Page 17 of When I'm Gone

She sucks her teeth in mock outrage. “Chase, I thought you knew me better than that. Me? Planning a vacation? No way!”

Well, she has me there. Her husband plans out a summer of pampering her every year to show his appreciation for her dealing with his crazy schedule during the season. Not that she holds it over him, they’re just so obnoxiously in love, I’m pretty sure it’s just an excuse for him to do something extravagant for her. “You’re right. Buy the ticket. See you soon, Blake.”

She says the same, and I hang up and spare a glance at the ball of tension on the driver’s seat. “Say whatever it is on your mind, Bray.”

“Nothing,” he grunts.

Liar. I say as much and he whips his head around at me. “It’s nothing. I guess I’m just going to have to cut out early and take you to your car, and I’ve got a lot on my plate.”

“Bullshit. I can get a rideshare if it’s that much of a problem and you know I wouldn’t even think twice about it. What is it really?”

Brady and I do not argue, he always says exactly what he thinks. Sometimes it’s clumsy, and I have to patch his rampant thoughts together, but we end up on the same page about everything. The harshest we’ve ever been with one another is when he forces me to watch a hockey team out of Florida, and I make my displeasure well-known.

That’s justified, though, because gross.

This is unheard of with him and it sits like lead on my poor underused conscience. “I mean, we were just talking about Easton, and I thought it was implied that you’d back me up tonight so we could talk to him. Then as soon as something else comes up, you make other plans.”

“Okay, first, it’s Blakely—who, normally, you’re as excited to see as I am—and I can’t control her impromptu plans, but I’m not going to blow her off. And if Easton is ready to talk to you, he’ll make it happen. I know you’re worried, Bray, but cornering him is only going to make him feel trapped. He’s an adult now, you have to give him an inch if you want one back.”

My point rolls around in his head for a while, and I sit further back in the leather seat and watch the show. His jaw works, his brow furrows, he even shakes his head a couple of times. Eventually, he works out whatever was rattling around in there and speaks in a flat voice. “Easy for you to say.”

Yeah, I guess it is.

We don’t get another chance to talk all day, which is my fault. I work through lunch so I can get more done on our team’s task list so I don’t feel as guilty taking a half day today. Honestly, I’m not even sure I look up from my computer in the last four hours.

Look, I have just about unlimited faith in my friendship with Brady. He’s a reasonable guy, just a little shaken up. He loves fixing things for people—mowing the yards for peoplewho can’t or don’t have time when he sees the need, and there’s a houseless guy named Paul that lives up a block from here that he regularly invites to sit down and eat with us when we don’t get takeout, because he cares that he makes him feel like a person and not an unnamed charity case. He’s just that kind of person. He may need a few hours to sulk, but he will come around and see that laid-back is the way to go with Easton, and I’ll apologize for making him feel like I don’t have his back, and then we’ll be entirely past it.

That’s not to say my chest doesn’t pinch when I walk by his desk on my way out and he doesn’t look up. I can’t leave it like that, so I squeeze his shoulder and wait for him to glance up at me. He makes me sweat it out for a solid fifteen seconds—about ten minutes in Brady world—before he indulges me.

“I won’t keep you, but I just wanted to say bye before I head to the airport.”

That melts about half the tension between us if the way the harsh lines on his forehead soften, but his eyes stay stuck in a displeased slit are a sign. “Bye, then.”

“Come over when you’re off, help me cook dinner for everyone.”

He nods reluctantly, so I call the whole thing a success and head off without bothering him anymore. Insecurities I thought I’d put to bed years ago are threatening to wake back up if I don’t cut my losses and get out of here soon. I order a rideshare in the elevator, and it’s waiting on the curb a few minutes later to take me home. Seattle passes in a blur, which really indicates my fucked-up headspace. I love where I live, this city is like no other to me—the festivals, the culture, even the landscape is enough to usually make me feel grateful to live here. But I see none of it until my black front door with the white oak trim comes into view.

If Blakely wasn’t flying in, I’d have probably taken the dayoff, anyway. Leaving this morning had my stomach in knots, not that I had any logical explanation for it. But I knew it wouldn’t settle until I had eyes on Easton, just to make sure he’s okay.

There’s no sound of human life as I enter on soft feet—no TV or music playing, no one moving around. Nothing except the quiet hum of the air conditioner. If I didn’t have a doorbell camera showing no activity between me leaving for work and now, I’d have thought he ran off already. I toe off my shoes as I scan past the entryway, hoping for him to appear out of thin air, if only to prove his existence at all because it’s feeling a little theoretical right now. I hang my keys up on the wall without looking back and wince when I hear them crash to the ground, sounding louder than a gunshot in a museum.

Easton scrambles up from in front of the sofa on a gasp, eyes darting around looking for a threat that isn’t there. His hair is hanging limply over his eyes, and I can tell even from here, his pupils are blown out.

“You’re okay,” I assure him, even though I’m pretty sure I’m lying. He whimpers, and suddenly, nothing can stop me from going to him, albeit a little slowly so I don’t scare him again. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.”

He must have been asleep on the floor, which feels like something that should be addressed but it doesn’t make the priority list when he’s looking at me like this. All curled into himself with his arms braced securely across his chest, trying to not take up space as he sizes me up.

I have no earthly idea what he thinks is going to happen next, but it makes rage boil in my blood like I’ve never felt before. Then he speaks, shaky and unsure. “Please don’t be mad.”

And just like that, the fight bleeds out, and I sink into the couch with a sigh. The confusion is ever present, but it palesin the face of the need to reassure him. “Not even close, Chaos. Weren’t you cold down there?”

His posture loosens a bit, but he remains wary. “You’re not going to ask why?”

I really, really fucking want to but my advice to Brady this morning is an incessant needle in my brain. “No. You can talk to me if you want, but hey, maybe you’re just a floor person. My brother is.” I shrug.

He finally deflates, and maybe I did something right, so I decide to push my luck. “Want to get out of the house for a bit?”

Those pretty eyes widen and he pulls his full bottom lip in between his teeth, chewing nervously. “Yeah, if that’s okay with you?” He asks it like a question even though I offered. I get the feeling someone hasn’t always been genuine with him.

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