Page 13 of When I'm Gone

CHAPTER 4

CHASE

With my jaw hanging open, so utterly dumbstruck, I stand blocking the doorway. Easton is obviously uncomfortable, hiking his backpack further onto his shoulder, preparing for me to send him away, and not making eye contact like he can’t even face me to hear the dismissal he’s sure is coming.

“Uhh,” I begin under my breath, sparing Brady a backward glance over my shoulder, seeing him blissfully unaware that the world has just shifted on its axis. “Shit.”

Easton’s scowl deepens, no doubt with something snarky on his tongue, but his brother calls out before he can. “Ace, quit fucking flirting with the delivery guy, would you?”

His voice has a familiar teasing lilt, but with the way it causes Easton to pale, he isn’t as sure of himself as he thinks he is. I snap out of my stupor, stepping aside to give him room to come inside. “Brady, you better come see this,” I return.

Shock renders me incapable of anything more, besides the rapid blinking it takes to try and absorb what is before my eyes—half sure it’s a particularly barbed dream. But whenI saw him in my subconscious, the years had been kinder to him. When I met Easton, he was a cute kid.

Now? He’s undeniably gorgeous—high cheekbones, fully plush lips that are made even more tempting by the scowl he wears. It’s the type of look that makes me want to kiss it away. But there is an edge to his beauty that worries me. The way I can see the razor sharp lines to his shoulders and collarbone beneath the thin white T-shirt he wears. His cuticles are torn to shreds on his elegant fingers.

Ah, how I can count the red flags that should alarm me. Red, however, is stunning on him.

Shuffling footsteps approach us, forcing Easton to crowd against the closed door. If I had all of my wits about me, I’d have intercepted Brady and warned him what he’d be walking in and seeing. The guilt is bitter on my tongue as I watch my best friend get blindsided—one second, everything is normal in his life, if admittedly a little sad, but it doesn’t have a thing on the way it is to watch all the color drain from his face and hear the broken question that comes out of his mouth. It isn’t much, just a name, but enough to ensure I’d bury this kid if he only came back to break Brady’s heart.

“Eas?”

I should putlawn ornamenton my resume for all the good I’m doing, just standing here, trying to get my brain to come back online while watching this unfold.

“You came back?” he asks as he takes a couple large steps forward, like he intends to embrace his long-lost brother, but when Easton flinches like he is expecting a strike, he drops them uselessly at his sides.

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

At long last, I can speak. “Why after all this time?”

Brady’s answering glare could melt steel, but someone had to ask it. Easton was a child the last time either of us saw him, we don’t know him as an adult at all.

He’s grabbing that damn backpack of his like it’s the only thing keeping him from darting off. “Things change,” he says. “I need a place to crash until I get back on my feet.”

It’d be too easy if he just came out with it and said he wants to steal a flatscreen so he can pawn it for blow or something. “Of course you can stay,” Brady assures him. Not like I thought for a minute he’d deny him, but it still makes me uneasy. Easton has obviously had a rough go of it recently, and I’m not entirely sure he’s not just going to bolt, so I find myself saying, “He can stay with me.” Brady raises his eyebrows at me, and Easton’s nose scrunches like a bunny. It’d be adorable under different circumstances. “You don’t have a place for him to sleep, Bray.”

Technically true. The couch is second hand and lumpy, and his spare bedroom doesn’t have anything in it but cardboard boxes.

The shriek of the fire alarm startles all of us, more so Easton. He glances around nervously while trying to fold into himself. Brady swears and darts off to the kitchen with me close on his heels. If I don’t stop this fucking sound soon, I’m going to do something dramatic. Probably take a screwdriver to my temple. While he throws the flaming pan of god knows what in the sink, I grab a broom to jab the wailing demon. The smoke burns my eyes, making them water.

“Dude, rip it out of the fucking ceiling,” Brady shouts through a cough. He doesn't have to tell me twice. One good swing of the broom and the damn thing is swinging from the ceiling, close enough now that I can yank it down and smash it.

On cat’s feet, Easton slips in between us and pulls the window over the sink open so the smoke can dissipate. I spin to face him when I hear a yelp, zeroing in on the angry red welt about halfway up his forearm.

“Are you okay?”

He rolls his pretty doe eyes. “Fine. That pan is hot, in case you didn’t know,” he snaps.

I bite my lip so I don’t laugh, not that he’s funny but because he’s doing a shit job at pretending it doesn’t hurt, and I’m sure he won’t appreciate me pointing that out. “Chaos, thy name is Callaghan,” I mumble, thinking more of Brady, but it sure fits him too. “Let’s get you bandaged up, yeah?”

His ocean eyes narrow while his bottom lip trembles. “It’s fine.”

“Yeah, it looks like it.” He glances down to see it is already swollen, and it looks like it will blister.

“I can do it.”

“I’m sure.”

Despite his protests, he allows me to steer him to the hall bathroom with a hand on his shoulder to the melodious chorus of Brady hacking up a lung. I internally roll my eyes, maybe he should be worried about his own heart health. Easton surprises me when he doesn’t fuss when I pat the counter indicating for him to hop up. Poor guy can’t decide if he wants to cop an attitude with me or not, like he feels like he should, but doesn’t really want to. He’s not the only one confused, that’s for fucking sure.

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