Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

CHASE

O ne day, I’m going to really mean it when I tell my best friend that I am over the renovation projects. Unfortunately, that day is not today. Or probably any day in the next year for that matter because he turned me into a perfectionist who no longer trusts other people to do things. It’s all his fault, really.

And for that matter, fuck the extra hours of daylight we’re getting because it’s summer. If it was dark when we got off work then I wouldn’t have to deal with three hours of back-breaking labor. We haven’t gone to the gym in three weeks because all we do is this. To be honest, I miss him forcing me to care about my cardiovascular health. It was easier. And there is the distinct lack of chainsaws. I don’t know what about me says hand me a deadly power tool but consider it the top of my priority list of personality flaws that need changing.

Hoping for a swift death, I flop onto the cool grass and groan. A thunk sounds beside me as Brady does the same. It should be vindicating that he is also exhausted, but it’s not. “Okay, maybe you weren’t being dramatic. This fucking sucks,” he admits.

I know I’m dying because there is no appeal in being sarcastic. A grunt of acknowledgement is the best I can manage. It’s been weeks. Day in and day out. If we were making progress, I’d feel better, but of course there is no notable difference. I throw an arm over my eye, hoping it will speed up the inevitable where there’s a bright light at the end of a tunnel or whatever the fuck it is.

Based on some of the shit Easton has told me, that’s definitely not what I’m hoping is on the other side.

Sawdust sure does make me morbid.

There’s a break in the sun, scorching my eyelids, and I peek my eyes open, finding an angel hovering above me. “Guess who got the best test score in class today?” it asks, excitement bubbling off him in waves.

Easton.

I reach blindly for his hand and tug him down on top of us as he bursts into a fit of laughter. Brady lets out an oomph as he takes the majority of the impact. “My brother, the genius. I always knew you were the smartest person alive,” he declares with a bit of a wheeze.

“You’re so embarrassing,” Easton whines.

Brady sniffs loudly. “Aww, you made an angel cry, you barbarian.”

They’ve officially lost me. “What now?” I ask

Easton drops his head to my shoulder, and I can feel his smile. “Every time a fortunate child whines, an angel sobs with heartbreak,” he recites. “I’d forgotten about that.”

Brady snorts. “I don’t know how. Mom used to say it to you a hundred times a day.”

“Is that a thing? Because I’ve certainly never heard it.”

Easton hums. “Just our mother’s way of guilt-tripping me when I’d cry is all. She made it up.”

“Sounds like her.” Brady sighs .

We’re getting off track here. “Did you really get the best score today?”

He snuggles a little deeper into my side. “So they tell me.”

I press a kiss into his fine hair. “I can’t say I’m surprised, but I’m so happy for you. You’re going to crush the GED exam.”

Brady whoops in agreement. “Yeah, you are.”

“So embarrassing.”

I shake my head fondly. “You’re not wrong, but maybe we should let him have his fun.”

“Yeah, let me have my fun. I’m proud of you.”

I’d bet money Easton is beet red with all this positive attention, but he deserves it. Ever since his prep class started, he’s been walking to the community center that’s hosting it every day since it’s during the workday. He has made a couple of friends and gotten familiar with the neighborhood well enough that he’s taken up running while Brady and I have been busy, which puts my mind at ease knowing he’s not holing up in the house with only me to talk to. To top it off, he’s really been putting the work in to make sure he’s ready when it comes time for his exam.

He’s really blossoming here, and it makes me so happy I can barely stand it.

I was worried that he’d be as miserable in Washington as he has been everywhere else he’s lived, but I’m seeing a whole new side of him instead.

Easton takes every opportunity to blow me out of the water with his strength and resilience. He is so determined to end up better off after all he’s been through, and make sure that he doesn’t lose himself again.

“You know,” Brady hedges. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

“Does it hurt?”

Easton glares at me playfully, dimple on full display betraying his eyes. “Fuck off. So anyway. Mom has been extra stalker-ish since my birthday and she’s not cooling down. But maybe if I send one of these burner numbers a selfie of us, she’ll see that and leave me alone.”

My Chaos chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “She really bothers you? I guess I thought you were exaggerating.”

Brady makes a noise. “I wish I was. She’s persistent.”

I’d argue for the need of a straightjacket. That woman is a danger to others if I’ve ever seen it. It’s the one issue Brady and I can never talk about properly. Personally, I’d just change my number and forget the whack-job ever existed. He is hung up on that she has to be the one to give this shit up. Let him go, instead of the other way around. One would assume that after four years without so much of a word from her oldest child, she would have, and one would be dead wrong.

Time is only making her crazier. She insists that Brady needs to move home, back into her house and everything will be okay again. Charles Darwin would have a fucking heyday with some of the shit I’ve seen on his phone from that woman. Talking about her sweet, handsome boy. How no one can love him like her—I sure hope not—and that he needs to turn away from his life of sin and embrace the lord again.

I suppress a shiver. I don’t hate many people, but I hate Tiffany Callaghan with a passion that would rival hell itself.

“Do you really think it would help?” Easton asks quietly.

He’s silent for a couple of heartbeats. “She needs to know that I stand by walking out after you four years ago, and I don’t want to call her and have to get into it. She’s vicious. This is the only way I can think of that will make my point.”

“So let’s do it,” he says.

There’s a few moments of fumbling while Brady fishes his phone out and they get situated before, “Smile, Ace. Look like you love us.”

I do, I think before I can help it.

I’m definitely not saying that, so I simply comply. Brady shoots off the photo as soon as he takes it, and a moment later, my own phone buzzes in my pocket. So, it turned out good, then.

“I hope it works,” I tell Brady. Easton throws in a soft me too, but my friend is quiet in a contemplative sort of way that unnerves me a little.

They both deserve so much more than the sad excuse of parents they ended up with. Having living parents and still ending up an orphan is a brutal kind of grief, and it eats at Brady. Truly giving up and saying that it’s too late for redemption and forgiveness is a hard pill for him to swallow. It’s a cruel world, having to accept that the people who taught you to believe in the fundamental good of the human race are showing you the ugliest of hypocrisy.

It keeps me up at night sometimes. I’m sure it’s some form of unhealthy attachment, but I feel like I assumed responsibility for turning Brady’s outlook back around. For showing him that he can have a chosen family that loves him without the conditions that wrecked him. It was never a burden, keeping him upright for that dark time in his life, but the fear that I didn’t do well enough by him lingers.

We’re quiet for a long time, lost in the raging currents of our thoughts. Easton is a warm presence by my side, grounding me. Keeping me from getting too far away. It occurs to me that he filled a gap I didn’t know was even there, when he came back with all his sharp edges and wicked tongue.

Every day was fine. Work, gym, home, and occasionally some kind of outing that Brady would have to drag me to. I wasn’t unhappy, by any means. But it was almost robotic. Like I knew it was what I was supposed to be doing, so I did. If anyone had asked me to actively participate in my life though?

Nah, I was checked out.

Easton shook everything up, turned it upside down and made me scramble to keep up. Now that things are settling back out, it’s plain to see that I needed it.

My sweet Chaos. The perfect storm.

~~~

Easton

The sketchbook is mocking me. No, not in the, I hear voices kind of way , but still. It’s just so blank… empty. Meaningless.

I hate it.

Inspiration used to come to me like a broken dam. The challenge is getting it to slow down enough so I can put something on paper before moving on to the next. They follow me into my dreams, hovering at the back of my mind, just waiting to be brought to life. I refuse to believe it’s really gone now.

My imagination used to run wild, untamed. Fairies and goblins perched in the biggest weeping willows with hidden entrances to wonderland. Mermaids taming the mighty leviathan. There wasn’t anything I couldn’t come up with. I used to be able to make magic come alive. Travel worlds and jump universes with only a pencil.

I have to find it again. I miss it like a limb. It causes this gnawing pain under my ribs that steals my breath if I focus on it too much.

So, here I sit on the grass with a sketchbook balanced in my lap and a graphite pencil tucked behind my ear. The sun is shining high in the sky, but it’s not stifling like it was in Florida. Just enough to add some color to my cheeks and make me warm all over. It’s perfect. Chase says I seek out sunshine like a sunflower, but really, I’m just especially glad to be free of the bone-deep cold that never left me properly for years.

Now, I have to wonder if he wanted it like that intentionally. All the moving left me confused and uncomfortable exploring my surroundings so I was stuck in a freezing apartment all the time. One of the many things that I had no say over was the temperature, despite the fact that I was the one who was stuck with it all day. He even had the thermostat PIN-protected so I couldn’t change it.

So, yeah. I’m really fucking happy to feel the sun’s rays to my heart’s content. I don’t think I’ll ever take it for granted again.

If only I could find my artistic spark, I’d almost be a person again instead of an empty shell moving through life hoping to not be blown away with the wind.

I still don’t understand why it’s out of my grasp. I’m doing so much better. I’m preparing for the GED, eating consistently, and taking better care of myself. Sleep has been less elusive, as it turns out having Chase’s weight beside me calms me beyond measure. I’m doing better. Healthier. Happier.

You know, minus the metaphorical limb giving me phantom pains.

That sentence alone puts me firmly in head case territory still, I fear.

When a hand lands gently on my neck, I don’t startle. It can only be him. My heart can feel him close, even if my ears don’t. “Still having trouble?”

He’s got to stop looking at me like that, all mushy and familiar. Like he can find something important that he lost somewhere in my eyes if he only searches long enough. He’s going to make me say something that I definitely feel, but I’m not ready to admit yet .

Chase is still shirtless from our late wake up this morning. Brady gave him the day off from their daily torture session, and he was exhausted. I was too busy soaking up the sleepy cuddles to get up and do anything productive with my life.

I’m not even subtle about my eye-fucking him, the view never really gets old. “Suddenly, I find myself being inspired.”

Chase smirks down at me, but I’m only partially joking. Those damn tattoos decorating his sculpted muscles, they make my mouth water. Ever the adult, I make grabby hands at him to get him closer. My sketchbook falls to the ground as I pounce on him before he’s even halfway down.

We tumble together in a mess of arms and legs, laughing the whole way. “Miss me?” he teases against my lips.

I kiss him deeply in response. He groans into it, vibrating my chest. His mouth is addictive. Sweet, hot, and needy as he takes what he wants from me. As much as I want him, literally always, this feels like it’s more about the connection as it turns lazy and soft. Like he missed me too, even though I’ve only been out here for a couple hours. I’m panting as I pull away for much needed oxygen. “Not at all, why do you ask?”

“Brat,” he says, in a way other people might say beautiful. Chase has a way of making me smile until my cheeks hurt. I still haven’t gotten used to it, the way that even the bad moments seem better with him and the good ones are so, so good. His hands settle on my hips as he leans back enough to look at me properly. “Your source of inspiration seems to also be a distraction.”

“Mmm. Maybe a bit,” I concede with another kiss. “You can still stay and hang with me for a bit, though.”

He agrees on the condition that I keep doing what I was doing, which I think I can manage. Possibly.

Chase stretches out on the blanket as I fetch my sketchbook, determined to try again. He throws an arm over his eyes, content to simply be near me while I go to bat with this damn blank page. I last all of three minutes before I decide that we have to be touching and lay with my head on his stomach.

It starts as more of an abstract idea that I let guide my pencil without focusing on it too much, for fear of scaring it away. Somehow, with Chase breathing deeply underneath me and his fingers lightly brushing the ends of my hair, the pressure seems less overwhelming. Like with everything, he takes some of the weight off my chest and lets my lungs function properly.

I’m not sure how I used to live with it all the time now that I’ve found some relief.

Time passes strangely, with nothing but the sounds of my pencil scratching against the paper and the occasional drone of a far away airplane. I’m glad Chase convinced me to put on some sunscreen before I came out here because I would have burned to a crisp by the time I feel comfortable calling it quits for the day.

And… I’ll be damned. It’s not fucking angry. It’s just a bush covered in butterflies, so not even close to my best work, but it doesn’t feel traumatic to look at, so surely that means something, right?

Chase has been dozing most of the time he’s been out here with me, hovering between awake and asleep. Never stops playing with my hair, though, and that does something wholly unfamiliar to my insides. When he feels me still as I examine the page before me, he’s suddenly trying not to be nosy.

So fucking cute, I can’t stand it.

I let him squirm for a bit, mainly for my own enjoyment, before handing it over. My shoulders tense and my jaw locks up tight before I’ve even let go of the damn thing, an involuntary reaction that I don’t like in the slightest. Being shy about my work wouldn’t have surprised me, no normal person enjoys feeling like their innermost thoughts are being put on display for scrutiny, and I’m no exception. But this didn’t happen before, this fight-or-flight response that has me wanting to run away or snap at him and tell him that if he disapproves, he can fuck off.

I force a breath, then another.

Don’t be like this, I scold myself. This is Chase. My insecurities are safe with him. When I gain the courage to scan his face for what he might think, those deep breaths I worked so hard for leave my lungs in a rush.

He’s… awestruck? Eyes wide open, head cocked slightly to the side as his fingers trace over my work. Mine. Like he’s trying to burn it into his memory. The remaining tension floods from my body, seeing as now I’ve been reduced to a puddle.

The things this man does to me…

He’s quiet for far too long as he maps out my experimentation like it’s an experience, long enough that my recently settled nerves flare back up. “You gotta say something, love,” I whisper, my voice would be wrecked any louder than that.

Chase finally looks up, and the look in his eyes is too bright, too bold. Nope, I refuse to diagnose it. I’d like the answer far too much.

“I… you’re…” he trails off helplessly, looking at me like I’d be able to find his missing words. There’s no chance, sorry, babe. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Chase truly speechless, he’s the most articulated person I know. Always, even when he’s stressed out or overwhelmed. This is new territory, and I don’t even know where to begin with it.

Patience is something I need to work on. He’s given it to me endlessly, so the least I can do is give him some of that back. Even if I can’t think of a single reason he’d be so tripped up over something so incredibly minor as one of my least impressive sketches.

He never hurries me when words are tangled on my tongue, always gives me the space to sort through the jumbled mess in my head and get it out on my own time, so I can do that for him too.

The comparisons are hard to stop, it’s never something I mean to do, but it feels like a side effect of the amount of time I spend walking around in a state of awe at how easy Chase makes this feel. I really do try not to, it’s not fair to Chase that I came to him covered in bruises and scars with a bone-deep fury strangling me. But in instances like right now, with that damn look on his face, it’s hard to see why I ever was anywhere else than right beside him.

I was only fourteen when Brady video called me from his first dorm room and introduced me to his roommate. Being the head-in-the-clouds kid I was, my heart jumped pathetically in my chest at one look into his icy pale eyes. I’m pretty sure I never got a full word out with how badly I was stuttering. Even then, he was stunning. Way shier than he is now, not as buff, but beautiful. The stop-you-in-your-tracks, make-you-forget-every-thought-in-your-head kind that a high school freshman can’t even properly absorb through all the hormones pumping through their veins.

And God, when he smiled at me.

It’s safe to say I was easily enamored, even if he wouldn’t give me a second look then. I was just his new, pushy friend’s little brother. By the time he was in my parent’s house, shirtless and poolside, the crush was well-cemented. But he was never a real possibility, just another one of my fantasies to keep me company in that lonely house.

But he’s right in front of me now, staring at me like I’m important, or some shit, and it makes me so happy, I could die. “Easton, you’re so incredible, baby. This is incredible. That word seems insufficient, but my mind is blown to bits and I can’t think of anything better. Fucking hell, Chaos. I can’t believe you’re even real. So fucking talented, so fucking smart.”

Accepting compliments is far from my strong suit, but I mumble a meager thank you before hoping to distract him with a kiss. When our lips meet, it all fades away. The doubts, the worries, the insecurities, they all fade to black, and this wonderful thing happens that switches my brain off. All that matters is that I’m the object of his desires and he is the object of mine, two souls seeking each other out, searching for their match among the universe and breathing a sigh of relief when they do.

He groans into it, lighting a fire under my skin with only a single sound. And fuck, how I love the heat. My hands dig into the meat on his shoulders, and it takes Chase all of about thirty seconds before he lifts me up onto his lap. My head spins as all my blood rushes south, who knew how fucking erotic it is to be manhandled but with care. He’s the perfect mix for me, moving me exactly how he wants me but always mindful to not let me be hurt.

“So fucking sweet,” he rumbles.

I whimper. Once he starts up with the praise, I’m doomed to melt into a puddle of need. The smile tugging at the corners of his mouth is like a blaring siren that he knows what he does to me and plans to exploit it fully.

Lucky, lucky me.

Since discovering that my issues seem pretty reliant on not being able to wander off into my own head, Chase has quickly adjusted to make it impossible. He overwhelms my senses in the best way, filling my ears with indecent things, cherishing every inch of my flesh with his lips and fingers, making me look him in the eye and beg for more.

And to think, we haven’t even gotten all the way back to full-blown sex yet, and he’s already doing this much to keep me comfortable with him.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands.

A highlight reel of dirty thoughts starts up. How does he expect me to choose? “You.” At least it’s honest.

He chuckles darkly, vibrating my chest. “You want me to what, beautiful?” He kisses me again, deep and heated, frying my brain. Nothing exists except the way his tongue dances with mine as he owns me so thoroughly with his mouth. Chase isn’t done teasing me though. “Want me to kiss you? Want me to touch you?”

“Please,” I whimper.

The sound Chase makes goes straight to my aching dick, growly and possessive. When in doubt, manners are always going to get me somewhere with him. He obliges, hands skating over my shoulders, down to my ribs, very pointedly ignoring where I want him to touch me but finding every sensitive spot along the way and making me go out of my mind with desire.

By the time he makes it to my legs, I snap, “Chase.” It wasn’t supposed to sound that whiny and petulant, more like I’m about to start begging rather than a demand. He massages my thighs and flashes me a smug grin.

“What’s the matter, baby?”

He’s a monster and I hate him. I might be obsessed with him. Whatever. They’re the same thing. “Make me come, please.”

Chase’s eyes threaten to consume me with all the lust he’s looking at me with. His control snaps and he kisses me wildly, palming my hard length through my shorts. My eyes roll back into my head. Fuck, he feels so good.

“You’re leaking for me, my sweet Chaos. You’re so desperate for it, aren’t you?” God that smoky voice does terrible things to me .

A whimper escapes my throat. “For you,” I clarify with a groan. “Only for you.”

Chase flips us so suddenly it steals my breath, and suddenly I’m staring up at him. The one who made my world start turning again, stole away the longest of nights and gave me a brand new day.

Finally, finally , he slides my shorts off along with the rest of the clothes that separate us, pressing kisses along my groin and making goosebumps break out across my skin. My dick throbs at the attention. Chase is still in a teasing mood, apparently, because he’s in no rush to end my suffering, sucking my balls into his mouth one at a time before lapping at the pre-come sticking on my head.

Funny how keeping me at the edge of madness helps me find my voice. “Suck me,” I demand. The wicked glint in his eye is telling; I’m really in for it today. He tongues at my slit, and I have to chomp down on the inside of my cheek so I don’t shout. Of course, my troubles don’t go unnoticed as Chase decides my mouth would be more useful if I suck on his fingers.

“That’s it, beautiful. Get them nice and wet for me.”

I do. Like there was ever another option when he uses that tone, full of awe and admiration. When he’s satisfied, he takes them away and sucks the head of my cock in the warm heat of his mouth.

“Fuck,” I hiss, resisting the urge to punch my hips forward, seeking more, more, more. That’s when he slips one naughty finger inside me. He slides it in and out in time with the bob of his head. The need to touch him overwhelms me. When I slide my fingers into his soft dark hair, he looks up at me approvingly. He rewards me with a second finger. The slight burn is so, so good, giving me a taste of what I crave.

Heat gathers low in my belly, making me grind my teeth, trying to force myself back from the edge. I want this perfect torture; I crave the way he forces my body to incredible highs, and there’s no way I want this to be over so soon.

Chase hums as he swallows around my length, the vibrations of his throat make my eyes roll back in my head. I barely notice the third finger sliding in and out of my ass. When he crooks them just right, I feel it all the way down to my toes.

Sensing how close I am, he pulls off my cock with an audible pop, continuing to massage my prostate with dizzying perfection. “You’re so gorgeous like this, sweetheart. Riding my fingers like a fucking pro.”

Something unintelligible falls from my lips, probably more begging if I’m being honest. He’s not even touching my dick and I’m about to fucking come. “Please,” I whine as the desperate need for release starts to become too great to ignore. “I want to come with you inside me.”

“I love that filthy mouth you’re getting. So fucking hot.” He doesn’t ease up his ministrations in the slightest. When he seals his mouth over me and sucks, I’m done for. My toes curl, my spine bows and pure ecstasy floods my veins. Chase takes it all, draining me dry until I whimper for relief.

He sits back on his haunches, rock-hard cock jutting out obscenely, and smirks at me like an evil mastermind. “What’s that look for?” I ask breathlessly, raising an eyebrow at him. He only taps my knees in response. When I don’t move, he does it again.

What the fuck is going on?

Surely, he can’t mean…

Slowly, I lift my knees to my chest, baring my most intimate parts to him and any unlucky plane that flies overhead. Embarrassment burns in my face all the way to the tops of my ears. Being on display like this, in broad daylight nonetheless, has me questioning reality a bit.

Like he can hear my thoughts running rampant, Chase brings his hand to his face and spits. I think my jaw just came unhinged. “What… what are you doing?”

He uses my cum to slick his cock, and my heart stops beating. “I’m doing what you wanted, Chaos.”

The remainder, he uses to work inside me, and I’m too dumbfounded to move an inch. When his head taps my slickened hole, my body is still too relaxed from the orgasm to resist. Not that I would, but I’m so confused.

Chase slides home in one long thrust. “Goddamn,” I groan. He feels amazing inside me, so fucking deep.

“So tight,” he growls, teeth clenched so hard, I’m surprised he doesn’t crack one. My body feels like it went into overdrive. Everything is too much, I’m too sensitive. Fuck, I’m burning alive. “You’re going to be a good boy and come for me again, aren’t you, baby?”

His breath fans over my face, his eyes threaten to consume me. “I can’t,” I croak. “I’ve never?—”

“You can,” he interrupts. “Look at yourself, gorgeous. You’re so greedy for another one that you’re already taking it. I’m not the one moving.”

Well, low and fucking behold, he’s right. My hips are gently rocking against him, sending painful shockwaves to my over sensitive prostate. I’m still hard, too. It’s almost insulting how well he knows my body better than I do.

“Now, relax, and let me fuck it out of you.”

He starts slow, fucking me deep and giving me time to adjust. I allow myself to get lost in the unending depths of his eyes and simply enjoy. The smell of the grass and salt from our combined sweat fills my nose. Chase drops down to his forearms and intertwines our hands together by my head. My heels lock together on his ass, and we’re as connected as two people can be. Each of my exhales becomes his next breath .

He’s all I can see, hear, and feel, and it’s everything I was scared to hope for. More, honestly.

Chase speeds up, enough that the impossible orgasm he wanted out me is so close I can fucking taste it. I squeeze his hand so hard that the bones grind.

My thighs are on fire, burning with the tight grip I’ve got him locked in, but I’ll be damned if I let him go. The friction of his abs grating against my dick makes my nerve endings crackle and my balls draw up tight.

“I’m gonna—” The blunt end of my nails dig into the back of his hands as he hits that spot inside me just right. “Fuck. Chase. Right there.” He’s relentless as he draws my pleasure from my body, and when our lips meet in an almost-kiss out of pure need, I explode.

Warm cum jets from my slit and coats my chest and even up to my neck, going on and on until my vision goes wonky and my throat is raw from keeping a scream from coming out. Chase is seconds behind me, the feeling of his cock jerking and painting my insides with his release is unlike any other. I don’t know if I pull him down or if he collapses on top of me, but as we grow sticky, the mess drying between our spent bodies, I realize how euphoric trusting him enough to let go truly is.

The sweet nothings we share and lazy kisses we swap while we wait for our muscles to re-solidify make my heart perk up and pay attention. I wasn’t prepared for him, for this, but it doesn’t change that he’s the best thing to ever happen to me. Maybe, just maybe, I can keep him, be good enough for him. Maybe, we have a real chance.