Page 39 of When I'm Gone

He laughs, like I’m joking. “No. Camille is great, I just don’t want to set the precedent that we do holidays together because that’s how you fuck up and get into a serious relationship on accident.”

I trip on the fucking sidewalk, making Parker look at me like I’ve lost my marbles. “Is… is that something that happens to you? Accidental relationships?”

He scoffs. “Yeah, totally. Especially in high school. You give a girl your letterman one time because she’s shivering in chemistry and all of a sudden you’re at Sunday dinner with her dad glaring at you across the table. Spooky stuff.”

“Fucking hell, Parker.”

When I came out at fifteen, Parker was the one I said it to first. He was so fucking outgoing and had endless patience for my introverted ass. He was always making an effort to try to include me in his life even when I wanted nothing to do with it. One day, I decided it was time to give him something. It was all I had to offer; I was far from ready to talk openly about my sexuality. I wanted nothing to do with his jock friends. But this was something I could do.

It was a rainy October evening and suddenly the weight of hiding who I was becoming too much for me to bear. I had to tell someone. Fucking anyone. Mom was at her gallery late, Dad was at work. Emerson was at the movies, and Parker was the only one home. He asked if I wanted pizza for dinner because Mom had left us a twenty on the counter to get some food, and I blurted it out like I’d die if I didn’t.

God, the way he fucking smiled at me, I’ll remember it for the rest of my life. He had on his navy blue football hoodie and he kept running his fingers through his hair because it had just been cut earlier that day. My little brother went from completely apathetic, didn’t care either way, all he was thinking of was what he wanted for his next meal. Then his whole face split in half with his smile. He could see I was trusting him with something major, and goddamn, did he feel special.

I had just blurted it out, like I was hurrying to answer a Family Feud question. Then with far more maturity than I’dthought he was capable of as a gangly fourteen-year-old, he thanked me for telling him, asked if I wanted help telling anyone else and volunteered to be there for me when I came out to the rest of the family, even though literally no one would have cared. The closet was fucking glass by the time I ventured out, but he was still ready to suit up for a fight.

Looking back, that was probably the turning point for our relationship, even if I didn’t recognize it at the time.

It was one of the moments in life that you remember forever, the fragility and vulnerability making you raw and hyperaware, you catalog every single facial expression looking for the slightest sign of rejection, and Parker came through.

My throat feels tight even thinking back to it. He’s right beside me, all grown up now, far from that kid with the too-short hair and baggy hoodie, but that warmth he showed me is still there, front and center. This bright light battling the darkness of isolation, never letting it overshadow me.

Hell, they’re all like that now. Apparently, none of them are letting me fade into the shadows anymore. If it’s not Parker calling to tell me what he had for breakfast, it’s Logan saying my niece wants to talk to me and letting her blabber on and on as long as she finds necessary, or Dad sending me some sort of obscure news article about a new species of turtle at a zoo in Australia.

“Park,” I say, coming to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk. We’re only five houses away from home, but once again, it can’t wait.

He eyes me curiously. “Yeah, bro?”

It’s an effort to make myself look him in the face. “I like where we’re at. Me and you. Even if I pretend it bothers me when you blow my phone up for no damn reason, it doesn’t.”

What has me feeling so fucking sentimental, I’ll never know. I hate it. Parker doesn’t miss a beat. “I know that,Chase. You’re like Eeyore. We may have to drag you along sometimes, but we’re never going to leave you behind just because you’re a little grumpy.”

The guilt of trying to push them away for years is overwhelming, paired with the knowledge that if my best friend hadn’t gone through something awful and traumatic, I may have been successful.

Parker claps me on the shoulder, spurring me back into motion while I focus on blinking away the sudden emotion threatening to spill over. When we make it home, my heart sinks when I see Easton with a faraway look in his eyes with his knees to his chest, taking up as little space as possible on the couch. Logan is standing guard, for a while by the sounds of it. The rest of the family is in the kitchen getting ready to sit down. Parker mutters a fuck, and I couldn’t agree more. He’s pale, abusing the skin around his fingernails and doesn’t look up when we walk in.

Logan gives me a look that saysI don’t know what happened but there’s nothing I can do to fix it. I approach cautiously. He can spiral pretty deeply in his thoughts, and I don’t want to startle him.

Mindful to keep my voice calm, I ask, “You okay, sweetheart?”

He doesn’t hear me, too lost in the dark place that plagues him. That dark place doesn’t scare me, I have one of my own. I can get him back. I’ll always get him back.

I gently lay my hand on his forearm, making him jerk back like I struck him. Immediately, my hands are raised, ensuring I’m not touching him. “Hey, hey,” I coo. “You’re safe, Easton. You’re safe here.”

I position myself as close to him as I can without coming into contact with his body. My mouth doesn’t stop moving, saying whatever comforts come to mind. Slowly, he becomes more aware. When his stormy eyes find mine, his lip quivers,a pitiful sound escaping from between them. “There you are, beautiful.” I pause for a moment as he inhales shakily. “It’s getting pretty bad, isn’t it?”

His head drops, unable to bear it. “Yeah.”

My mind is made up. “We’re going to get through it, Chaos. You and me, okay?”

He gulps, creamy throat bobbing. “Promise?”

“Promise, baby. Let’s get some food, yeah?”

When he gives me his hand, I pull him to his feet. He’s obviously embarrassed, hanging in my shadow as we make our way to the kitchen. Not that he should be, mealtimes are chaotic enough that a couple of late arrivals barely get noticed, and if anything, they’d only be concerned about him.

Dad glances up just long enough to clock we’re in the room and grunts a quick eat up before he’s back to inhaling his scrambled eggs and whacking Emerson’s hand away when he catches him trying to sneak a piece of bacon off his plate.

We join the group, dropping into the available seats in between Sage’s highchair and Parker. Pops went all out this morning; pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, homemade biscuits, and a mountain of fruit salad.

---