Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

CHASE

E aston: Did you get him lemon cinnamon rolls?

Easton: My intrusive thoughts sent that.

Easton: Not me

Easton: Can we pretend you didn’t see that?

It’s an effort not to burst out laughing as a flood of messages fill my screen. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting him to use the phone I left on the bed beside him before I came over to Brady’s this morning. If anything, maybe he’d ask when I’d be home. This is far better. Deep down, he can’t stop caring about Brady, even if he wants to.

My best friend’s birthday is today, which conveniently fell on a day our office was closed. Not that either of us remembered that until Marianne emailed a reminder yesterday, but I’m damn sure not complaining. So, now I’m building a deck at eight a.m. I’ve called my dad three times, not because he knows how to build a deck, but because that just seems like what you do when tasked with construction that is far out of your element .

Brady has YouTube tutorials playing on repeat and we’re still not much better off than we started. Easton’s a breath of much needed fresh air, even if it is through text.

Me: Not a chance, sweetheart.

Me: So lemon cinnamon rolls, huh?

The little bubbles appear and disappear, but his indecisiveness about divulging further information is endearing.

“Motherfucker!” Brady shouts as he turns off the saw and throws down his gloves.

“Not on your life,” I return. Now, if he’d said brother… Eh. Oh, well. He blows out a breath, exasperated. “What’s wrong, Bray? Don’t tell me it’s the deck. This isn’t our first project we were unprepared for and we always figure it out.”

It’s a gorgeous day in the Emerald City and Brady turns his face skyward, seeking sunshine, with closed eyes. “The deck is the least of my problems, Ace.”

Yeah, I’d fucking say, but I’d prefer to keep talking about the shitshow in front of us. Not all the other stuff we have to work out. We’re overdue for it, but I’m still not ready to hash things out.

“You sure you want to do this today? I’m fine pretending everything is normal and ruining your backyard. It’s your birthday.”

Brady loves birthdays. Mine, his, coworkers, casual acquaintances, doesn’t matter. Ruining his like this doesn’t feel right. Before he answers, my phone buzzes in my pocket, so I pull it out quickly to see what my Chaos has to say.

Easton: It’s dumb. Our mom baked a lot, so we’d get our favorite flavor of cinnamon rolls as a special treat on our birthday. Mine was always orange but Brady’s is lemon. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I don’t even know why I asked.

Me: It’s not dumb and I’m glad you told me. I’ll see about getting some or making them when we give up this hopeless endeavor, maybe.

Easton: Hurry on the giving up part

Easton: It’s lonely around here

Brady sighs, so after typing out a quick, “I’ll do my best” to Easton, I drop my phone in my pocket and give him my full attention. If we’re doing this, we might as well do it properly. My best friend has seen better days, it doesn’t look like he got an ounce of sleep last night. Whatever him and Easton argued about yesterday is wearing on him. I hate this. Being in between them, not feeling like I’m giving either person my best effort.

“Of course, I don’t want to do this today, Chase. But I can’t keep it bottled up either. I’m losing it over here.”

Well, that makes two of us. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I wouldn’t take anything he says personally right now. Not that I’m some kind of expert on your brother, but it really seems like he’s lashing out at you because it makes the stuff he’s dealing with easier.”

Brady laughs, a far cry away from the boisterous, rowdy one I’m used to. This one is pained. “Yeah, right. He fucking hates me and he should. Maybe that’s the point of him coming back.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, tossing my hammer onto a pile of discarded scraps on the ground.

“You know, like a penance. Because of how I let him down, now I have to stand by while he can’t stand to be in the same room as me and have him live so close, but we’re further apart than we ever have been.”

That fucking hurts, but I refuse to believe it. They can overcome this. Easton is hurt and needs to blame someone, his brother is as good of a fall person as anyone. There has to be someone at fault for the atrocious things that happened to him. Brady was his safe person for a long time, so even if it’s buried deep down, he knows that when he’s ready; the forgiveness is automatic.

It’s getting them there that’s going to be a pain in the ass.

“He should hate me, but it’s not more than I hate myself. Someone hurt him, burned him for fuck’s sake. It’s my fault.”

Wait, what did he say? “Burned him?” Brady stares at me hard, unwilling to say anything more than he already did. I can respect that, but I’m really trying to connect the dots here.

Several long seconds tick by like hours, then it hits me like a freight train. The circular scars on his arm, I saw them when I bandaged up his hand. “Cigarette burns,” I mumble morosely. Nausea sours my stomach at the thought of someone hurting him like that. And for what? What was there to gain in causing someone that loves you pain?

Control.

Motherfucker. I hate that slimy son of a bitch.

“Brady, none of this is anyone’s fault but the piece of shit that did it. We were young and scared and way out of our element. You lost your parents that day, too. It was traumatic. Maybe we could have handled it better, but only in hindsight.”

He rolls his eyes as he attempts round two with the saw, but just before it drowns him out, I hear him mumble, “Hindsight doesn’t help my little brother.”

So I guess that’s that.

We play Bob the Builder for a few more hours, but spoiler alert: we can’t fix it. I don’t know how we’ve managed to do as much to our houses as we have, because neither one of us knows what the hell we’re doing. I’m, like, seventy-five percent sure that my dad is sending construction elves in the middle of the night to correct our mistakes and set us on the right course .

“Fucking hell,” Brady swears, wiping sweat from his brow.

I glare at my pile of two-by-fours, and I swear it glares right back. “Yeah, something like that.”

“This is fucking stupid. My dad owns a goddamn construction company, and he’s called me three times already today.”

Well, it’s probably his mom doing the calling, but I get his frustration. “No one said you had to cut them off entirely, Brady. You are the only one who can make that call.”

“Don’t you get it?” he pleads. “I want them to be the parents we should have had. I want them to love us unconditionally, not throw their underage kid on the streets. You know, I miss versions of them I’m not sure were ever real. I want the dad that took us to work with him in the summers and told us how we’d be running his business one day as a team. Or the mom who never missed a peewee football practice. I don’t even fucking know them, apparently. I never did. Do you know how fucking crazy that drives me? Did they ever love us at all?”

“Jesus, Brady,” I rasp around the tightness in the back of my throat as I yank him into a hug.

“It’s fine,” he mumbles into my shoulder, but judging by the way he’s holding on with all his strength, it’s far from the truth.

I pull him back, a hand on each of his upper arms. “I can’t answer if they loved you, but I can tell you with absolute certainty that I do. You’re my family, my brother as much as Parker or Emerson. You’re as much as an integral piece of the Adler’s as I am, and you’re stuck with us for life.”

He nods. “I know.”

“It’s not the same, and I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry if I made you feel pushed aside when Easton came back. I had my suspicions about what kind of pain he was hiding, and I don’t want him to feel like he can’t talk to me because I’m not sure if he’ll try with someone else. But there is no pushing you aside. You and me? We’re solid, okay? Way more than this piece of shit deck.”

It prompts a laugh out of him. “You asshole.”

“You are what you eat,” I add. We both dissolve into a fit of laughter until there are tears in our eyes and our sides ache. The lingering tension disappears, and for the first time in too long, Brady and I are back to normal.

After another few hours of bantering between more failed attempts, Brady announces that he’s officially giving up for the day. I couldn’t agree more. I’m one uneven board from burning down a Home Depot just for the hell of it. Not with people in it, obviously, but that’s beside the point.

“Go back home, man. Easton is waiting on you.” I slide my phone back into my jeans guiltily. “No, for real. I’m good, Ace. I’m happy he has you. He’s in the best hands, and I don’t want to keep you from him all day.”

I eye my best friend carefully, looking for signs that he’s not saying what he really means. Brady usually reads like a picture book, and I don’t see any alarms going off but that doesn’t mean I feel good about leaving him on his day.

“Easton is okay, I think. He’s texted me a few times and there’s no real reason for me to rush home. I can stay,” I tell him. Being in the middle of two people I care about is about as fun as a root canal.

If I’m holding out hope for a reunification of the brothers, well, that’s my own business. I’d never pressure either one of them, but I can’t give up on it.

Brady huffs a laugh that’s more sigh, as if I’m particularly dense and he’s doing me a favor by elaborating. “I’d feel better if I knew you were there with him. If he feels safe with you, then it’s important that you’re there as much as you can be. I don’t think it’s supposed to rain this week, we’ll finish this shit-hole another time.”

He flashes me a smile, it’s a small one, but it’s real. I’d know it anywhere. It’s what gives me the assurance that he’s being truthful, even if he’s a little saddened by the circumstances. That makes two of us, but we say our goodbyes, and I tell him happy birthday again before heading home.

My phone has been buzzing away while we were working, but half of them were Parker clueing me into his every thought. Lucky me. Easton insisted he was fine, just a bit bored, but nothing serious, and that I shouldn’t base my plans around him. It’s hard not to though. It’s unusual for me to not get tired of socializing. Easton is different though, he just… fits with me. I’ve spent more or less every waking moment with him since he showed back up in our lives, minus a few where I was at work, and somehow, I’m still searching out ways to spend more time with him. Make him smile or let his guard down.

He’s holding all the cards; I never would have made a move on him if he hadn’t been the one to kiss me. Nor would I have gone that far if I wasn’t absolutely sure that he was in a good headspace for it. But now, moving forward seems a bit unclear. I don’t want to make him feel like it’s meaningless to me, because it’s far from that. Anything involving Easton is important, and this is no different. But he just got out of an abusive relationship that he’s still trying to come to terms with, and the last thing I want to do is make him feel trapped with me. So, we’re stuck in this weird middle place where I’m not sure how to navigate whatever this is between us in a way that’s healthy for him.

I’m in deep with my Chaos. He’s swept me up into his orbit, and I’m damn happy to be here. But realistically, I’m not a relationship person. At least I haven’t been. I don’t count my one and only boyfriend in high school because we never saw each other in public or even told people. We were basically just fooling around exclusively. And I’m not going to do that to Easton; make him feel like he’s not good enough to be properly dated. I just don’t know what I’m doing.

Hell, maybe all this is for nothing and he’ll tell me he’s just trying to get over his ex and I’m just a pit stop on the way.

Me and my stupid hope know which one we’re rooting for, though.

I slip in quietly, not wanting to disturb him with whatever he’s decided to do with his free time, but what I find is far better than my imagination came up with.

He’s got about a metric ton of various ingredients laid out on the countertops, glaring at them like their mere presence is insulting him, and seems to be in the middle of an argument with himself. I watch, transfixed, as he picks up a bag of flour and sets it down three separate times. He only spots me when he attempts to turn his back on his project. His beautiful face lights up and something in my chest cracks wide open.

Happy is my favorite look on him. “Hey, sweetheart. Whatcha got going on here?” I ask, surveying the mess he made of the kitchen, not bothering to hide how pleased I am that he’s not afraid to take up space.

He blushes a pretty pale pink as he starts looking sheepish. “Uhh, in my defense I was either going to scrap the whole idea or be long done by the time I thought you’d come home. Either way, the mess would have been cleaned up.”

Jesus, I’m not sure my heart can take all the enormity of warmth surging up when I’m around him. “Were you making cinnamon rolls?”

There’s no way I can keep the grin tugging at my mouth back when he scowls at me. “Stop looking at me like that,” he scolds .

Not a chance. “I’m not looking at you like anything.”

He points a wooden spoon at me threateningly. “Liar. This doesn’t mean anything and I don’t want to hear about it.”

I mime zipping my lips. “Not a word. I swear. Want an extra set of hands?”

He looks equal parts relieved and apprehensive. “Really? That easy with you, huh?” He keeps his tone light, almost teasing, but I’m starting to understand why he’s always waiting to see if I’ll pick a fight.

I close the remaining distance between us in three long strides and brace my arms on either side of his, my front to his back, and murmur, “Oh, sweet Chaos, I’m very easy when it comes to you.”

A full body shiver slides down from his head to his toes as he leans back against me, giving me his weight. He’s so fucking responsive, so I might as well keep going. “You like that, don’t you? Being so deep under my skin that I’m helpless but to give you what you need.”

His head lolls back on my shoulder, eyes unfocused and hazy. “If you don’t fucking kiss me, I swear—” I silence the threat with my lips on his, gentle in a way that sets my skin alight. Kissing has never felt like this. It was always a means to an end, not bad necessarily, but more of a quick pit stop. With Easton, it can easily be the main event. I could spend hours exploring every inch of his mouth, finding all the ways that get him trembling in my arms.

Easton is far less patient today, setting a much more hungry pace. My cock throbs behind my jeans. It’s already an effort to not lay him out on this damn countertop and have my way with him until he’s reduced to nothing but shakes and sobs.

I nip at his bottom lip, making him moan, the sound going straight to my balls. Then I catch sight of the butter on the counter and I have no choice but to slow things down before pulling away. Unfortunately for his ego, I can’t ignore what he was in the process of here. He fucking whines when I break the kiss and it almost breaks my resolve.

“Behave, little one, and there will be plenty more of this later.”

He takes a deep breath and blows it back out, sounding more like a growl. Like a pissed off kitten. He’s fucking adorable. “Later is the worst. I hate later.”

I press a chaste kiss to his pouty lips. “I know, but if you’re a good boy, I promise I’ll make it up to you tonight.” Easton’s eyes darken. At the praise or the reward, I’m not sure, but I’m betting both.

“Fine,” he relents.

As much as we should prioritize getting these birthday pastries done as soon as we can, I can’t seem to let him go. He’s perfect in my arms, an intoxicating mixture of pliant and strong. It’s too much fun working as one person, having his sweet little giggles in my ear as we try not to knock into each other or coordinate tasks with one hand each. Having a free hand available to run over his lithe body is just a bonus.

By the time we’re done, my Chaos is joyously warm, filled to the brim and overflowing with light. I’m an instant addict. I’ll do anything to keep him like that. I’m not quite delusional enough to think I’m the one affecting him like that, it’s probably just the lighthearted activity and plenty of human contact, but I’m done for all the same.

Whether he’s cloaked in sunshine or dreary rain clouds, there’s no one else like him. But like this, laughter flowing freely from his lips and entirely unafraid, he’s earth-shatteringly beautiful.

He nudges my arm, prompting me to wrap him up close. He sighs contently, looking at our creation. “We did good. ”

One kiss to his neck, then another. I can’t seem to stop myself. “It was all you, sweetheart. He’s going to love it.”

Easton hums in agreement. “You were thinking pretty hard over there. Anything interesting?”

Lying to him is out of the question, but if I act like it’s a joke, he won’t be scared off. “Just waxing poetic about how beautiful you are.”

He flushes crimson, so hot I can feel the heat reach his ear where it’s resting on my chest. “Shut up,” he groans. There’s no hiding that smile fighting to come out though, those dimples are a dead giveaway.

“You going to come with me to take them over or wait for me back home?”

Long, elegant fingers tap on the labradorite as he weighs his options. I’m itching for him to open the art supplies waiting for him amongst the presents we brought back from Chicago. He was already overwhelmed enough, so I made the call to just pack them—not wanting him to worry about having the perfect reaction in front of my parents. Now that we’re back though, I want him to have his stuff. A lot of it is genetic stuff, like what they’d buy for the five of us. Gift cards for stocking stuffers, an occasional tablet or new phone when it was your turn. Without fail, Mom always got him art supplies, though. Cautious of the fact she had no idea when he’d actually be opening them, any time she’d travel for work, there’d always be something for him that caught her eye. Watercolors or sketchbooks or paintbrushes, it was always something nice. He’s so fucking talented, but it’s weird I haven’t seen him so much as doodling with a pencil since he came back. Minus coloring with Sage, that is. But Brady said it was near constant when he was living with their parents, so I’m hoping he just needs some stuff to inspire him.

I startle when he speaks, already forgetting that I asked him something. “If I come, does it have to be a thing? I just want to be where you are.”

My heart stutters and trips over itself. “No, I’ll make sure he keeps it light. I want to be where you are too, Easton. More than I understand, sometimes.”

That earns me another kiss that lasts longer than he probably meant for it to, but I can’t put it off any longer. I’m guilty enough as is, ditching my best friend on his birthday, so we need to take him the damn cinnamon rolls. I shoot him a quick text before we walk out the door, because Brady’s chances of not making a big deal of this are already pretty slim so I feel like I have to give him a warning. He deserves a fighting chance. He’s a fucking softie, though. It may have to be a short visit.

When he answers the door, he does a pretty good job of keeping his cool, even calmly acknowledging Easton in a way that’s not overwhelming to him.

Then he sees the tray in my hand, and I lose all hope. He looks down at them, apparently recognizing what this is immediately then at his brother with misty eyes. “You didn’t…” he starts.

“Nope,” Easton interrupts. “Sure didn’t.”

It’s about as obvious of a lie as I’ve ever seen, seeing as I’ve spent every birthday with Brady since we were twenty years old and I’ve never done it before, and he knows he hasn’t told me about this but thankfully he doesn’t push.

“Thanks, Ace,” he chokes out, looking at Easton.

I clap him on the shoulder and partially shove him backwards before this gets to be too much for Easton. “No problem, Bray. Madden?”

He blinks a few times before nodding. “Yeah. Madden. I’ll go put some of these on plates, I guess. Get it fired up.”

I claim the middle seat on the couch and pull Easton down to my left after grabbing a couple of controllers. His living room is the fucking definition of a bachelor pad until some more furniture gets delivered. Nothing but a worn out pleather couch and the best TV money can buy. At least I talked him out of painting the walls navy blue. I don’t know what the color we decided on is called, but we argued in front of the poor impressionable Sherwin Williams section until an employee told us that marital squabbles over decor are not uncommon. We walked out with whatever was in his hand, and ended up with a smoky blue-green color. Not that we were embarrassed by people assuming we were married, that’s almost as old as our friendship, but that was forty-five minutes of our lives we’d never be getting back.

Easton starts tracing my tattoos again, but when I look over at him, he doesn’t seem to be all that aware of it. Like someone handed him a roll of bubble wrap or something. For some reason, I like that. For something as simple as the random, half-thought, impulsive designs covering my body can help keep him from being overwhelmed.

Brady brings back the cinnamon rolls, that are fucking delicious, that we snack on in between games. None of us talk much, but we’re all aware of the cease-fire and can exist together without small talk.

We hang out for a couple of hours, and when we’re on the way out, I think I hear a muttered happy birthday from Easton just as he slips out the door behind me.

And because I’m nothing if not a man of my word, within five minutes of us getting home, Easton is on top of my lap, panting. His lust-filled blue eyes are enraptured by the sight of our cocks sliding together. And me? As hot of a picture as we make together—literally the hottest I’ve ever seen—it’s Easton I can’t stop looking at. The way he pulls his bottom lip into his teeth to quiet the noises trying to come out of him when I roll my hand over our heads, the way he’s holding on to me like he needs the purchase to keep him from floating into outer space. The hazy look in his eyes each time he looks up at me, like he can’t believe his good luck. Fucking hell, I’m the lucky one.

Being the person he trusts to take him apart is a hell of a thing to wrap my head around.

“Such a good boy,” I grind out between clenched teeth. “You gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

He whines my name, barely heard over our combined breathing and nods frantically. He needs to get there because I’m about to ruin the whole Easton’s pleasure is my first priority thing if he doesn’t, like, now. I’m almost certain my beautiful Chaos has a hidden praise kink, and I don’t have much of a choice except to go for it and hope for the best. I tighten my grip and up the pace until my eyes barely stay in my sockets, and use my other hand to pull his chin up so he’s got nowhere to look but right at me.

I can feel his thighs quivering, and his cock is leaking like a faucet. He’s so close, I need him to fall over the edge. “My perfect boy,” I growl. “Let it out, Easton. Come for me.”

He gasps as the first rope of cum shoots from his dick, my name falling from his abused lips like a dying man’s prayer for salvation. It’s enough to make my own release barrel through me, frying all my nerve endings and making my vision go a bit fuzzy. “Fucking hell,” I pant as I wring out the last of our orgasms.

All of Easton’s strength leaves him, making him collapse on my chest. When he settles with his nose at the base of my throat, the spot he prefers anytime I’m holding him awake or otherwise, my stomach swoops. I like him there way too much for my own good.

“Uh-huh,” he exhales. I’m learning all kinds of fun things about Easton, but I’m stupidly obsessed with the way he tries to burrow into my skin when I rub his back, like he’s desperate to get as close to me as he possibly can. We’re sticky with dried cum that’s currently drying on my abs and shirt, but it’s perfect. This was the part I always hated with anyone else, the coming down. I knew well enough that it was good form to cuddle long enough for the happy chemicals to wear off. Nobody likes feeling cheap and used, but it felt like a box I had to check to make peace with my conscience. With Easton, I’m hesitant to let him go at all, which seems to be a shared mentality.

Before I can think to stop myself, I say, “You’re such a cuddler, how did you make it all these years with such an asshole?”

Easton sits up, and for a second I think I went too far, but he only puts enough space between us to look me in the eye. “It was easier when I didn’t know this was an option. You read me really well, sometimes better than I do myself. It’s like you knew I needed a lot of affection, and the second you showed me that, there’s no going back. I don’t think I could live like that again.”

Throat tight, I lean forward and kiss the top of his head. “You don’t have to live like that again, sweetheart. For whatever it’s worth, being the person who can show you what it’s like to have your needs met is not something I take lightly.”

A small smile has his dimples poking out. “We’re kinda sappy, huh?”

Only Easton could bring all this out in me, it makes me wonder how long I’ve been coasting through my life without really feeling anything. “Super sappy,” I return with a grin.

He’s so soft-spoken sometimes, even with me, so I’m not surprised when his voice comes out barely above a whisper. “I like it. That you let me talk about my feelings and make them seem important.”

There’s a learning curve here, I’m aware. He’s coming out of an abusive relationship that molded his perception of love in a very convoluted way. I don’t know how to be the person he needs me to be, really most of the time it’s guesswork based on his facial expressions and body language. But that? Knocks me straight on my ass without a moment’s notice. His self-esteem has been through a fucking meat grinder.

“Sweetheart, they are important. You know that, right? I’m not putting on a show to make you feel better. You are important, so your experiences, your emotions, your needs, all of that is important too.”

There’s about a thousand more words threatening to claw their way up my throat. How he never deserved to have someone make him feel otherwise, how if I was thinking clearly that day by the pool I would have saved him from all the pain he’s endured since. How I want to wrap him up in bubble wrap just so no one hurts him again, but also show him the ends of the earth so he never feels trapped again.

Easton shrugs simply. “I’m a lot sometimes, I know that. You’ve already put up with more than you should have to.”

I’m going to break him of the habit of using language like that if it kills me. “How about you let me decide what’s too much for me.” He looks reluctant, so I add, “I promise I’ll tell you if I get there.” Not possible. “But until then, I’m good, Chaos. I’m a big boy, I can take more than you think.”

I seal it with a kiss, channeling all the words he isn’t ready to hear into it, hoping that if nothing else, I can show him that he’s so much more than the bullshit he’s been through. Doesn’t he see that he’s everything?