Page 45 of Of Pranks and Passion
He huffed out a laugh, though it still sounded strained. “He’s a friend of my old man’s. My old man is a stuffy bastard with anyone who isn’t his family.”
“Oh. Still weird, though.”
He slowly relaxed, his free hand combing through my hair. That was really nice, and I settled more comfortably against his side.
“I think so, too. I don’t like using my last name. I’m not like my family.”
“Me neither,” I murmured. I’d never set someone up to be attacked like Brienna did. And I knew if I ever found evidence, my parents would back her up. Even if the guy had managed to hurt me, they’d probably just say I asked for it.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I closed my eyes. “Maybe we can pick new names. Something cool that’s just ours and doesn’t link us to people who don’t understand us.”
Easton hummed an agreeable sound. “Got any ideas?”
I thought about it for a second before suggesting, “Dickens? Like Charles Dickens?”
He snorted. “No. Everyone would call you dick.”
Oh. That was probably true. “Lewis? Like C.S. Lewis?”
“Are you only going to be naming really old authors?” he asked. I could hear the amusement in his voice, and I felt my cheeks flush, but hey, we all had our likes. Mine just happened to be books.
“Well, why don’t you suggest one?”
“McClane,” he suggested.
“Hey, that’s kind of cool, actually. Easton McClane.”
“Mhmm. Like John McClane, from Die Hard.”
“Ugh. Never mind. Pick something else.”
He barked out a laugh, and my heart rate finally settled as we tossed out ideas for new last names that had no ties to our families. And if I secretly compared his suggestions to both our names, that was my business. If I kept the schmoopy stuff to myself, he never had to know.
I was mostlyout of it when the doctor let us leave. I had a mild concussion, minor contusions, and sore ribs from being shoved against the wall, but no breaks and nothing life threatening. He told me to take the weekend to rest and to call if I noticed any increasing headaches or nausea. Easton took the medicine prescribed to me for the pain and tucked it into his back pocket before scooping me off the bed and into his arms. Normally, I’d complain, but tonight I just needed to be close to him. He carried me out of the emergency room to where Coach and Angel were waiting, shoulder to shoulder on the uncomfortable hospital chairs and half asleep.
“Let’s go,” Easton said, nudging Coach’s foot. Coach blinked his eyes open and scrubbed his hands over his face while Easton gave the same treatment to Angel. Angel was less polite aboutwaking up, whining and complaining until Coach offered to pick him up, too. Then he decided he was plenty awake to get himself moving and scurried out to pull the car around. Coach followed with a heavy sigh, and I heard Easton snicker as I watched them walk away.
“What’s so funny?”
“They’re both pretending like they don't want to fuck each other. It’ll happen eventually.”
Huh. I never would’ve gotten that from them. They were either distant or combative whenever I was around them. Coach gave Easton the keys to his car, since I was alert enough now to sit by myself. I wasn’t happy about it, but I didn’t want to make Coach or Angel play chauffeur all night either. It was late, and everyone was tired. I pulled my knees against my chest in the front seat, hugging them during the drive, and Easton kept one hand on the wheel and one on the back of my neck. It was comforting, and I appreciated it.
He pulled into an underground parking garage below a tall building. I couldn’t get much detail because it was late, but it seemed kinda fancy. Fancier than any place I’d ever lived in anyway. I yawned so hard my jaw cracked, and I winced.
“Tired?”
I nodded, rubbing roughly at my eyes. “Those pain meds made me sleepy.”
“Mm. A few more minutes and you can go to bed.”
He parked near the elevator, and to spare him from having to carry me everywhere, I got out myself, but he scooped me up anyway after coming around the car. This time with my legs around his hips. I liked this position better and sighed happily as I buried my face against his neck.
“Just relax, Gary. I’ve got you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
EASTON
