Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

CHASE

I t starts with his breathing, not unusual for someone to start panting mid-sex, but it makes me slow down and keep an eye on him. Something feels a bit off, just a couple of times for the briefest second. I chalk it up to my own insecurities, because every time I check in with him, he’s been good. Great, even. Enthusiastic.

When he doesn't respond to his name and tenses up like he’s been electrocuted, I’m done. Anxiety crawls up and starts clawing at my throat, but I can’t deal with that right now. Easton starts fucking shaking as I toss the condom somewhere off the bed and yank on my sweats that are thankfully within arm’s reach.

I don’t know what to fucking do. His panic attacks slash PTSD flareups slash whatever the fuck you call it scare the hell out of me as is, but now I caused it, and none of the ways I normally can help him are relevant. My hand reaches out towards him of its own volition, swiping the pillows covering his face away.

He’s the picture of agony. Eyes squeezed shut like he’s being struck as tears fall onto the sheets. As if he can sense it, he flinches hard before I can even get close to attempting physical comfort of some sort. I don’t. Know. What. To do. “Easton, baby, talk to me. Please.” I’m not above begging or pleading, if he’d just give me a hint of what happened or what to do.

Problem number one is definitely that he’s going to hyperventilate if he doesn’t calm down. He’s already beet red, and if he starts turning purple, I’m really going to freak the fuck out. Is it purple? Blue? Fuck, I don’t even know what color I should be looking for. “Easton, you have to breathe.” I aim for the stern, steady voice that usually penetrates the fog, but I fall way short. Because, of course, I can’t even do this right.

Dear god, what have I done?

Nope. Do not have time for that. Spiral of regret later. Now, I’ve got to get him breathing. There’s still no sign he’s heard me, much less absorb anything.

Oh, hell. I’m going to have to do something drastic here. He obviously doesn’t want me holding him so it’s got to be different. What else works? Ice? He’d probably choke on it before it could do any good. Think, you fucking idiot, think…

The worst idea I’ve ever had occurs to me, but it’s all I’ve got, and his color is still awful. Worse, I’m pretty sure. “I am so fucking sorry for this, Easton. Please know that,” I mumble as I scoop him up. He fights me like a feral alley cat, scratching and clawing as he tries to wriggle out of my arms. Gritting my teeth, I tighten my grip and thank whoever or whatever is out there that there’s some fight left in him. Still isn’t breathing, though. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was having an allergic reaction and his throat was closed.

In the bathroom, I turn the shower nozzle to glacial and step in with him. Please, just let him be okay. The water is a degree above ice, stinging my cheek and a solid chunk of my upper body especially, which is another thing I don’t have time to dissect until Easton is okay. As the water rushes over his naked body, he gasps, the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. He drags air in like he’s drowning, and I carefully set him down and step out, giving him the space I’m sure he needs from me.

Each stuttered lungful he manages, the steadier it gets. Dread and terror like I’ve never felt before settles deep in my bones. There’s no coming back from this. He’s been hurt more than anyone should be in a lifetime, and I refuse to contribute to any more of his pain. Going through the motions, I towel off and go on a search for something he can wear. I don’t feel the blood until it drips on the hardwood as I take the warmest sweats I own out of my dresser.

The source is a gash on my cheek from Easton’s fingernails. Good. He did damage. I prod at it, wincing at the contact. It’s not very deep, but it definitely stings. As sick as what I did to him makes me, I’m so fucking proud he fought back. He did a number on me. I’ve got about ten across my shoulders and chest where he really got a piece of me.

Tears prickle my eyes and threaten to spill over, but I blink them away. I can’t lose it yet. Get Easton some clothes. He’ll sit in that shower until he’s blue if I let him. Once he’s taken care of, then I can get far away from here so he doesn’t have to see it. That’s the fucking least I can do, now that I’ve done irrevocable damage. Make sure he doesn’t see.

There’s no looking at him when I drop the clothes off, but I listen to his unsteady breaths for long enough to confirm he’s not at risk of oxygen deprivation anymore, and turn the water to warmer when it sounds as even as it’s going to get in his current state before striding away. The uncontrollable need to watch out for him won’t leave me as easily as he’d probably like, even with the methodical, detached way I’m treating this .

It’s the only way I’m going to make it out of the house before the ground crumbles beneath my feet.

The water cuts off as I grab my car keys off the counter with an alarmingly shaky hand. At least I can find solace in the fact that he’s not going to be sitting in there until he’s frozen solid. Easton calls my name, brokenly and haggard, from behind the closed door. I stall, and almost go to him. Leaving him like this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I know him and that forgiving heart of his. He’ll forgive me, and I’d much rather he hate me when the price tag of his forgiveness is the progress he’s made in learning to not let people hurt him and call it love.

“Sweetheart, I am so fucking sorry,” I whisper before high-tailing it the fuck out of here.

~~~

Somewhere, I’m definitely somewhere. But the moonlight is dancing across the water and it’s as good of a place as any to get drunk. It’s also quiet, which is good for the kind of mental spiral I’m aiming for. Nothing to distract me from the whiskey and regrets.

A list of regrets so long it could cross this lake and back. Is it a lake? I don’t know. Somewhere in the sticks, that’s for sure. It’s not even like I picked the spot, but there was a liquor store about twenty minutes back and not much in the way of civilization, so it was too good to pass up.

God, I fucking ruined him. The most special and beautiful person I’ve ever known, and I squashed him. I did just what his ex did, we’re one and the same. Reeled him in only to commit unspeakable trauma on his body and soul.

I take another swig, and swallow it down, wincing at the burn. God, I hate getting drunk, especially on the hard stuff. But it was either this or wrapping my car around a fucking tree. There isn’t redemption for something like this. I’m fairly open-minded, or so I like to think. Lots of crimes can be committed for valid reasons. Stealing when you’re starving or killing to protect your life, for example.

Nothing can justify this. I took someone else’s body; it wasn’t mine to give. I knew, I knew that I should have called it off tonight. I thought I had done my due diligence in checking with him, but it happened so fucking fast. One second, he was fine and the next, he wasn’t.

I’m repulsed with myself. I should have known better. Should have done better. How can I claim to care about someone and do this to them in the same breath?

Twigs snap a few feet from behind my head, but I don’t startle. Don’t even care what it is. Maybe a bear. Then my mom would think my carelessness was an accident.

When a familiar figure drops down beside me in the rocks and mud, some part of me knew he’d find me even if I hoped he wouldn’t. “You should go,” I say firmly. Fuck, I don’t want to argue with him.

“Tough luck,” Brady returns, maneuvering me so he can get comfortable leaning against the large tree trunk we’re apparently sharing.

He’s going to hate me too. Hate would be putting it mildly. I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t bury me. “Just go, Brady.”

He snorts a laugh, but I don’t know what’s funny. “Yeah, right. No way in hell am I leaving you drunk and alone in the middle of a forest. And it’s fucking almost midnight.”

Despair tears my chest open. I’ve already lost both of them. Brady is simply choosing to humor the corpse of our friendship because he doesn’t know any better yet. Brady has been by my side my entire adult life, I have no idea who I’d be without him. How I’d continue on.

“I really wish you would,” I mumble through a veil of tears.

Brady makes a pained noise, as though he can feel the axe cutting out something essential inside me, something that was never meant to be severed, much less hacked to pieces. “Talk to me,” he pleads.

I take another swig instead. How the fuck do I tell him something like this? Brady grows impatient with my silence. “Let me try this another way. I saw you drive away like your ass was on fire and went to check on Eas.”

A lump lodges itself in my throat, I’m only able to shake my head in response. I can’t—I can’t think about the condition he is in now because of me. “Don’t,” I mouth, but I know he felt me say it.

I’ve already lost them both. My best friend and my only—nope. If I say that, even internally, it’s going to kill me. “You gotta go home, Ace.”

“I can’t,” I insist. He doesn’t understand. Easton might not even yet. Sometimes, it takes time for a trauma to really set in. But I know.

Brady sighs. “We don’t have to talk about it tonight. If you want to get shitfaced, I’m not going to stop you.”

He moves me around with ease; I don’t have much fight in me. When his arm is around my shoulders, I selfishly soak up the affection before he loathes me. “Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if you didn’t implode when you’re hurting. If you let someone all the way in on the bad shit,” he muses into my hair.

Sometimes, I do too.

~~~

I wake with a groan, rubbing my eyes at the sharp pain stabbing me behind them. “Good morning,” mumbles the wrong Callaghan brother in bed beside me.

Wait, what?

Why the fuck am I in Brady’s house? In Brady’s bed? I groan, questions make my head want to fall off. It’s not worth it. My best friend rumbles a quiet laugh at my misery, which is fitting. I’ve done the same to him a hundred times over the years. It’s funnier when it’s not happening to me, though.

“Painkillers and water are beside you.” I appreciate the thoughtfulness, because there’s an awful ache in my chest that I’m not nearly awake enough to grasp. Brady squeezes my shoulder before going to make coffee. I could kiss him if the mere idea didn’t make my stomach roll.

After downing the pills and an entire bottle of stale water, I find him staring blearily at the carafe as it spits muddy brown liquid at a pace he doesn’t seem satisfied with. Dark circles underneath his eyes stand out prominently against his skin, and guilt pangs uncomfortably in my ribs. He was up all night making sure I was okay, I’m sure of it.

“I’m sorry,” I say into the heavy quiet.

His gaze snaps up to me quickly before it softens. “Not necessary. ’Bout time the tables turned, yeah?”

I shake my head slightly. “Still.”

He hands me a mug, made perfectly, of course, and shrugs. “What do you remember?”

A complicated question. The early parts of the day are intact, but after we watched the game, I’m drawing a blank. Sharp, ugly emotions linger at the edges of my memory. My soul hurts as much as my head. Where they came from is just out of my grasp. “Not a lot.” Sympathy flashes in my friend’s eyes. “You seem to know a whole lot more than I do,” I observe around a sip.

He nods, guilty and caught red-handed. “I know more than is fair to tell you. You need to talk to my brother.”

“The tables have turned, indeed.” Brady smiles sheepishly and busies himself, moving around the kitchen to distract himself from how much he wants to talk about it. Doesn’t accomplish a damn thing, this space isn’t exactly where his skills lie, but I’m too busy trying to sort through the haunting emotions I’m left with .

Easton is the only person who could pull these feelings out of me. With the guilt sitting heavily on my stomach, I know that whatever it was; the blame is mine. Hurting him is unfathomable to me, though. For weeks, I’ve picked each word, and the tone used for it with care where he was concerned. Partly, sure, because that’s what emotional maturity means to me and I’m a bit like that with everyone in my life. But mainly because I know that words have been weaponized against him, and I’d much rather think something through all the way than have to apologize and risk damaging his trust.

It’s a responsibility I took on happily, so I’m having a hard time adding everything up correctly. But for the first time ever, I don’t feel good about going home to him. So I linger, quietly observing Brady’s anxiety coming out to play. He’s trying to mask it, as he often does when he has a lot of nervous energy, but his tells are fairly obvious. The restless twitch of his fingers, the song he’s humming about every third beat of.

After about ten minutes of it, he huffs a frustrated groan. “I’m only going to do this one time and never again.”

I raise a confused eyebrow in his direction. “And what’s that, Bray?”

My friend pops his knuckles before shaking his hand out. “Meddle.”

“Ookay…” I say slowly.

He leans on his forearms in front of me. “I don’t like it and it feels like picking sides which I will never do. Never, not once. You both are grown adults and what happens in your private life isn’t my business.” His dark eyes level a glare at me, making me feel an inch tall and thoroughly scolded, but he isn’t done. “But I know you, Ace. I know you so well that I’m already mad about what you’re going to do and you haven’t done it yet. ”

He doesn’t look mad, he looks heartbroken. His eyes swarm with that delicate kind of ache that comes from loving someone so much and having to stand back while they destroy themselves. “I’m listening.”

He works the words out like he’s sounding them out for the first time, with great challenge and a ton of hesitance. “You had sex with my brother last night.”

Memories start coming back in pieces. The warmth of his skin, the soft brush of his lips, the panic I felt when I saw shaking. Brady continues on before I can fixate on it for long. “He had a panic attack in the middle of it. That’s not normally the kind of thing I’d know about, but I went to check on him when I saw you high-tailing it out of here last night, and he was a mess.” He takes a deep, fortifying breath. “You have to promise me that you’re not going to crucify yourself before you talk to him. I know how it must have seemed from your side of things, but he deserves to be heard. He is trying so fucking hard for you, Chase. He’s actively fighting against his worst fears, trying to communicate on your level while he does it. Your biggest hang up is when you decide what someone is going to say and don’t give them the opportunity to prove you wrong. Hear what he says, I’m fucking begging you.”

My coffee threatens to make a reappearance. It’s all coming back. Him shaking and flinching away from me. The scratches and cold shower. Leaving.

Brady snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Hey. No. That right there, stop it.”

“What do you want me to say?” I croak. “I did it and it’s unforgivable.”

It happens so fast that I sit statuesque, shattered by the gravity of my inadequacies as Brady pulls the kitchen faucet out, aims it at me like a weapon and flicks it wide open. Water sprays me full blast, hitting me right between the eyes. “ Fuck!” I shout, ducking down to take cover. “Was the water-boarding fucking necessary?!”

My former best friend bellows a laugh from somewhere above me. “Try me, asshole. I can do this all day if you don’t quit saying dumb shit.”

A snarl builds in my throat. I’m so tired. I miss Easton. I feel like dog shit and he’s minimizing this. “Maybe if you didn’t have the brain capacity of a fucking nine year old, you’d get why.”

Regret washes over me as soon as it comes out of my mouth. I didn’t mean it. “I’m going to choose to ignore that because you’ve had a shit day, but if you don’t go home and make things right, I won’t be so nice.”

Using my shirt to wipe the remaining water from my face, I decide to ignore the dread weighing me down and heed his warning. The door isn’t locked when I come through, which means he’s probably waiting on me. This is it. The bliss we’ve created for ourselves has been shattered, because of me, and now whatever we had is done.

Easton is bent over at the dining room table with an array of pencils scattered around him and a sketchbook. I can’t see what he’s working on from this angle, but the pencil sounds angry and harsh as he drags it across the paper. He really is trying. Trying to find his art again after it was taken from him, trying to heal himself from scratch without even fully understanding what he went through. It’s amazing, there’s no question about that, but it’s also so very Easton that it makes my heart clench just thinking about it.

He doesn’t look up, and I can’t say how long I stand here entirely hypnotized by him. So long that it startles me when he breaks the silence and says, “Are you ever going to say anything or should we just keep pretending I don’t know you’re here?”

I shrug. “I don’t know what to say. ”

He sets the pencil down and spins to face me, giving me my first glimpse at him and what he’s working on. Easton looks furious, his jaw is set, eyebrows furrowed, and having that look aimed at me feels unnatural. I was never supposed to put that much hurt in those sapphire eyes. Easing his pain, being there for him in a way that no one else can be has been a gift.

Easton levels a glare in my direction. “Well, good. Because, actually, I’m the one who’s going to say things.”

I find myself nodding. “Whatever you want to say, I’ll listen,” I promise. That much I can do; absorb the venom that’s been brewing in his system before he wants nothing to do with me again.

Easton nods too, like he was expecting that to be an issue. “Good. Because I’ve had nothing to do for the last eight hours but think, and I need to say this or I’ll chicken out and never do it.”

Jesus, he’s so adorable. Even furious, he’s asking permission to go off on me. “Go ahead. I can take it.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. “I’m mad at you. You left me. I had no idea where you went, what was going through your head. Nothing. It wasn’t fair. So if you aren’t interested in me anymore, you need to say it. Because I’ve decided that I’m not going to believe you until you say it.”

With the way he battles self-image, that wasn’t easy. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him how fucking proud I am of him, but there’s a dare in his eyes. Challenging me to say I’m done with him. “Easton, you’re the one who needs to say that to me. You don’t want to be with someone who’s capable of hurting you like I did.”

He huffs a frustrated groan. “It wasn’t you! Ugh. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“Clearly, it was. ”

Easton advances a few steps and practically growls. “No. If you had given me a second to process what I was feeling, I would have told you. And I’m sorry about scratching you and for not telling you that I was starting to feel weird, all of which you didn’t give me a chance to say.” My throat is on fire from the emotion I’m holding back, but I promised he could say his peace. I can see the same emotions I’m battling reflecting at me from his eyes. “I wanted to be good. We had the best day, and there was nowhere else I’d rather be than in your bed. You were perfect, you’re always so fucking perfect. It was me. I was the problem. I defaulted to things that had nothing to do with you because it’s what I know and we both paid the price. I am sorry, but I’m also so mad that you just took off.”

He angrily swipes a stray tear, glaring like its mere existence is a betrayal to him. “How are you not furious with me? Easton, it’s so fucked up that I didn’t notice what was happening quicker. I can’t be someone else who hurts you. I refuse.”

My heart fucking aches. Easton is the best thing to ever happen to me. He took my dull, monotonous life and shook it up and made it beautiful. The last thing I want is to give him up, but I’d rather lose him than damage him any further.

His nose scrunches up in confusion. “You’ve never hurt me. Not ever and especially not last night. I didn’t think it was going to hit me that hard, you had no way of knowing. My memory might be hazy, but you stopped. I know that. You’re pretty good at reading me, but you’re not a mind reader.”

Okay, we definitely need more caffeine if we’re really going to sit here and hash out what I’m still calling an assault. My brain capacity is limited enough from the stress and sleep deprivation as is. Our shoulders brush as I step around him, making that all too familiar electricity running between us all the damn time cackle to life. Easton sucks in a sharp breath, and I know he feels it too.

It’s maddening, and somehow, it makes perfect sense. The pull that urges me to touch, to claim, to care for rears its head. But I resist. We have a lot to talk about, and once I get wrapped up in him, it’s hard to remember why I’d want to come up for air.

It's a habit to make one sickeningly sweet with a dash of cinnamon and pass it backwards without prompt. He takes it with a quiet, happy sigh. Once I take a few gulps from my own mug, I clamp down on my molars; steeling myself to face him again.

The exhaustion from last night shows; eyes red rimmed, hair sticking out at all angles. But the color on his skin and the way his collarbone doesn’t stick out as aggressively, the little tells that his dedication to healing is paying off. He’s been eating better, soaking up sunshine like a sunflower anytime he’s outdoors. It looks so good on him. Happy has always been my favorite look on him.

Did I do that?

I don’t know if I’d go that far. Maybe I just made it easier for him to be happy. But seeing him blossom so quickly is almost an out of body experience for me. Too good to be real, but somehow I’m still seeing it.

“You really do have to decide,” he murmurs, hopping up on the counter and eyeing me carefully.

“What’s that?”

His corn silk hair flops over his brows as he shakes his head, the smallest of sad smiles teasing me with those damn dimples. “If you’re done, Chase. I get that you didn’t sign up for all my baggage, so it’s okay if you would rather wash your hands of me.”

Brady’s words flash back to the front of my mind from earlier. He’s giving me the out, not taking it. Do I want to give him up? Never.

But can I handle it if we have a repeat of last night? The terror was unlike any I’ve ever experienced. How it must have been for him, fuck, even the thought sends a shiver down my spine.

“I did sign up for it, actually. My eyes were wide-open from the second you showed up on Brady’s doorstep looking like a spooked rabbit. It’s not that I can’t handle it, I’m just having a hard time walking back the worst-case scenario when I still have no clue what went wrong. What I did or didn’t do.”

Easton’s gaze is sympathetic, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been up all night getting the right words in order for this very conversation. “Love, it wasn’t you. I messed up by putting myself where I couldn’t see you, then when I tried to look at you, there was something in the way. It just sent me off the cliff with no warning.”

Love.

Holy shit. He hasn’t called me that before. That seems fucking significant. But also… “That’s what it was? Not being able to see me?”

His head bobs in agreement. “I didn’t know it was a thing until it was too late. It makes sense, I probably should have thought about it if I’m being honest. When things are out of control, something about you grounds me.”

“C’mere,” I rasp, opening my arms to him. He slides off the counter and comes straight to me, enveloping me in his warm, comforting scent. “I think we're gonna be okay,” I mumble into his hair.

His voice is soft, but firm. Resolute. “Yeah, I think so too.”