Page 91 of When I'm Gone

Em makes a thoughtful sound. “Then you should probably go home, bro.” Controlling my facial features must not be critical because whatever he sees makes him hold his hands up in surrender. “All I’m saying is that if you feel like something is up, you should go home, Chase. Mom is out of the woods. No one would think you’re heartless for wanting to make sure your boyfriend is okay instead of sitting in a cold room while Mom sleeps.”

Easy for him to say, he’s never had to be the long distance kid who feels guilt for missing anything. All in the name of carving my own path in the world, but that doesn’t mean it’seasy to be a plane ride away from the people you care about when they need you.

Emerson, unplagued by my internal wrestling match, pushes on. “Call Brady. Tell him to go check in. That way you aren’t stressing for nothing if he’s fine. If he’s not, then at least you know what you’re walking into.”

I sigh heavily. “When did you get so rational?”

He only winks playfully before turning his attention to Sage’s crayola abstract disaster. “Tell Uncle Chase that I’m only pointing out the obvious.”

She looks up, brandishing a french fry in one hand and an electric lime crayon in the other. “Bet you can’t spell obvious,” she dares. Her very influential uncle laughs, it’s no mystery who’s trying to teach her to spell with a less popular approach. But Em is right, it’s better to know, so I text Brady before tucking my phone away and getting dragged into an impromptu spelling bee.

By the time lunch is over, the knot of worry buried in my chest loosens enough that I manage to convince myself that Emerson was right and Easton is just asleep or got caught up in his sketchbook.

Getting Sage corralled in her car seat is a test of patience. Poor kid is exhausted just like the rest of us, but without the comprehension skills to fully understand the situation, she’s pretty over the whole ordeal. Em and I do our best to keep her happy, but she’s standing on the edge of a full-blown meltdown. “Should we take her home, let her sleep in her own bed?” Em asks desperately.

“I can drop you off at the hospital and take her back. I fear that if we take her there again, she’ll be a menace to the entire surgical floor.”

There’s that face again, damn near as bad as it was last night. Like I’ve told him, he has three minutes to live. Feelingsorry for the guy, I gently amend, “Or you can come with me. It might be nice to have some company.”

The relief that floods his eyes is no less than tremendous. He updates the family group chat of our toddler woes and the change of plans after I’ve already passed the hospital. Granted, it was only yesterday that he found Mom laying in a pool of blood, but I fear this is messing with his head way more than any of us thought.

I’ll try to keep an eye on him, check in after I go home. Everyone is obviously going to be focused on Mom, as they should be, but I’m worried Em will slip through the cracks.

Christ in hell, listen to me. If fifteen-year-old Chase could hear me now, he’d deck me in the jaw, no hesitation. Worried Emerson will slip through the cracks is an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one. I was also an asshole back then, so maybe it’s a good thing that I wouldn’t like who I am now.

Still, a bit of a head fuck.

We trudge into Logan’s apartment, Sage squealing like this is a kidnapping attempt. We get a couple of looks from the neighbors, but I can’t make myself care. “You can crash in my room,” Emerson offers. I raise my eyebrow. “Logan’s room is probably a war zone, and you’re no good to anyone if you’re a zombie. The mattress in there is pretty comfortable.”

His words dissolve the last of my remaining energy, and I wordlessly stumble in the direction he points me, falling asleep before my head can even hit the pillow.

~~~

Correction, that was not sleep, that was death. I peel my eyes open hours later sweaty, disoriented, and with what can only be dried drool on the corner of my mouth. I never even got my shoes off. Not my most attractive moment.

After washing the rest of the fog away in a scalding shower, I go search for Emerson and Sage, wondering if I’mthe only one who just got rejected from the afterlife just now. The smell of bacon leads me right to him, standing at the stove, poking a frying pan, shirtless with his pants slung low.

That seems like a risk, but whatever.

“Hungry?” he mumbles around a jaw-cracking yawn.

My stomach rumbles loudly in response. “Starved.”

He wordlessly passes me a plate that I begin devouring immediately. “Go to town on it. Sage is in a phase where she says she hates bacon so that’s just yours.”

Oh damn, more for me, what a shame. I look around for the kid, not seeing her or hearing her is a bit bizarre, considering she’s the most people person of a child I’ve ever met. “Where is she?” I ask when my admittedly half-assed search turns up empty.

“Asleep,” he answers around another yawn. “I’m guessing she either sleeps through the night and wakes up at like five tomorrow, ready to raise hell or wants to party at eleven p.m.”

That seems like a fun problem for her mom to deal with. “At least we aren’t going back to the hospital.”

Emerson raises a piece of bacon out for a toast. “Here, here. Hey, did you ever hear from Easton?”

I freeze. Dread slides over my skin like oil. I forgot. I fucking forgot. Forgot that my boyfriend is missing. Who does that?

Emerson raises his eyebrows as I swear, patting down my pockets searching for my phone. “That’s not what you were wearing earlier. Check your jeans,” Emerson reminds me when my search turns up empty.

Jesus Christ on a bike, it hurts to be fucking stupid.

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