Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

CHASE

W ith my jaw hanging open, so utterly dumbstruck, I stand blocking the doorway. Easton is obviously uncomfortable, hiking his backpack further onto his shoulder, preparing for me to send him away, and not making eye contact like he can’t even face me to hear the dismissal he’s sure is coming.

“Uhh,” I begin under my breath, sparing Brady a backward glance over my shoulder, seeing him blissfully unaware that the world has just shifted on its axis. “Shit.”

Easton’s scowl deepens, no doubt with something snarky on his tongue, but his brother calls out before he can. “Ace, quit fucking flirting with the delivery guy, would you?”

His voice has a familiar teasing lilt, but with the way it causes Easton to pale, he isn’t as sure of himself as he thinks he is. I snap out of my stupor, stepping aside to give him room to come inside. “Brady, you better come see this,” I return.

Shock renders me incapable of anything more, besides the rapid blinking it takes to try and absorb what is before my eyes—half sure it’s a particularly barbed dream. But when I saw him in my subconscious, the years had been kinder to him. When I met Easton, he was a cute kid.

Now? He’s undeniably gorgeous—high cheekbones, fully plush lips that are made even more tempting by the scowl he wears. It’s the type of look that makes me want to kiss it away. But there is an edge to his beauty that worries me. The way I can see the razor sharp lines to his shoulders and collarbone beneath the thin white T-shirt he wears. His cuticles are torn to shreds on his elegant fingers.

Ah, how I can count the red flags that should alarm me. Red, however, is stunning on him.

Shuffling footsteps approach us, forcing Easton to crowd against the closed door. If I had all of my wits about me, I’d have intercepted Brady and warned him what he’d be walking in and seeing. The guilt is bitter on my tongue as I watch my best friend get blindsided—one second, everything is normal in his life, if admittedly a little sad, but it doesn’t have a thing on the way it is to watch all the color drain from his face and hear the broken question that comes out of his mouth. It isn’t much, just a name, but enough to ensure I’d bury this kid if he only came back to break Brady’s heart.

“Eas?”

I should put lawn ornament on my resume for all the good I’m doing, just standing here, trying to get my brain to come back online while watching this unfold.

“You came back?” he asks as he takes a couple large steps forward, like he intends to embrace his long-lost brother, but when Easton flinches like he is expecting a strike, he drops them uselessly at his sides.

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

At long last, I can speak. “Why after all this time?”

Brady’s answering glare could melt steel, but someone had to ask it. Easton was a child the last time either of us saw him, we don’t know him as an adult at all .

He’s grabbing that damn backpack of his like it’s the only thing keeping him from darting off. “Things change,” he says. “I need a place to crash until I get back on my feet.”

It’d be too easy if he just came out with it and said he wants to steal a flatscreen so he can pawn it for blow or something. “Of course you can stay,” Brady assures him. Not like I thought for a minute he’d deny him, but it still makes me uneasy. Easton has obviously had a rough go of it recently, and I’m not entirely sure he’s not just going to bolt, so I find myself saying, “He can stay with me.” Brady raises his eyebrows at me, and Easton’s nose scrunches like a bunny. It’d be adorable under different circumstances. “You don’t have a place for him to sleep, Bray.”

Technically true. The couch is second hand and lumpy, and his spare bedroom doesn’t have anything in it but cardboard boxes.

The shriek of the fire alarm startles all of us, more so Easton. He glances around nervously while trying to fold into himself. Brady swears and darts off to the kitchen with me close on his heels. If I don’t stop this fucking sound soon, I’m going to do something dramatic. Probably take a screwdriver to my temple. While he throws the flaming pan of god knows what in the sink, I grab a broom to jab the wailing demon. The smoke burns my eyes, making them water.

“Dude, rip it out of the fucking ceiling,” Brady shouts through a cough. He doesn't have to tell me twice. One good swing of the broom and the damn thing is swinging from the ceiling, close enough now that I can yank it down and smash it.

On cat’s feet, Easton slips in between us and pulls the window over the sink open so the smoke can dissipate. I spin to face him when I hear a yelp, zeroing in on the angry red welt about halfway up his forearm.

“Are you okay? ”

He rolls his pretty doe eyes. “Fine. That pan is hot, in case you didn’t know,” he snaps.

I bite my lip so I don’t laugh, not that he’s funny but because he’s doing a shit job at pretending it doesn’t hurt, and I’m sure he won’t appreciate me pointing that out. “Chaos, thy name is Callaghan,” I mumble, thinking more of Brady, but it sure fits him too. “Let’s get you bandaged up, yeah?”

His ocean eyes narrow while his bottom lip trembles. “It’s fine.”

“Yeah, it looks like it.” He glances down to see it is already swollen, and it looks like it will blister.

“I can do it.”

“I’m sure.”

Despite his protests, he allows me to steer him to the hall bathroom with a hand on his shoulder to the melodious chorus of Brady hacking up a lung. I internally roll my eyes, maybe he should be worried about his own heart health. Easton surprises me when he doesn’t fuss when I pat the counter indicating for him to hop up. Poor guy can’t decide if he wants to cop an attitude with me or not, like he feels like he should, but doesn’t really want to. He’s not the only one confused, that’s for fucking sure.

After turning the tap on lukewarm, I loosely grip his wrist and guide it under the stream. An almost silent whimper of pain catches in his throat, I would have missed it if we were more than a breath apart. The closeness is already threatening to make my brain hazy, and I’m going out of my way not to notice the long lines of his throat and the harsh set of his jaw.

I open my mouth to apologize for hurting him, but it dries on my tongue. There’s no way I trust myself to speak, I can’t even decide what to make of him. Hell, I can’t even decide if any of this is really happening or if it’s some twisted dream I’m about to wake up from. I go through the motions of getting him cleaned and bandaged on autopilot, stealing glances, trying to feel him out.

When I’m done, I take a step back and clear my throat. “Better?”

“Um, yeah. It’s, um, good.”

So informative he is. “The bandage isn’t too tight?”

“No.”

Good talk, I guess. I take another small step back, as much as the narrow bathroom will allow, and nod towards the door. “Okay then.” He slides off the countertop, just in time for what I hope is an adrenaline crash making him sway dangerously on his feet. “Whoa, easy,” I breathe, grabbing his elbow to steady him. He leans into me, and something hot and fiery flares to life in my chest, something I don’t even recognize. But before whatever it is can even begin, Easton pushes against me and stalks off with rediscovered energy.

A trend seems to be developing where he leaves me dumbstruck, and I’m not sure how to feel about it. I hurry to catch up and find him back in the living room while Brady looks like a puppy being held behind a baby gate. He’s really trying not to overwhelm Eas, but the questions have basically leapt out of him already and are bouncing around the room. Even if he’s not saying anything, they’re everywhere. How he’s managing to keep all of them silent, I may never know.

In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him show so much restraint. As much as I hate it—and I do, Brady’s openness is one of my favorite qualities about him—Easton needs to get out of here so he can sleep. He’s practically dead on his feet, and some part of me really wants to protect him, even if it’s from Brady, and that makes no sense at all. None whatsoever.

I get his attention and nod for him to come over. “How you doing, bud?” I ask, lowering my voice. Not that Easton is paying us any attention, he’s barely even standing.

Brady winces. “I think I’m in shock.”

“That’s fair. Are you all right? I can always walk him next door and come back if you need me.”

His lips pull up in a sad smile. “No way, don’t worry about me. Y’all should go back to your place. We can all talk tomorrow.” He starts to turn away, but hesitates. “Just take good care of him, okay?”

“I will, Brady.”

Not that I ever really had a choice. I failed him once, I can’t stand to do it again.

“Hey, Easton?” He looks up from whatever train of thought had run away with him, which isn’t good if the storm clouds in his bloodshot eyes were any indication. “You about ready to get out of here?”

“Whatever.” His words say one thing, but the way his posture sags in relief says something entirely different.

Panic rises in Brady’s eyes as Easton walks away, so I pull him into a quick hug and mutter that we’ll be back tomorrow with as much sincerity as possible, and follow Easton before I can second-guess myself.

He lingers on the cracked sidewalk, waiting for me to give him direction, looking every bit a fallen angel with that messy near white hair and haunted look on his face.

“We’re just going next door.” I point to my house to the left and shove my hands in the pocket of my hoodie so I don’t do something stupid like try to tuck him under my arm.

He scoffs. “Aren’t you two too old for the Bert and Ernie routine?”

It comes out a bit harsh, but I don’t take it personally. It is strange, but it’s not like we planned it this way, just the way the chips fell. “Geez, I hope not, we have way too much fun confusing people.”

“What do you mean?”

He trails about a half step behind me, hovering close enough that our arms brush every other heartbeat. I doubt Easton is even aware of it, but I find myself to be disappointed when we make it to my front door.

“We stopped letting all that talk get to us years ago. Brady and I are closer than the average pair of friends, sure, but it’s not like we’re going to start drawing boundaries that we don’t want so other people are more comfortable. It’s easier to stop resisting and lean into it. We know the score, even if no one else does.”

I get the door unlocked and switch on the light, kind of grateful I’m not here enough for it to get very cluttered. We’re in the backyard as much as the weather allows, especially this time of year, so besides the throw blanket on the couch I should have folded, it’s not half bad.

He’s quiet behind me. “I suppose that makes sense.”

Man, I could have decorated more. My place is a little bare bones, I can admit that. Brady and I have been pretty tunnel-visioned about renovating, everything else got put on the back burner. “So this is obviously the living room,” I begin, gesturing as I go. “Office, kitchen, bathroom, and your room is here.”

The door opens to reveal a meager guest room that only exists because Parker spent his spring break here so we could do the Seattle thing. There’s a bed with no sheets on it, dresser, and small nightstand courtesy of a long ass day at IKEA. At least we painted; it was the most unfortunate shade of pink for the longest time that did a damn good job of proving that the previous owners and I had nothing in common when it comes to color palettes.

“It’s not much, but the bed is comfortable, or my brother was nice enough to lie about it. One or the other.” I shrug, wishing for a way to diffuse the uncomfortable energy we can’t seem to ditch. WWLD is the question of the evening. What would Logan do? Well, for starters, she wouldn’t have let things be weird this long; she can find common ground with a fucking fence post. But if for some reason it didn’t work, she’d push past it and make sure he’s settled.

Yeah, okay. I can do this.

I grab bedding from the closet at the end of the hall and get to work. When I feel his eyes on me, I look up to find him looking nervous. “Everything okay, Chaos?” The nickname was supposed to soften him but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Let me do it, please.” His voice quakes and those damn eyes bore into me. “Please,” he begs again.

I drop the linen and hold my hands up in surrender. “If that’s what you want,” I say slowly. This is not the mountain I die on, that’s for certain. He nods fervently, so my feet move backwards a few steps. As much as I’m confused, a pang of sympathy hits me. There’s something scratching at the corner of mind, begging for attention, insisting it’s got answers I’m supposed to be seeing on my own. But it’s been a hell of a day, even before Easton showed up and tilted my world on its axis. Whatever it is, it slips away before I can grab it, so I ask him if needs anything, tell him there’s towels in the closet when he insists he doesn’t, and make a swift getaway to the safety of my bedroom.

I don’t have the slightest clue what sent Easton to his brother’s doorstep, and subsequently, my spare bedroom, but my gut tightens when I consider the possibilities. None of them are good.

All I can do is hope that this is a fresh start for him and that I’m doing the right thing, but I’m not sure it’s enough.