Page 20 of When I'm Gone

Chase

Easton and Blakelyare getting along, just like I knew they would, and it does my anxious soul some good to see. Fuck knows why I’m so invested, but leaning into the crazy seems like the way to go. Blake has this really powerful talk to me energy and it’s interesting to watch Easton try to resist. He’s chewing on his lip to keep his mouth shut, so I leave them inthe kitchen making brownies to take a call from my mom, and am lingering in the backyard in case Easton starts blurting out things that he doesn’t want me to hear.

However, on another fun note, my mom used the phrase I can’t keep a lid on this much longer, and supposedly, I’m not supposed to panic about that. It’s like she never met me sometimes. As if I’ll be able to think about anything else between that and whatever the hell is going on in my home life—which I couldn’t explain if someone was paying me for it. The plan was to take Brady to Chicago, my family expects it, but the thought of leaving Easton makes me feel physically ill. Why? He’s an adult, I’m sure fully capable of feeding himself for a couple of days. Why shoving bamboo shoots under my fingernails sounds like a better alternative remains a fucking mystery.

How would I even bring that up?Hey, Easton, I know we’re basically strangers and you probably don’t want a thing to do with me, but want to come home and meet my certifiably insane family so I’m not worried about you?Also, what do I do? Show up with both of them in tow like a couple of minions following around a bald-headed evil-doer with a soft spot for orphans?

Yeah, because that’s not weird.

Tires crunching on my gravel driveway force me back inside after ending my call, a tendril of dread lodging itself somewhere behind my sternum at the arrival of my best friend. Something I haven’t felt since walking into our closet of a dorm room six years ago when I met him and not knowing if he’d hate me for simply existing.

The house smells warm and inviting, the rich chocolate in the air making my mouth water. Easton looks my way when the floorboards creak, announcing my entrance. My heart stutters in my chest when he blinks up at me with a peaceful look on his face that I haven’t seen on him yet. That right there—I want more of that.

“Brownies should be ready soon,” he tells me, showing off his perfect dimple on the left side of his face in a sugary smile.

Brownies don’t even make my top twenty list of favorite treats but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “I can’t wait. They smell so good I may need a pan to myself.”

That sweetness transforms into staggering radiance. It knocks the air clean out of my lungs, it’s like a solar eclipse right in the middle of my remodeled kitchen. Too wonderful to look at but also ensnares you, captivates you. Convinces you it’s better to lose your sight rather than miss its fleeting brilliance.

Then the door opens, and I have the massive displeasure of watching that wondrous event ripped away from the sky right in front of my eyes, leaving a dreary dimness in its wake. Brady comes in, no knock or announcement of any kind just like he’s done a thousand times before, and for the first time ever, I find myself resenting the lack of privacy. Easton has no warning, no opportunity to prepare himself for the sudden intrusion.

Not intrusion, he’s my best friend. I’ve allowed him free rein since we met and it’s never bothered me before this very moment. It’s a fluke. It has to be.

“Hey, man,” I say lightly.

He up-nods me but his gaze lands behind me as a grimace takes over his feature. Curiosity makes my head turn and look over my shoulder, surprised to find Easton has shifted so that he’s mostly hidden behind me. Shielding himself from his own brother. But why? What possible reason could there be? I could count the number of words they’ve exchanged since yesterday on my fingers, but Easton is visibly tense and uncomfortable. And what he thinks I can do to help is a mystery for Scooby and the Gang because I’m coming up empty.

“Brady! Look at you, a sight for sore eyes. Good to see the band didn’t break up while I was away.”

He lifts the corner of his mouth in a half smile as he pulls her in a one-armed hug. “Hey there, Blakely.” He looks at me and I can see the conviction in his eyes. “No way. Ace will never be rid of me.”

Why would I want to get rid of him? Am I picking sides? Because I did not sign up for that. Not to my knowledge at least.

“Nope. We’re locked in until the bitter end, unfortunately.” I lighten it with a quirk of my lips and it seems to soothe whatever territorial bullshit he was feeling.

My guard hasn’t lowered enough for him to get a clear view of Easton, though. “Hey, Eas.”

He’s close enough that I can hear him swallow thickly. “Hey.” Stiff and unfeeling, no traces whatsoever of the boy who couldn’t stop the emotion from pouring from his eyes after just a few months apart. Maybe years is a deeper canyon than they can overcome.

There’s a clawing desperation threatening to rip me to shreds to get even more space between them, only physically so that Easton can take a deep breath again. “Your arm,” I say stupidly to the butterfly refrigerator magnet.

“Huh?”

I cough to clear my throat. “Your arm. I haven’t checked your bandage today. Totally should, it could get infected.”

His voice is barely a sigh. “Okay.” He barely had the sound out before I was gingerly guiding him away. Away, away, away, like it was my business to do so when really only the opposite was true.

He is a dutiful thing, I’ll give him that. I got none of the snark from last night and he hopped up onto the counter without even so much as a glare. Maybe getting him out of the room for a minute was the right thing to do after all.Either that or his arm was giving him trouble, neither of which were options I particularly enjoyed.

“How bad is it hurting?” I ask as I start pulling what I need from the drawers.

He looks at me through his almost translucent eyelashes. “I’ve had worse.”

Is he always so indirect? “I don’t think that’s what I asked, Chaos.”

After I peel back the bandage, the answer can be assumed by how red and ugly the blister is. The sympathy wince on my part can’t be avoided. “Do you really care? It’s only a small burn.”

If Brady is a fluffy golden retriever, then Easton would be the gun-shy stray cat that darts away before you can pet it but looks at you with big sad eyes afterward. Good thing I have all the time in the world to earn his trust. “Small or not, I care a great deal if something is causing you pain. Especially if I can do something to alleviate it. So how bad are we dealing with here?”

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