Page 11 of When I'm Gone

In the elevator, I use the mirrored surface to try and straighten out my appearance. Randall worried, and the last thing I need is him alerting Aaron that I’m leaving. When I see the older man, it is clear I fucked up once again when I run by him without saying something.

“Mr. Easton, I tried calling. Are you all right?”

Showtime, kids. I gesture for him to follow me, away from the door so we can speak privately. “Hey, Randall. Sorry, my phone was dead, I was expecting a call, so I was in a hurry.”

He knows I’m lying. That much is clear by his furrowed brow. One last tactic, I guess. “Look, you’ve always been so nice to me, but I was wondering if you can keep something between us.”

He nods. “Of course, sir.”

How much to tell him, that is the question. “I saw something I shouldn’t have and decided to cut my losses and take off. But Aaron can’t find out I left.”

His cloudy blue eyes soften. “Will you be going somewhere you’ll be safe?”

My throat tightens. “I hope so, Randall. I really hope so.”

“You remind me a lot of my son, Mr. Easton.”

I sniff. “Is that a bad thing?”

The crinkles around his eyes deepen as he smiles. “Not in the slightest. Sometimes”—he laughs—“that child drives meand his mama crazy. Wants to follow the wind. But his heart is so good, we can never be truly upset with him.”

“I don’t know about that,” I mumble.

He grasps my arm with a firm, warm hand. “I do. Let the wind carry you to better things. Your secret's safe with me.”

I am well and truly crying now. “Thank you doesn’t seem like enough.”

“Even that is unnecessary. Go, before you lose the nerve.”

I swallow thickly and take a step backwards. He nods encouragingly at me, so I turn around and keep going.

Maybe this is a bad idea, but it is the first thing I’ve done for myself in four years, and damn, it feels good. That has to be worth something in the grand scheme of things.

~~~

Chase

“HaveI told you that I hate you recently?” I pant as I yank the emergency stop on the machine of death.

Brady, the son of a bitch that he was, clapped me on the back and nearly knocks me on my ass as he cackles. “It’s five miles, Ace. You didn’t die, you damn drama queen.”

My lungs rattle as I try to inhale, bracing my hands on my legs. “I might still die, you piece of shit.”

A man’s dad couldn’t have chest pains anymore without his best friend suddenly guilt tripping him into cardio. My dad was fine. It wasn’t even full cardiac arrest; they called it an episode.

Sure, I was plenty worried when my sister, Logan, called to say mom was taking him to the emergency room, but my fatal mistake was telling Brady. Now, I am certain he’ll never stop buying Brocco Lee for lunch.

And the cardio.

God help me, the cardio.

He’s been absolutely unbearable about it.That stuff is genetic, Ace. You have to take care of yourself, Ace.Blah, blah, blah.

He is even talking about looking into a yoga class we can do after work. There is no way I am surviving this. My dad has unintentionally backed me into a corner that only death can save me from.

I throw back half a bottle of water in a couple of big gulps and glare. “Can we go home now, you damn sadist?”

He laughs. I’m glad someone finds humor in my suffering. I’d rather get run over by a car than do another minute on the treadmill, but at least it got Dr. Brady off my case.

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