Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

EASTON

I really need therapy to tackle my issues with saying no to hot guys. My fight-or-flight instincts were working just fucking fine. I was picking flight. No, thank you to those dangerous-looking backyard shenanigans. Then fucking Chase Adler blinks his unusual eyes at me and suddenly I’m standing in ankle deep water inside an inflatable kiddie pool with blue starfishes decorating the exterior.

Parker is slathering the tarps connecting each “base” with more dish soap than you’d need to scrub an oil spill off the surface of the Pacific Ocean with your bare hands. I’m holding an oversized plastic bat with my jaw hanging open while Chase is trying to explain the general premise here to me. The words “tackle baseball” are rattling around in my head as I’m doing my best to absorb his warnings.

Seriously, what in the WWE slash Twilight shit is this?

And why the fucking soap? Isn’t water slippery enough? Has there ever been a fatality? Is this natural selection taking place?

“We’re going to take it easy on you,” Chase assures me, standing with his warm body pressed against mine so he can adjust my grip on the bat.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

He chuckles in my ear, sending lightning bolts all the way from my chest through my fingertips. Nothing short of a miracle that I don’t press my hips back against his, seeking contact.

Chase backs away and winks at me. “Come on, Chaos. Give me a little credit. It’ll be fun.”

~~~

Fun, my ass. You know what’s fun? Lazy cuddle mornings with coffee in bed. But no. Instead, I’m dripping wet, smelling like a freshly cleaned baby duckling.

Sure, maybe my belly hurts from laughing too much but that’s purely coincidental. It was hysterical laughter. A manic episode, if anything.

I call it after one round, which consisted of me hitting a beach ball all of three feet in front of me and almost breaking my neck trying to slide into first base, only to inhale a nose full of water.

All in a good time, they’d said. No one told me flying to Chicago would mean slipping into a cheap, backyard remake of 300 .

But Chase kissed the top of my head subtly when he came to check in to make sure I was all right and asked me if I’d prefer him to stop playing so I don’t have to hang out with his mom alone.

He has an annoying tendency to melt away my frustrations before they can manifest properly and he doesn’t even try.

So now, here I sit perched on a step of the deck in Chase’s borrowed clothes, because, of course, he’d thought to pack a couple of extra pairs of sweats and I hadn’t. Margeaux is inside making us tea, and I’m watching my cuddly roommate hulk out, talking all the shit to his siblings while slipping and sliding all over the yard.

It’s like a free, live action dirty movie. He’s all wet and soapy, skin warmed from the exercise wearing a carefree smile that really puts a cherry on top of the whole look. He ditched his shirt after it got drenched and started to stick to his abdomen. All of his tattoos are on full display, I’m just trying to not swallow my own tongue while I check him out shamelessly.

“No one warns you that when you’re raising step-ladder aged kids, you’ll have to figure out how to get them to fight constructively,” Margeaux says as she joins me, passing me a mug of warm peppermint tea.

It smells delicious; I don’t even think to answer her until after I’ve taken a couple of sips. “Fight constructively?”

Brady and I never really argued or rough-housed very much when we were growing up. I was always too busy with a paintbrush in my hand and didn’t want to give my dad a reason to look too closely at me. It’s a new concept for me.

She eyes her brood over the top of her mug. “Their grandparents would argue as if they hated each other, and when I noticed them nitpicking each other, I became very concerned.” I sit quietly, waiting for her to go on, content to learn anything I can about Chase. “It was a priority for Adam and I both that our kids were loyal to each other, even more so when we started suspecting Chase might like boys, but there were four kids, and they were bound to find an outlet for their grievances with each other. So we started by playing soccer with them. If we all played, there were enough of us for three on three and it did wonders for their tolerance levels. That evolved into us challenging them to make a presentation on little things, like which Disney Princess would make the best president and Break Neck Baseball when they were old enough. Winner gets bragging rights was always enough of a motivation for them to do their damndest to come out on top, so we did stuff like that as much as they needed so long as it meant that when we stepped away from the games or debates, they would have each other’s backs.”

Deep into their game, Logan football tackles Emerson to the ground to prevent him from making it to second base, looks up to the “stands” and bellows, “Are you not entertained??” Her mother gives her a fond look, one that makes my chest pinch with unfamiliar envy.

Sage, used to the circus, is playing happily behind us with her dolls. “I think you did a good job.” The way Chase talks about his family is a magnificent thing, irritation and devotion, sentimental with a dash of irksome sibling squabbles.

“My son seems quite fond of you,” she observes.

Heat creeps up my neck. “He’s very much not, I assure you. But he’s been very helpful while I…” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. What do I say? Learn to be a normal person? “Adjust,” I finish lamely.

Margeaux hums, and we watch the rest of the game in thoughtful silence. We’re well into the night by now, but this neighborhood doesn’t seem to mind the disturbance. When they’re water-logged and Michelin man fluffy with suds, she gets a gleam in her eye.

“Ready for the best part, my dear?”

A smile twitches at the corner of my lips at the maniacal smirk on her face. “What’s the best part?”

From somewhere, Parker groans like he’s been shot. “Hosing them off, of course,” she says at the same time that Logan calls her wicked.

Margeaux is my new favorite person. She really sealed the deal when she sprayed the soap off her husband and three of her kids, picked up the sleeping baby from the patio chair, passed off her weapon and left us alone. Now Chase is bartering for his life, and I’m drunk with power.

“Come on, Chaos. It doesn’t have to be like this.” That’s the third time he’s said that, it’s getting better every time. He’s really pulling out all the stops, unique eyes on a full puppy dog setting, playing innocent. Too bad, I’m damn good at holding grudges and I haven’t all the way forgiven him for coercing me into playing earlier.

I totally have, but motive is important.

Ready... Aim… “Fire,” I mutter as I unleash a torrent of icy spray on him. No sound is more beautifully victorious as his indignant yelp when it pierces his skin. He looks damn good wet. Sculpted and dripping like Poseidon.

Chase rushes me suddenly, making me squeal and latch onto the garden hose in a vise grip while trying to keep my aim true. My body curls up, bringing my knees to my chest and ducking my head just before frigid arms engulf me. We grapple over the hose, drenching each other in the process. Calloused fingers grab me by the back of the knee and roll me onto my back, and I forget to hold on to the stream of water. The hose gets kinked and then he’s just hovering above me, breathing my air with our noses almost touching.

I’m scrambling internally for the right thing to say or do, breathing in short pants looking into the eyes of the man I’ve had a crush on since I was sixteen years old. I skipped all the lessons that normal people learn from dating around. My love life went straight from never being kissed with a crush to in a serious relationship with a guy who picked me up off the streets.

Whatever this is with Chase, I want it. I just have no fucking idea how to get it. It’s too fast and probably the worst idea I’ve ever had, but when he’s looking at me like I matter to him in a way no one else does, it’s hard to remember why .

All I’d have to do is raise my head just the tiniest bit and our lips would be pressed together. That’s all it would take.

Insurmountable.

A frustrated noise builds in my throat that I can’t hold back. Chase’s eyes turn from smoldering to concerned in an instant. “What’s wrong, Chaos?”

He sits back on his heels to put some distance between us that I don’t want, but he wouldn’t know that. The worst part about it is there’s still a kernel inside of me that wants to call my brother. He’d know what I should do, he always had the best advice. He knew me better than anyone for three-fourths of my life. Any hurdles I didn’t know how to jump, he knew how to walk me through them.

Until he realized who I really was.

“Nothing, I’m just tired.”

The lie tastes bitter, there’s nothing more I want to do than stay here in this dark backyard with the crickets chirping and be able to actually be in this moment with him.

Chase pushes himself up and holds a hand out for me. “Let’s get you to bed, then.”

It feels like I tried to swallow a hundred cotton balls, all I’m capable of is standing up and walking away. If I tried to speak, I’d fall apart. This alternate reality where Chase seems interested in my well-being is great and all, but it’s making the steel cage I built around my heart to survive start to melt. All I do is fall apart around him, and I just fucking got here. I’m being plagued with hypotheticals and brick walls in my mind that never existed before. While my internal monologue was always self-deprecating, now it feels like a stranger. A month ago, I could hype myself up to endure a whole night out with him, watching him get drunker and drunker knowing that I’d be feeling disgusting whiskey breath on the back of my neck as soon as we get home, and I was lucky if I didn’t bleed when he was done with me .

I could do it with a smile on my face—a damn convincing one too.

This beautiful, raven-haired boy with the most giving heart I’ve ever known is getting the worst version of me to date, and I don’t know how to fix myself.

Chase leads the way through his parent’s house, only the light above the kitchen stove was left on. It’s late enough that everyone has probably gone to bed already, but I stop dead in my tracks in the dining room. A head of white-blond hair encased in a gilded frame halts my steps. I almost didn’t see it, I wouldn’t have unless I wasn’t trailing my fingers along the cornflower blue wall so I didn’t walk into something by accident.

I stare like I’m seeing a unicorn or vampire or some other equally impossible thing, because nestled comfortably between a photo of the Adler kids at Halloween fifteen years ago, and Sage at a year old covered with pink frosting while she inhales a birthday cake, is me.

Brady and I when he graduated high school. The moment is forever ingrained into my memory. He was so excited to start his future; he stayed up all night while I painted in his room, telling me how much fun we were going to have when I moved out and went to school nearby wherever he was living. That had always been the plan, just make it through high school and I’d get to move away from Florida and be myself unapologetically. By the time that photo had been taken, I’d known without a shadow of a doubt that I was gay for almost a year. But being ashamed of my newly realized sexuality didn’t cover half of it. Back then, I was forced into a tiny church three blocks from my house twice a week. Leviticus and Revelations played on a loop making me feel sick if I so much as looked at a boy. I spent years feeling like there was a neon sign above my head that advertised me as one of them .

If you looked closely into that moment captured and displayed on the wall, you’d see my reddened eyes from crying. Losing Brady to Washington shot terror into my bloodstream. I knew without a doubt that I wouldn’t be able to navigate without him. Our arms were around each other, his diploma front and center. Both of us were smiling, though one was lying, and it wasn’t my brother. It was taken approximately five minutes before my dad yanked me up by the front of my shirt and hissed at me to grow the fuck up or there would be hell to pay. Just so happened to be after Brady had split off to drive himself back home, having gone to the graduation ceremony before us.

But we’re all cheesy grins in the photo. Beneath my selfish panic, I was proud of him, and you can see it shining through my eyes. He had already heard from I.U. that he was getting a really good scholarship and he had made it out. People get trapped in small towns, not that there's anything wrong with it, but not when dreams about cute boys made me wake up pouring sweat and silently screaming my apologies to God, begging not to be sent into the eternal fire.

Brady was supposed to go first, all I had to do was hold it together for another four years, and he swore, by then, he’d have a path paved for me to follow. We were going to make it out together.

“Why is this here?” I ask in a hoarse whisper. I know he’s there, I can feel him even when he’s giving me space.

“My mom asked Brady for a nice photo of him to hang in here for Christmas when we were juniors. That’s what he picked.”

I do the calculations quickly. “The first Christmas,” I guess.

His silence is confirmation enough. That year, Aaron left me to go visit his family. We were living in Charleston then, not that it would have mattered where I was; I would have been alone. That was around the time that things started to go bad. When I forgot his favorite creamer at the grocery store, he’d berate me, calling me a fucking idiot. If I overslept and didn’t make his breakfast before work, he’d threaten to leave. Oh, how I’d cry. He knew how to drag tears out of me like he was getting paid for it. His favorite sex was makeup sex, but not in the way it was in the movies where the couple realized they were both being stupid and just had to have each other to express their unconditional love.

No, with him, makeup sex usually happened when I was in the middle of a sobbing fit. He’d have one foot out the door, literally, and see how distraught I was and pounce. No kisses, no words exchanged, promising changed behavior. He’d just bend me over the counter and force his way inside me while snot was still running down my face.

That Christmas was the first time my tears didn’t stop him from leaving. Originally, I had been invited to Long Island to meet his family. We were going to take the train so we could hold hands and soak up the snowy scenery together. It was going to be a white Christmas, and I was so excited, I couldn’t contain it. He promised snowmen and snow angels, reindeer cookies and hot chocolate in front of the fire. But when he saw the necklace I had picked out to give his mom, what I thought was a gorgeous emerald stone with a golden chain, he decided that I was an ungrateful little fuck who didn’t deserve him, and went without me. Christmas morning rolled around, and I was so depressed, I didn’t leave the bed, not even for a handful of dry cereal I was left to survive on after we’d cleaned out our fridge and my credit cards were turned off.

But Brady was here, being loved in Chicago. I wonder if our parents were here too. Mom had always wanted to go ice skating in the proper weather. Just one big happy family, I guess .

A warm hand closes over my ribs. “Hey,” he murmurs. His voice is pained, like he can feel the anguish constricting around my lungs. “You're wanted here. I know it’s a lot, and they’re all nuts, but we all want you here. I want you here.”

But is that enough? It doesn’t magically heal my deep-seated trust issues. I know it’s not logical, but Chase was there. He was right there. Why didn’t he do something? Anything. How am I supposed to believe him now when he watched as I was thrown out into the street? Words are easy. Living by what you say is a completely different challenge. I want to believe him, so much it’s crushing me. He’s been more caring and understanding in the last three days than anyone has in the last four years, but what if his compassion has an expiration date? I can see the strain fighting with Brady is causing him. Wouldn’t it be easier without me?

Hell, sometimes I think I’d be better off without me.

“I don’t know if I can stay,” I admit.

One gentle tug, and I go easily into the security of his arms. “Just… please,” Chase begs with a seriousness that steals my breath. “If you can’t, I get it. Just please, give us a chance first. Let me try.”

He’s tall, a few inches more than me so his head is nestled perfectly on top of mine with his nose in my hair. Despite my good sense telling me it’s an awful vow to make, I say into his neck, “I promise.”

A sigh of relief flutters my hair. “Thank you.”

Time stands still, his heart a steady thump in my ear. Seeing that picture might have flayed me wide open, but Chase always makes things better, more tolerable. Eventually, we break apart and go upstairs as shame starts to trickle back in. I’ve done this before, let a guy gather up all my broken bits and stitch me back together with “love,” and while I don’t think Chase is anything like him, it doesn’t make me any less pathetic .

Love can turn sour and leave bruises on your skin. I need something stronger.

What must Chase think of me? I’ve had more ups and downs over the last few days than a normal person would have in a year. And yet, he’s remaining as even-tempered as ever. The biggest spike of emotion I’ve seen out of him was him asking for a chance before I disappear. Chance for what? I’m not sure. But there is no way I’lll deny him when he’s been a dream ever since I turned up on my brother’s doorstep.

Chase tells me his mom has more beds than rooms, so if I want some privacy, he can sleep on the couch in the basement, but I’m quick to shut him down. He needs to be with me, at least as far as I’m concerned. I’m not great at articulating my wants or needs, but Chase speaks my language. He understands me, so when all I’m able to give him is a pleading look and a whimpered no, he doesn’t ask if I’m sure a thousand more times. He just simply shrugs with one shoulder and starts getting ready for bed.

Nerves clogs my throat after I’ve brushed my teeth and gotten changed. I want to ask him to sleep with me again, but from everything Brady ever told me about him, I wouldn’t imagine he’d enjoy me smothering him just because I can’t see beyond the length of my own nose. It’s not just about me, Chase has always been a bit of a loner. He doesn’t have a boyfriend for a reason. I’m sure whatever alone time he has is precious to him. Not everyone appreciates having a velcro human of a houseguest.

When we’re both under the covers in our respective beds and cloaked in darkness, he asks if I’m okay. The implication is clear, he really wants to know if I need him in some way or the other. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to tell him I do, ask him to come lay with me. Anxiety is clawing its way into any of the peace I’ve felt today, tearing it to shreds. My hands are shaking where they rest on top of the hand-sewn quilt I’m laying under. I feel too much, every nerve ending is raw and aching, my heart can’t beat properly. If I even so much as open my mouth, all that would come out is a squeak of pain around the tightness from the bottom of my ribs to the base of my skull that’s getting worse with each passing second. And one part of me knows all he would need is to hear that pathetic little noise, and he’d cross the three feet separating us before I can blink. He’d hold me tight, probably rub my back in that repetitive way that soothes me. If I was lucky, that gravelly voice of his would be in my ear assuring me that he’s got me.

That’s the minority of my brain power, unfortunately for me. The rest is reminding me that he never asked for this, and I’d do well to keep quiet and try not to exist. I can’t tell if it’s his voice or mine anymore that reminds me that even the people that wanted me to be born realized my entire being was a mistake and discarded me, and if I want to stay here, I need to be small.

Small is good. I can do small.

So, I force a squeak that sounds affirmative, ignore his honey-dipped, “Good night, Chaos,” and buckle myself in for a long ass night.