight. No, thank you to those dangerous-looking backyard shenanigans. Then fucking Chase Adler blinks his unusual eyes at me and suddenly I’m standing in ankle deep water inside an inflatable kiddie pool with blue starfishes decorating the exterior.

Parker is slathering the tarps connecting each “base” with more dish soap than you’d need to scrub an oil spill off the surface of the Pacific Ocean with your bare hands. I’m holding an oversized plastic bat with my jaw hanging open while Chase is trying to explain the general premise here to me. The words “tackle baseball” are rattling around in my head as I’m doing my best to absorb his warnings.

Seriously, what in the WWE slash Twilight shit is this?

And why the fucking soap? Isn’t water slippery enough? Has there ever been a fatality? Is this natural selection taking place?

“We’re going to take it easy on you,” Chase assures me,standing with his warm body pressed against mine so he can adjust my grip on the bat.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

He chuckles in my ear, sending lightning bolts all the way from my chest through my fingertips. Nothing short of a miracle that I don’t press my hips back against his, seeking contact.

Chase backs away and winks at me. “Come on, Chaos. Give me a little credit. It’ll be fun.”

~~~

Fun, my ass. You know what’s fun? Lazy cuddle mornings with coffee in bed. But no. Instead, I’m dripping wet, smelling like a freshly cleaned baby duckling.

Sure, maybe my belly hurts from laughing too much but that’s purely coincidental. It was hysterical laughter. A manic episode, if anything.

I call it after one round, which consisted of me hitting a beach ball all of three feet in front of me and almost breaking my neck trying to slide into first base, only to inhale a nose full of water.

All in a good time, they’d said. No one told me flying to Chicago would mean slipping into a cheap, backyard remake of300.

But Chase kissed the top of my head subtly when he came to check in to make sure I was all right and asked me if I’d prefer him to stop playing so I don’t have to hang out with his mom alone.

He has an annoying tendency to melt away my frustrations before they can manifest properly and he doesn’t even try.

So now, here I sit perched on a step of the deck in Chase’s borrowed clothes, because, of course, he’d thought to pack a couple of extra pairs of sweats and I hadn’t. Margeaux is inside making us tea, and I’m watching my cuddly roommatehulk out, talking all the shit to his siblings while slipping and sliding all over the yard.

It’s like a free, live action dirty movie. He’s all wet and soapy, skin warmed from the exercise wearing a carefree smile that really puts a cherry on top of the whole look. He ditched his shirt after it got drenched and started to stick to his abdomen. All of his tattoos are on full display, I’m just trying to not swallow my own tongue while I check him out shamelessly.

“No one warns you that when you’re raising step-ladder aged kids, you’ll have to figure out how to get them to fight constructively,” Margeaux says as she joins me, passing me a mug of warm peppermint tea.

It smells delicious; I don’t even think to answer her until after I’ve taken a couple of sips. “Fight constructively?”

Brady and I never really argued or rough-housed very much when we were growing up. I was always too busy with a paintbrush in my hand and didn’t want to give my dad a reason to look too closely at me. It’s a new concept for me.

She eyes her brood over the top of her mug. “Their grandparents would argue as if they hated each other, and when I noticed them nitpicking each other, I became very concerned.” I sit quietly, waiting for her to go on, content to learn anything I can about Chase. “It was a priority for Adam and I both that our kids were loyal to each other, even more so when we started suspecting Chase might like boys, but there were four kids, and they were bound to find an outlet for their grievances with each other. So we started by playing soccer with them. If we all played, there were enough of us for three on three and it did wonders for their tolerance levels. That evolved into us challenging them to make a presentation on little things, like which Disney Princess would make the best president and Break Neck Baseball when they were old enough. Winner gets bragging rights wasalways enough of a motivation for them to do their damndest to come out on top, so we did stuff like that as much as they needed so long as it meant that when we stepped away from the games or debates, they would have each other’s backs.”

Deep into their game, Logan football tackles Emerson to the ground to prevent him from making it to second base, looks up to the “stands” and bellows, “Are you not entertained??” Her mother gives her a fond look, one that makes my chest pinch with unfamiliar envy.

---