Page 21 of When I'm Gone

He looks positively gobsmacked, like he truly expects me to be indifferent. Those creeping suspicions rear their ugly heads again as I uselessly ask myself why.

“It doesn't feel great, but it’s manageable if I make myself not think about it too much.”

His cheeks darken to a dusty pink, like even admitting he’s capable of feeling pain embarrasses him. “We’ll keep an eye on it, okay? But you have to tell me if the pain gets to be too bad and you want to see someone for it.”

I eye him carefully, trying to appear serious. The last thing I want is for him to clam up if it’s too much. He chuckles airily. “Don’t worry, I can deal just fine.”

“I’m sure you can.”

He searches my face for something while I finish what the task at hand, but seems to either find what he's looking for oris willing to let it go. I’m just about to tell him he’s all set, but something just above the bandage catches my attention.

“What is this from?” I murmur, thumbing it carefully. It’s a scar; an imperfect circle just above the crook of his arm that must not have healed properly because the interior is filled with tiny bumps and ridges.

Easton takes in a shaky breath and hops down, crowding me for a moment and giving me the faintest trace of his scent—warm, like amber with a trace of citrus. Goosebumps break out over my arms, and I see something like heat in his eyes. But before I can be sure, it’s gone, and he steps past me without a word.

“Get it together,” I mumble to myself. Fucking hell. What am I going to do with this guy? The question isn’t even all the way out in my head before I answer it. Whatever he wants, because I’m starting to think while this may be my house and my life he walked in on, I am not the one running this show.

I stalk off to go find my ringmaster because I’m a well-trained monkey like that, and find him cornered against the fridge holding a carton of almond milk like a life preserver, looking like he walked straight out of the frying pan and into the fryer.

Goddamn Brady and those catchy ass phrases. What an asshole.

The man himself was in the middle of a sentence. “… he’s gone, we can go check out the glass museum or something.”

Easton looks furious, those ocean eyes are a dark and stormy hurricane, but then he turns them on me. “You’re leaving?” he demands.

Right, Mom needs me to come home. “Yes, I have to. Not for long, though. I’ll probably leave Friday night and be back on Sunday.”

“So that’s that then?”

Alex, I’d like to buy a vowel. Several, actually.“What do you mean, Easton?”

He huffs. “You’re leaving me here?” He looks at me imploringly and then darts his gaze to Brady.

“Easton, you’ve got to stop acting like we’re strangers. You’re my baby brother.” Brady looks fractured, like this is ripping some essential piece straight from his chest.

Blakely looks around like she accidentally walked on to a daytime soap opera set and very much would like to leave as Easton snaps, “I don’t think I ever knew you at all, Brady. Not in any way that mattered.” Okay, so we’re going straight for the jugular. Awesome. “Chase,” he implores.

I don’t even have to think about it. “Come home with me.”

His eyes widen. “You mean it?”

“If you really want to come, of course I do.”

Easton looks so adorably shy. “But I’d be meeting your family.”

“That would be the point, yes. If you don’t want to stay here while I’m gone, that’s a route we could easily go with.”

One brother beams as the other crumbles, the latter doing everything he can to hide it. I really am the worst kind of person. There is no way both of them can be happy at the same time. What should I have done? Asked Brady’s permission? I’m not crossing state lines with a minor here, and I can’t imagine just telling Easton to tough it out. He’s so uncomfortable around Brady, leaving him here alone with him will more likely damage their relationship than it will heal it. At least I think so. Easton doesn’t strike me as fragile but definitely brittle, and the wrong move on Brady’s part will make him shatter. I want to be able to keep him around long enough that they can really work through things, so what’s one weekend in the grand scheme of things?

Blakely is conveniently ignoring the tension in exchange for eating the brownies while they’re still warm while I’m leftdrowning miles from shore out here. “If you’re sure it’s okay with you, I’d like that a lot,” Easton says.

“That’s a great idea, buddy.” Brady forces it out like one would admit to kicking puppies professionally. “I’m gonna take off. I’ll see you before your flight, though.”

He claps Easton on the shoulder and finally releases him from the stainless steel prison. “Bray,” I start but he quickly jumps in to interrupt.

“All good. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ace.”

I have to try again. “Brady.”

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