Page 73 of When I'm Gone

For the remainder of the drive, we both keep up a steady stream of chatter fueled almost entirely by hyper-awareness. By the time we make it home, I’m more than ready to see Chase. I find him in my brother’s backyard in the middle of an argument that brings a smile to my face.

He waves a hammer in a way that some might call threatening. “I’m fucking done, Brady. This is my last goddamn reno project. It’s not worth it anymore.”

There’s nothing better than Chase in all his various forms, when he’s being soft and sweet to me, when he’s lovingly exasperated with his family are some of my favorite sides of him. But dramatic Chase? He never fails to make me stupidly happy.

Brady groans loudly. “You would say that on my turn. Of course it wouldn’t be when we spent a week figuring out how to lay flooring in your house. It’s a deck, not the fucking Sistine Chapel. It’s going to be fine.”

He gestures around him wildly. “What is fine? This sure isn’t. We don’t know what we’re doing, Brady. For fuck’s sake.”

My brother laughs. “Since when have we ever? We’ll figure it out, drama queen.”

Chase scowls, still having not heard me and Parker sneak in the gate so we can watch the show. “You can’t call me that. It’s homophobic.”

Brady’s head drops between his shoulder blades, looking at the sky like he’s begging for patience. “It’s not homophobic if you’re acting like one, and while we’re at it, stop calling me homophobic when you want to win an argument.”

“No,” he tosses back easily. “It’s fun for me.” He chooses that moment to finally notice that they’re no longer alone, and a big smile stretches across his face as his eyes lock with mine. Butterflies erupt in my stomach, and I’m tempted to run into him like it’s the ending of a cheesy rom-com. I resist, but barely. “Hey, there you are.”

Okay, so maybe I jog a little, but so does he. “Hi,” I murmur against his lips.

He smells like wood shavings, salt, and mine. His hand cups the back of my neck as he presses his mouth to mine. At the first taste of him, I loop my arms around him and deepen it. I can’t get enough. Someone whistles, probably Parker, but I don’t care. He’s all that matters.

I’m breathless when I pull away, and Chase looks dazed himself. “You look incredible, sweetheart.”

I don’t. I’m wearing skinny jeans and I changed into the shirt Parker bought for me that the girl in the seat next to ours managed to crop without scissors. Apparently, it was to accentuate my waist. Not something I’d normally care about, but it did seem important to her.

A little warning that I’d be tugging on it constantly would have been cool. I feel naked, I most definitely do not look incredible. More like a sparkly wreck.

Chase laughs and kisses my temple, making my insides melt. “Well,” he starts. “How was it?”

He looks between me and his little brother, probablyamazed that Parker has managed to not talk about it for five minutes. “Amazing. We had the best time.”

As Parker launches into his recounting of events, we all settle on the fragments of the deck. Chase tucks me under his arm, playing with the exposed skin above my jeans, and I decide maybe that girl from the concert really had a point about my waistline.

CHAPTER 22

CHASE

One day, I’m going to really mean it when I tell my best friend that I am over the renovation projects. Unfortunately, that day is not today. Or probably any day in the next year for that matter because he turned me into a perfectionist who no longer trusts other people to do things. It’s all his fault, really.

And for that matter, fuck the extra hours of daylight we’re getting because it’s summer. If it was dark when we got off work then I wouldn’t have to deal with three hours of back-breaking labor. We haven’t gone to the gym in three weeks because all we do is this. To be honest, I miss him forcing me to care about my cardiovascular health. It was easier. And there is the distinct lack of chainsaws. I don’t know what about me says hand me a deadly power tool but consider it the top of my priority list of personality flaws that need changing.

Hoping for a swift death, I flop onto the cool grass and groan. A thunk sounds beside me as Brady does the same. It should be vindicating that he is also exhausted, but it’s not. “Okay, maybe you weren’t being dramatic. This fuckingsucks,” he admits.

I know I’m dying because there is no appeal in being sarcastic. A grunt of acknowledgement is the best I can manage. It’s been weeks. Day in and day out. If we were making progress, I’d feel better, but of course there is no notable difference. I throw an arm over my eye, hoping it will speed up the inevitable where there’s a bright light at the end of a tunnel or whatever the fuck it is.

Based on some of the shit Easton has told me, that’s definitely not what I’m hoping is on the other side.

Sawdust sure does make me morbid.

There’s a break in the sun, scorching my eyelids, and I peek my eyes open, finding an angel hovering above me. “Guess who got the best test score in class today?” it asks, excitement bubbling off him in waves.

Easton.

I reach blindly for his hand and tug him down on top of us as he bursts into a fit of laughter. Brady lets out anoomphas he takes the majority of the impact. “My brother, the genius. I always knew you were the smartest person alive,” he declares with a bit of a wheeze.

“You’re so embarrassing,” Easton whines.

Brady sniffs loudly. “Aww, you made an angel cry, you barbarian.”

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