Prologue

PROLOGUE

CHASE- FOUR YEARS AGO

“ G oddamn it, Brady. This was a bad idea. A really fucking bad one, actually,” I hiss through my teeth. What I most certainly do not need in my life is to meet his family. I am not social. In fact, I’m almost certain the only reason Brady ever hung out with me was because he felt sorry for me when he was going to frat parties on the weekends while I was studying statistics.

But here I am, because my supposed best friend thought it would be fun. Fun, my ass. These people are strangers. All the things I’ve ever learned about Brady’s home life pre-college flashed before my eyes. Dinners every night at the table, holidays with tons of relatives, a strong patriarch of a dad, a stay-at-home mom who loved doting on her husband and kids. These people are normal.

He laughs, deep and full as he hooks his arm over my shoulder. Probably so I can’t run back to the terminal and make camp until our return flight home in five days. “Oh, sweet summer child. The best days of our lives always start with you saying that. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen? ”

“Famous last words,” I mutter. Why he puts up with me, I’ll never know. As much as I complain, Brady is entirely responsible for me coming out of my shell in college. We roomed together at Ivory University by chance freshman year, and I haven’t known peace since. I have known friendship, though, and that’s a hell of a lot better.

Except for taking me to meet his parents. This is unforgivable. I don’t care how many times he bats his eyelashes at me this time. He deserves to sweat it out, maybe even beg. The reality of spending my spring break with two older versions of my loud, energetic golden retriever of a best friend gives me hives. Hell, maybe even a younger version of him. He has a little brother, after all. They’re close too, which is pretty damning evidence.

We’re almost to baggage claim, where they’re waiting on us, and it’s taking a ton of effort to not break out of Brady’s hold and hitchhike back to the PNW. The breath whooshes out of me when between one blink and the next, I find myself pinned to a wall with Brady gripping my biceps to hold me in place.

“You’re freaking out.”

It’s not a question so there’s no reason to lie. “Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure that you’d have a good time, Chase. Give me a little credit. They’re my family but you’re already a part of it too. This is just a long overdue technicality. I talk about you all the time; they already love you.”

My resolve crumbles. I can’t stay mad when he says shit like that. “I trust you,” I say instead. Sue me, I like him groveling just a bit.

“You know how much it means to me that you’re doing this, right?” I see the truth in his dark eyes; this is everything for him. Family is a pillar to who Brady is as a person, but to him, family is the three people I’m about to meet and any stray he sees that needs a place to belong. Me included.

“I know, Bray. I’m good. Let’s go, they’re waiting on us.”

He pats my cheek affectionately before releasing me. So damn tactile. “It’ll be okay, Ace. I promise.”

With that motivational parting phrase, we’re off again. I gulp when I see an older couple at our carousel, our suitcases already standing beside them. Guess that’s a mystery for another day because Brady takes off at a run when he catches sight of them. He’s got at least a foot on his mother, but when her arms wrap around him, he melts into it. I stand back to give them their privacy but even from this distance I can hear her fretting over him already. The smile tugging at the corners of my mouth can’t be helped. Brady doesn’t resemble her much when it comes to physical features but that hug she’s giving him is one I’m well acquainted with.

Brady finally lets go of his mom and his dad claps him on the back hard enough for it to echo. The first chance he gets, he’s whipping around looking for me. He beckons me over animatedly so off I go. Right into the wolves’ den as they say.

Brady’s mom is petite with warm eyes framed by red glasses and bright blonde hair. “You must be Chase!” she exclaims. “We’re so glad to finally meet you!”

That tone is all Brady too, warm and familiar even to someone she’s never met before. “Mrs. Callaghan. Thank you for having me,” I choke out as she attempts to squeeze the life out of me.

“None of that,” she chastises. “I’m Tiffany and this is my husband Mark.” Tiffany, apparently, gestures to Brady about twenty years in the future. Tall, broad, same chestnut hair just aged with some grays around his temple.

“Nice to meet you both.”

Brady’s dad nods, but Tiffany links her arm with mine like we’re the oldest of friends. “Come on. I can’t wait to get you both home so I can have all three of my boys together.”

I smile, hoping it comes across genuine and not as awkward as I feel. In my defense, it took me weeks to get used to Brady. Even if they’re the greatest people on the face of the earth, I’ll still need time to adjust. She links her other arm with Brady, who shoots me a sympathetic look over the top of her head and drags us along with her, leaving Mark to get our bags. She doesn’t let go until she absolutely has to when we get to a sparkling white SUV in short term parking. Brady helps his dad load the suitcases in the trunk and we pile in the backseat. After we get buckled in and pull out into the damn near blindingly bright Florida day, Brady reaches a hand over and squeezes my knee encouragingly, not even missing a beat as he catches up with his parents in the front seat about what all has been going on in the small town outside of Tampa that he’s from. They keep up enough chatter on their own so I try to focus on the landscape and take a breather.

I came out to Brady before I ever met him. As soon as the room assignments were posted, I emailed him to say I was gay and asked if it would be a problem. I wanted to tell him so that we could switch rooms if necessary and avoid any issues before they could arise. He emailed me back almost immediately with his cell phone number with a one line response that extinguished any doubt I had about the new person that would be coming into my life.

No problems :) I can be your designated wingman.

I’d laughed at the time, given it was unfathomable for me to consider a world where a random dude in Florida gave a damn about me getting laid. Our texts over the summer, however obvious it should have been, did not clue me into how seriously Brady was going to take his new role in my life. He shut down even mildly homophobic language no matter who was saying it, he could talk me up to a guy like he was getting paid for it, and constantly pushed me out of my comfort zone without going too far.

Our friends back at I.U. are convinced that Brady is going to have some random bi-awakening and we’ll get together. Don’t get me wrong, I think I’d be less shocked than Brady if he did suddenly start hooking up guys, but my feelings for him are purely platonic. I have a family back in Chicago—a mom, dad, two brothers and a sister, to be exact, but Brady chose to be in my life and stay there. It isn’t something I take for granted or am willing to waste on what I’m sure would be the most awkward sexual experience of my life.

“Did Easton find out I was coming home?” Brady asks, catching my attention. He wants to surprise his brother but being evasive and keeping the secret isn’t in his nature. I’m just impressed he hasn’t called the kid and told him already.

His mom answers. “No. We’ve kept it under wraps just like you wanted, honey. He’s going to be so happy to see you.”

His dad made an unimpressed sound under his breath from the driver’s seat that I hope is ill-timed road rage, but raised my hackles a bit regardless. Brady didn’t seem to notice, but he is basically a bundle of energy at this point, anyway. He looks about two clicks away from hanging his head out the window. We must be getting close to his house.

“Where does he think y’all went?” Brady asks.

Country music is playing softly on the radio and his parents are holding hands over the center console, such a stark contrast from how my life looked in Illinois that I’m not sure how to process it. “He doesn’t have a clue we even went to the city. I figured the less he knows, the better. You’ll just be there when he comes home from school.”

Brady nods and the subject drops but the silence doesn’t last long. Soon enough, Brady is pointing out his old high school and the bakery his aunt owns, among various other landmarks of his life here that I try to file away in my memory. I’ll bitch and moan about it to my heart’s content, but seeing this side of him is pretty cool.

His dad turns into a neighborhood and Brady starts rattling off who lives where and how he knows them. I have no hope of keeping up then, but listening to him talk soothes some of my nerves. The houses are all fairly cookie-cutter stucco in varying colors with what I’d consider a ridiculous amount of palm trees lining the sidewalks, but it’s definitely the kind of place where kids could play in the front yard. Not like Chicago at all.

Mark pulls into the garage of a two-story house with big front windows and a baby blue exterior. There is a Proud I.U. Parent sign in the front yard next to a plastic flamingo wearing sunglasses and a bikini top that Brady explains gets an outfit change depending on the season and insists I would get a kick out of her Valentine’s Day look, whatever that means. We kick off our shoes in the mudroom off the garage before Brady ushers me forward and I get my first real look at his childhood home. It’s an open concept with a big white kitchen, a sliding glass door leading to the backyard, and more adorable family photos scattered on walls and other available surfaces than I’ve ever seen.

It also smells vaguely like the beach and homemade cookies. If this is what a normal family is like, maybe I could get used to it. Brady props his chin on my shoulder where I’ve gotten stuck looking at a collage of photos on the wall behind the dining table.

“What do you think so far?” His voice is soft enough that it is just for me, covered by the sounds of his parents talking in the kitchen.

I sigh. “It seems like a great place to have grown up, Bray.” There was a piece of the puzzle still missing in the younger Callaghan, though. “Think your brother will be happy to see you?”

I know that he will, given how Brady talks about him, but I’m hoping to get him talking.

My friend never needs much prompting when something is on his mind. “Easton hasn’t exactly had an… easy go of things lately. He needs the pick-me-up, so I hope he is.”

“Is everything okay?”

I feel more than see the smile he forces. “Yeah. Things will be fine. Maybe you can talk to him if you get a chance?”

Doesn’t answer my question exactly. Things will be fine is not the same as things being fine, but there was a weight to Brady’s request I am hopeless to ignore. “Yeah, sure. If you think it’ll help.”

He squeezes my unoccupied shoulder. “I do.” Backing off, he shoots me a killer grin that does little to ease my concerns. “You coming upstairs with me?”

Ha. Like I’d stay down here with his dad shooting us curious glances that feel a little judgmental in a way I can’t explain. Maybe he’s just trying to figure out if we’re dating or not, fuck knows that wouldn’t be the first time we’ve gotten that.

We grab our bags from the bottom of the stairs and hurry up. Brady opens the first door on the right and slings his bag inside before holding it open for me to trail in behind him. I busy myself taking in his space while he tosses my luggage in the same direction as his. I wasn’t expecting white walls, but it seems that it was painted that color so it could be a blank canvas for what I have to admit is pretty impressive artwork. Nothing is cohesive—a crow made to look like it was perched on the corner of his headboard, a siren from the eyes up lurking in the lake by his window. More than I can take in at one time, but for some reason it works.

“Holy shit,” I breathe as I spin around .

Brady sounds downright sheepish as he explains. “Eas ran out of his own wall space when he was ten so it was time for me to ditch the navy blue and cover it with something that would let it stand out, you know?”

I absolutely do not know. They’re all done with black and gray paint, so I get why he wanted the background color to change, but this being done by a teenager is making my brain skip like a bad vinyl. His childhood bedroom is essentially a sketchbook come to life.

I shake my head when I see the closet that looks like an entrance to a faerie realm. “Bray… this is insane. Your sixteen-year-old brother did all of this?”

He sits on the bed, that creaks with his weight, and props his head on his hands. “He’s so fucking talented, always has been. One day, he got some paint and went after a blank space on his wall, and when Mom got a look at it, it was too good to be mad about so she just let him keep it up. He just about broke my heart when he was in the fourth grade and started bawling when they gave him two options—either give it up entirely or repaint his room and start over again.” He looks at me for confirmation, like he needs to know that I would have done the same thing, so I nod. “I couldn’t let him give it up, you can see how fucking good he is. But the idea of painting over all the stuff he did when he was little didn’t sit well with me either. The stuff in his room is more kid-like, but it’s where you can literally see how his talent developed. I didn’t want him to lose it when he worked so hard.”

Fucking hell. I need to call my own siblings. Apologize or something. I know I’d never believed in them that much. “So you just let him come and go with a paintbrush and turn your bedroom into a modern art exhibit.”

He snorts a laugh as I fall on the bed beside him and lay back, only to find something else endlessly fascinating on the ceiling. An entire universe from space, to be exact. “He did a lot of it when I was asleep. As you know, I could sleep through a train derailing in my room, so he just turned on the lamp and got to work.”

That is more endearing than it probably should be. I want him to keep talking. “You’re really protective of him.”

The bed groans as he flops back beside me, our bodies touching from shoulder to fingertip. “You’ll see when you meet him. Easton is… good. Pure.” I eye him suspiciously, he only laughs. “Not like that, gross. Don’t know and don’t want to. What I meant was that he’s got the best heart. The type of kid that will sit in the grass for hours because a butterfly landed on him and he doesn’t want to disturb it.”

I know someone else with a heart like that, but I didn’t want to make the moment any heavier than it already is. “Are you sure he’s related to you?”

His answering chuckle feels like a reward. “Sometimes, I’m not. You’re still an ass, though.” I link our pinkies together. The ins and outs of physical affection are a bit of a challenge for me sometimes. I wasn’t raised with it, but I know Brady needs it. Something heavy is going on with someone he loves and he has a hard time not internalizing things like that.

We stay like that, trying to absorb each little creation, until an alarm trills from Brady’s phone that I wasn’t aware he had set. “Easton’s gonna be home from school soon,” he says as he silences it.

“Come on, then. Let’s go surprise him.”

Just as I say it, a car door slams, forcing us to scramble downstairs in time. Brady’s mom gave us a knowing look in the kitchen where she appears to be baking something delicious based on the smell. Cinnamon, if I’m not mistaken. His dad is reclined back in a worn leather chair, none too interested in the reuniting of his children when there is a basketball game on .

Brady is busy attempting to disappear behind a six inch nook between the door to the mudroom and a closet. I don’t know what possesses me, I’m really not a sentimental person, but as quickly as I can manage, I set my phone up on the granite island in the kitchen propped against a flower vase, check the view, and set it to record a video before slinking away and sitting on the landing of the staircase so Easton won’t see me immediately upon walking inside.

He comes in through the garage because the front door is for decoration, apparently, and poor Brady suddenly has no idea what to do with his hands. The closer the footsteps get, the more he fidgets.

When Easton finally slips through the door, the first thing I notice is the white paint splatter on his black skinny jeans, like he’d dropped a palette on himself. The kid must spend every spare second with a brush in his hand. I can’t see Brady from my perch with the door now open, but I’m confident he’s bouncing up and down on his toes. It’s a little hard to believe he hasn’t just launched himself at his brother at the first available opportunity. Easton is also more fair than his brother. It seems like Brady has a constant tan even in the perpetual lack of sunshine in Washington, much to my irritation.

At long last, Easton walks by the corner Brady was hiding in after calling out a greeting to his mom. He goes unnoticed at first, then his vans squeak on the tile floor as he halts and turns around.

“Holy shit,” he exclaims as Brady yanks him into a hug. My heart constricts when he tucks his head against Brady’s neck. They don’t let go for a long minute, just murmuring softly to each other while holding on for dear life as Easton’s shoulders shake a little.

When he does pull away, Brady wipes the tears from his cheekbones with his thumbs. “You okay?” he asks softly .

All Easton manages is a nod, blond hair falling into his face. The moment dies as their mom approaches and Easton steps away from Brady. “What do you think, Eas? Good surprise?” she asks with a teasing lilt to her voice.

He tries to swallow the emotion, which I don’t like, and nods. “I can’t believe Brady actually managed to hold out on me,” he says.

She laughs, high and a little melodic. “There’s a first time for everything.” Brady blushes and ducks his head before seeking me out again.

“Ace!” He beckons to me.

Easton’s red-rimmed eyes light up a little when he catches sight of me and my stomach swoops. “Hey,” he says shyly.

“Hi,” I return as I stand and approach him. When I’m on the ground level, I swipe my phone back and turn off the video. “I saw your work in Brady’s room. It’s incredible.”

He flashes an adorable dimpled grin and shuffles his shoes. “That’s kind of you to say,” he mumbles at the floor with a drawl similar to the one Brady gets when he’s had a few too many drinks.

“I mean it.”

Before it can get uncomfortable, Brady comes to the rescue. “What do you say, children? Let’s get in the pool.”

Twist my arm, why don’t you. “Now you’re talking, Callaghan.”

We do. The three of us spend hours splashing and dunking each other like kids, and it’s the most fun I’ve had in ages. After we’ve thoroughly worn ourselves out, Brady is floating lazily on his back while Easton and I keep our feet submerged like we couldn’t dare to be parted from the water.

I have an inkling what Brady wants me to talk to him about, but it’s a shitty assumption to make about someone, so I hope he’s like his brother and I just need to get him talking. “So, you’re what? A sophomore?”

We haven’t talked much up until this point beyond casual ribbing while we were swimming, but he glows a bit under my interest. “A junior. I’ll be seventeen soon.”

I hum in acknowledgment. “Stressful year. Lots of people asking what you want to do with the rest of your life and expecting you to have it all figured out.”

He starts chewing on his pouty bottom lip while he eyes me, trying to determine if I’m really offering an olive branch. The things I do for Brady, I swear. “It’s a lot.”

Easton, as I’ve determined, is not like his brother and intends to make me work for it a little harder. Smart kid, I’ll give him that. “It is,” I admit. “But if you get through it, you go to college and find your people. Things get better after that.”

There is no way Brady would have been able to stay still long enough to allow this conversation without knowing it was taking place, but by all appearances, he’s willing to float for eternity. Props.

“I’m not good at that part,” he says under his breath. When I raise an eyebrow at him he clarifies. “Finding my people. I tend to find the opposite, more than anything.”

I’m tempted to chuckle but I don’t want him to think I’m laughing at him and clam up. “It’s not exactly in my wheelhouse either. I’d be holed up in my dorm room every second I wasn’t in class if it wasn’t for Brady. I can be a little single-minded while the rest of the world passes me by, but he found me. Life is funny like that sometimes. One second, you’re so lonely it hurts and it seems endless, but your people are on their way to you.”

Jesus, that was a lot of words at one time for me. I don’t even know if that was exactly what I wanted to say, but it was what came out .

I guess it does the trick, though, because the dam breaks open and the words come flooding past his lips. “I didn’t mean for anyone to find out. I didn’t even know he was looking over my shoulder. I was careless, now I don’t know what to do.”

Easton shudders, and I’m hit with a damn-near overwhelming urge to take care of him. Wrap him in a blanket and pet his hair or something. This must be what Brady was talking about. I can see where this story is going, and he thinks he’s the one to blame.

I resist, but barely. “What happened, Easton?”

He takes a shaky breath that cracks my chest. “There’s this guy in my art class. I thought he was really nice. Sutton Wayland. He plays football, and he used to sit with me. I thought we were kind of friends. He’d tell me about his games and ask about what I was working on. Then I ruined it. He’s just so fucking gorgeous, and he was being so sweet to me. I don’t always sketch stuff like that but his face was basically tattooed behind my eyelids. Last week, he swiped my sketchbook, just joking around, but it was open and he saw. He didn’t exactly take it well.”

Oh, hell. I already know I won’t like the answer but I ask it anyway. “What do you mean by he didn’t take it well?”

He flinches. “Called me some names. I guess he told the football team because they’ve been giving me a hard time. Shoving me around and stuff. It’s all my fault. I thought it was harmless. It was just a portrait. Now, he’s told me that his dad is on the school board and he’s going to take it to the principal. Say I was manipulating him and he feels violated. That I was preying on him with my friendship.”

Tears are rolling down his flushed cheeks but he doesn’t wipe them away. Like he thinks he deserves to feel as much pain as possible about this. I can’t stand it anymore. I wrap an arm around him and his head falls on my shoulder .

Brady may be dead. Either that or he has much more restraint than I’ve ever given him credit for. He really wants me to take the lead on this.

What really makes me feel like an ass is that I can remember sometime early last week when Brady got a phone call while we were watching TV on his laptop. He had answered, and I remember thinking whoever had called him sounded upset, but he’d stepped out before I could hear anything detailed. When he came back in, he was rain-damp and had a brittle smile glued on his face.

I’d asked him if he was okay, of course. But he brushed me off and said he was just overdue for a trip back to Florida, that he was homesick.

I believed him. Didn’t even give it a second thought.

Fuck, I’m such an idiot.

I tighten my grip on Easton while brushing his corn silk hair away from his face with my other hand. Desperately, I wish for the perfect thing to say. The one thing that could mend the break in his heart. I’m not quite dumb enough to really believe that exists, but I damn sure wish it did.

After a few minutes, he calms down, and I’m still trying to string my thoughts into something coherent. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“Sorry for what?”

He gestures vaguely at himself from head to toe. “You didn’t ask for all this mess.”

Christ, how I hate that broken tone in his voice. “Neither did you, Eas. There’s nothing inherently wrong about having a crush. You didn’t mislead him, you didn’t force anything on him. He saw something that was supposed to be private and didn’t like that he had something to do with it. He’s allowed to feel that, but that doesn’t mean he can call you names, or stand by while his friends bully you in retribution.”

He does not seem convinced. He shrugs and kicks his feet back and forth in the pool without looking up. “Now, I’ve got to tell my parents before the school calls them.”

“Tell them the situation or…?” I trail off, hoping that he says it. I can tell he needs to.

“Both. I haven’t told anyone. Brady knows, but not because I’ve said it. He just does.”

Pulling teeth, getting him to say this out loud. “He knows what?” He finally looks up to glare at me. “It’ll help if you say it to someone before the people you really care about. Besides, I don’t think your first time should be when you’re explaining why a kid in your class thinks you’re a predator.”

He rolls his eyes before looking away. His throat starts working, like it’s causing him actual pain to say the two words he knows I’m looking for. About eighty percent of this conversation, I’m sure I’ve screwed up, but this I’m sure of. He needs to say it, even to a relative stranger.

“I’m gay.”