Page 69 of When I'm Gone

A snarl builds in my throat. I’m so tired. I miss Easton. I feel like dog shit and he’s minimizing this. “Maybe if you didn’t have the brain capacity of a fucking nine year old, you’d get why.”

Regret washes over me as soon as it comes out of my mouth. I didn’t mean it. “I’m going to choose to ignore that because you’ve had a shit day, but if you don’t go home and make things right, I won’t be so nice.”

Using my shirt to wipe the remaining water from my face, I decide to ignore the dread weighing me down and heed his warning. The door isn’t locked when I come through, which means he’s probably waiting on me. This is it. The bliss we’ve created for ourselves has been shattered, because of me, and now whatever we had is done.

Easton is bent over at the dining room table with an array of pencils scattered around him and a sketchbook. I can’t see what he’s working on from this angle, but the pencil sounds angry and harsh as he drags it across the paper. He really is trying. Trying to find his art again after it was taken from him, trying to heal himself from scratch without even fully understanding what he went through. It’s amazing, there’s no question about that, but it’s also so very Easton that it makes my heart clench just thinking about it.

He doesn’t look up, and I can’t say how long I stand here entirely hypnotized by him. So long that it startles me when he breaks the silence and says, “Are you ever going to say anything or should we just keep pretending I don’t know you’re here?”

I shrug. “I don’t know what to say.”

He sets the pencil down and spins to face me, giving me my first glimpse at him and what he’s working on. Easton looks furious, his jaw is set, eyebrows furrowed, and having that look aimed at me feels unnatural. I was never supposed to put that much hurt in those sapphire eyes. Easing his pain, being there for him in a way that no one else can be has been a gift.

Easton levels a glare in my direction. “Well, good. Because, actually, I’m the one who’s going to say things.”

I find myself nodding. “Whatever you want to say, I’ll listen,” I promise. That much I can do; absorb the venom that’s been brewing in his system before he wants nothing to do with me again.

Easton nods too, like he was expecting that to be an issue. “Good. Because I’ve had nothing to do for the last eight hours but think, and I need to say this or I’ll chicken out and never do it.”

Jesus, he’s so adorable. Even furious, he’s asking permission to go off on me. “Go ahead. I can take it.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. “I’m mad at you. You left me. I had no idea where you went, what was going through your head. Nothing. It wasn’t fair. So if you aren’t interested in me anymore, you need to say it. Because I’ve decided that I’m not going to believe you until you say it.”

With the way he battles self-image, that wasn’t easy. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him how fucking proud I am of him, but there’s a dare in his eyes. Challenging me to say I’m done with him. “Easton, you’re the one who needs to say that to me. You don’t want to be with someone who’s capable of hurting you like I did.”

He huffs a frustrated groan. “It wasn’t you! Ugh. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“Clearly, it was.”

Easton advances a few steps and practically growls. “No. If you had given me a second to process what I was feeling, I would have told you. And I’m sorry about scratching you and for not telling you that I was starting to feel weird, all of which you didn’t give me a chance to say.” My throat is on fire from the emotion I’m holding back, but I promised he could say his peace. I can see the same emotions I’m battling reflecting at me from his eyes. “I wanted to be good. We had the best day, and there was nowhere else I’d rather be than in your bed. You were perfect, you’re always so fucking perfect. It was me. I was the problem. I defaulted to things that had nothing to do with you because it’s what I know and we both paid the price. I am sorry, but I’m also so mad that you just took off.”

He angrily swipes a stray tear, glaring like its mere existence is a betrayal to him. “How are you not furious with me? Easton, it’s so fucked up that I didn’t notice what was happening quicker. I can’t be someone else who hurts you. I refuse.”

My heart fucking aches. Easton is the best thing to ever happen to me. He took my dull, monotonous life and shook it up and made it beautiful. The last thing I want is to give him up, but I’d rather lose him than damage him any further.

His nose scrunches up in confusion. “You’ve never hurt me. Not ever and especially not last night. I didn’t think it was going to hit me that hard, you had no way of knowing. My memory might be hazy, but you stopped. I know that. You’re pretty good at reading me, but you’re not a mind reader.”

Okay, we definitely need more caffeine if we’re really going to sit here and hash out what I’m still calling an assault. My brain capacity is limited enough from the stress and sleep deprivation as is. Our shoulders brush as I step around him, making that all too familiar electricity running betweenus all the damn time cackle to life. Easton sucks in a sharp breath, and I know he feels it too.

It’s maddening, and somehow, it makes perfect sense. The pull that urges me to touch, to claim, to care for rears its head. But I resist. We have a lot to talk about, and once I get wrapped up in him, it’s hard to remember why I’d want to come up for air.

It's a habit to make one sickeningly sweet with a dash of cinnamon and pass it backwards without prompt. He takes it with a quiet, happy sigh. Once I take a few gulps from my own mug, I clamp down on my molars; steeling myself to face him again.

The exhaustion from last night shows; eyes red rimmed, hair sticking out at all angles. But the color on his skin and the way his collarbone doesn’t stick out as aggressively, the little tells that his dedication to healing is paying off. He’s been eating better, soaking up sunshine like a sunflower anytime he’s outdoors. It looks so good on him. Happy has always been my favorite look on him.

Did I do that?

I don’t know if I’d go that far. Maybe I just made it easier for him to be happy. But seeing him blossom so quickly is almost an out of body experience for me. Too good to be real, but somehow I’m still seeing it.

“You really do have to decide,” he murmurs, hopping up on the counter and eyeing me carefully.

“What’s that?”

His corn silk hair flops over his brows as he shakes his head, the smallest of sad smiles teasing me with those damn dimples. “If you’re done, Chase. I get that you didn’t sign up for all my baggage, so it’s okay if you would rather wash your hands of me.”

Brady’s words flash back to the front of my mind fromearlier. He’s giving me the out, not taking it. Do I want to give him up? Never.

But can I handle it if we have a repeat of last night? The terror was unlike any I’ve ever experienced. How it must have been for him, fuck, even the thought sends a shiver down my spine.

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