Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

EASTON

W hen Chase slows his car to a stop and parks it in front of baggage claim, I’m thoroughly confused. I’ve been looking for his friend, Blake—even in my own head that sounds like a sneer—and I don’t see anyone that would fit the bill. There're families with kids, an older couple and a girl about his age with a backpack slung over her shoulders who is obviously waiting for someone.

He throws his door open and reaches over towards me, wraps his warm hand around my wrist and squeezes gently. As fast as it happened, he’s gone and out of the car, swinging the girl up into a rib crushing hug.

Oh. Maybe I judged the name a little too quickly. Blake does not appear to be a super-hot guy coming to rekindle an old flame with Chase. They get back in the car, laughing about something or the other while mentally, I’m still trying to switch gears and keep an open mind. Whatever that means.

I watch his friend get settled behind me in the rearview mirror. After she buckles the seatbelt, she looks up and smiles, wide open and as genuine as they come when she catches my eye.

“Hi, I’m Blakely,” she says.

“Blake, this is Easton.”

It takes about three seconds for the recognition to kick in. Watching it dawn on her feels about as good as a swift kick in the ribs. Ask me how I know. I don’t know if it would have been better if no one knew who I was because Brady or Chase never mentioned me, but it sure stings that they did and still ghosted me.

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” she starts. “Are you in town visiting your brother?”

Million dollar question, especially considering I have no idea what they’ve said to this girl about me. Maybe she doesn’t even know we were estranged. “Something like that,” I manage.

She lights up, literally like someone turned on a lightbulb behind her sternum. “That’s so great. You’ll love Seattle, there’s so much to do. There’s an art exhibit coming up that I bought tickets to but I don’t think I’ll be back in time for it. I’ll email them to Chase and you can use them.”

Even mentioning art flays me wide open; I haven’t even so much as picked up a pencil in forever. But Blakely has no way of knowing she touched a nerve so I try to muscle through it. “That’d be awesome, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s a traveling exhibit so I may try to catch it somewhere else, but there’s no reason for the tickets to be wasted.”

Chase’s warm palm spreads over my fingers where I’m digging into my denim clad kneecaps. He takes over the conversation with Blake, catching up about this or that, but I’m only half listening. Chase’s hand on my leg is making my brain leak out of my ears. I can’t even figure out what his goal is until he encourages me with soft touches to ease up on my grip. When I do, the corner of his mouth twitches in an almost smile and his head moves just slightly in a nod of approval.

He takes his hand back now that I’m not clawing at myself, and a whine nearly escapes my throat. The sudden absence of contact leaves me feeling weirdly warm and buzzy. I really need to get my head on straight. Consider the lesson learned; I never want to be dependent on someone like that again because when I had to leave, it was terrifying how easy it would have been for him to stop me. I need to focus. Figure out a life plan and start checking boxes: GED, college, career. I don’t want to waste another moment, I can’t.

I won’t.

My head snaps up when I hear my name. From the reflection in Blakely’s eyes looking back at me, it’s not the first time she’s said it. Fucking hell, the way he would lay into me if I didn’t hear him. My body threatens to curl up on me just thinking about it. “I-I’m sorry. What did you say?”

Both of them have endless patience in their eyes. It shocks me to my core. “It’s okay, I was just wondering where you came in from,” Blakely says.

“Umm.” Do I lie? I can’t think of why I should.

She’s quick to double back. “Not that you have to tell me, of course. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s fine. Boston, actually.”

Chase raises his dark eyebrows. “Jeez, that’s a long trip.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” I grumble.

It was eighty-one hours on a bus that smelled like body odor and desperation, and I spent every second of it trying not to get carsick or jump out the window in hopes that a semi would run over me. The only thing that stops me from abandoning this whole idea is that I have three dollars and fifty-seven cents left after buying a one-way bus ticket to Seattle, and this was the only thing keeping me out of a homeless shelter.

Blakely hums behind me. “It’s good you came,” she announces, like it’s that easy. Like some broken piece finally slid into place when I stepped off that bus and breathed my first breath of clean Washington air. Like everything makes sense now after years of muddled reality and now we’re right in the middle of blinding clarity and everyone is better off for it.

Like I didn’t have some sort of sick flashback this morning when I heard Chase leave for work this morning, leaving me too triggered to even be in the same room as that damn bed or make myself a cup of coffee. I could not convince myself that my ex wouldn’t materialize in front of me and knock the shit out of me for sleeping in my sweats last night or call me a worthless piece of shit until it was engraved on my bones because I didn’t wait on him to start the pot brewing.

“Why do you look familiar?” I ask Blakely suddenly. The words tumble out of my mouth before I realize she is mid-word and I interrupted her. “Sorry,” I add. “I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve seen you before and it’s kind of driving me crazy.”

Chase sniggers. “How into paparazzi clickbait are you?”

“Shit, are you famous or something?”

She throws her head back and laughs. “No way. Only the most dedicated internet stalkers would recognize me from those things.”

I’m grateful for the distraction, but I almost slip up and tell her that I totally might fall into that category. Sue me, I’d get bored like anyone else, and it was just mind-numbing enough to do the trick since he suggested I get off social media. “That sounds like something a famous person would say.”

Chase eyes me from the driver’s seat, making my skin heat. “Does the name Landon Ellison ring a bell for you?” If I was drinking water, it would have ended in a spit-take. I’m not even into basketball but everyone knows about the hot player in LA taking over the league. Chase takes sympathy on me and clarifies. “Easton, meet my very good friend, Blakely Ellison—Landon’s college sweetheart.”

That’s totally where I recognize her from. She gets photographed with him just about anytime they go out in public together. “Does it count as college sweethearts for us though? Because my vote is no, but no one sees it that way.”

“How is that something you’re not sure about?” I ask before I can think better of it.

Chase rolls his eyes. “Don’t let her fool you, Easton, she would be the last person to know something like that. Blakely and Landon were head over heels for each other for years and had no fucking clue. Made for a cute story but it definitely proved that she’s not observant about her own life.”

He says it so fondly, even when he’s teasing her, and she doesn’t look even mildly offended. It reminds me of Brady. He could never ditch that fondness, even if he was mad that I accidentally saved over his progress in his favorite video game or dropped the lego figurine he spent hours putting together. I buried all those memories six feet under when I ran away and then cemented over them for good measure.

Once upon a time, anger and disappointment didn’t dilute love, but that was a long time ago.

“You guys make a beautiful couple,” I tell her, and she smiles kindly at me in return. These people make it easy to pretend I’m not currently a basket case. To just fall into their playful banter and let my hand dance in the breeze as one street blends into another. The sun warms my skin, the air smells like tree bark and rain, making me feel almost human. As long as I can ignore the way each blink grits against my eyes like sandpaper and the overwhelming urge to curl up in Chase’s lap and die.

Maybe he’d pet my hair or something while it’s happening, make it nice for me.

I hate feeling like this. Like leaving my relationship is somehow equivalent to walking out of a war-zone. It makes no sense to me; I was fine for so long but now I’m very much not. And I’m not great at keeping things close to my chest, I like talking through things with someone I trust. It was him for years, even when it didn’t go like I’d hoped, he was always the person I went to. Now, my head is worse than it’s ever been, and my instincts are telling me to lean into someone about it but they obviously have led me astray before and I’m terrified to get burned again.

So, yeah, maybe Chase is great. But so was he. In the beginning, he was the best of the best. Cream of the crop, as my asshole father would say. So maybe Chase is nice now, but if I’m wrong about him and I give history the chance to repeat itself, there’s no way I can survive that. Not even romantically, but trusting anyone in that capacity again and then not understanding what I did to make them switch up on me is more than I can handle.

So, I won’t give him the chance. I won’t give anyone the chance. Never again.

~~~

Chase

Easton and Blakely are getting along, just like I knew they would, and it does my anxious soul some good to see. Fuck knows why I’m so invested, but leaning into the crazy seems like the way to go. Blake has this really powerful talk to me energy and it’s interesting to watch Easton try to resist. He’s chewing on his lip to keep his mouth shut, so I leave them in the kitchen making brownies to take a call from my mom, and am lingering in the backyard in case Easton starts blurting out things that he doesn’t want me to hear.

However, on another fun note, my mom used the phrase I can’t keep a lid on this much longer, and supposedly, I’m not supposed to panic about that. It’s like she never met me sometimes. As if I’ll be able to think about anything else between that and whatever the hell is going on in my home life—which I couldn’t explain if someone was paying me for it. The plan was to take Brady to Chicago, my family expects it, but the thought of leaving Easton makes me feel physically ill. Why? He’s an adult, I’m sure fully capable of feeding himself for a couple of days. Why shoving bamboo shoots under my fingernails sounds like a better alternative remains a fucking mystery.

How would I even bring that up? Hey, Easton, I know we’re basically strangers and you probably don’t want a thing to do with me, but want to come home and meet my certifiably insane family so I’m not worried about you? Also, what do I do? Show up with both of them in tow like a couple of minions following around a bald-headed evil-doer with a soft spot for orphans?

Yeah, because that’s not weird.

Tires crunching on my gravel driveway force me back inside after ending my call, a tendril of dread lodging itself somewhere behind my sternum at the arrival of my best friend. Something I haven’t felt since walking into our closet of a dorm room six years ago when I met him and not knowing if he’d hate me for simply existing.

The house smells warm and inviting, the rich chocolate in the air making my mouth water. Easton looks my way when the floorboards creak, announcing my entrance. My heart stutters in my chest when he blinks up at me with a peaceful look on his face that I haven’t seen on him yet. That right there—I want more of that .

“Brownies should be ready soon,” he tells me, showing off his perfect dimple on the left side of his face in a sugary smile.

Brownies don’t even make my top twenty list of favorite treats but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “I can’t wait. They smell so good I may need a pan to myself.”

That sweetness transforms into staggering radiance. It knocks the air clean out of my lungs, it’s like a solar eclipse right in the middle of my remodeled kitchen. Too wonderful to look at but also ensnares you, captivates you. Convinces you it’s better to lose your sight rather than miss its fleeting brilliance.

Then the door opens, and I have the massive displeasure of watching that wondrous event ripped away from the sky right in front of my eyes, leaving a dreary dimness in its wake. Brady comes in, no knock or announcement of any kind just like he’s done a thousand times before, and for the first time ever, I find myself resenting the lack of privacy. Easton has no warning, no opportunity to prepare himself for the sudden intrusion.

Not intrusion, he’s my best friend. I’ve allowed him free rein since we met and it’s never bothered me before this very moment. It’s a fluke. It has to be.

“Hey, man,” I say lightly.

He up-nods me but his gaze lands behind me as a grimace takes over his feature. Curiosity makes my head turn and look over my shoulder, surprised to find Easton has shifted so that he’s mostly hidden behind me. Shielding himself from his own brother. But why? What possible reason could there be? I could count the number of words they’ve exchanged since yesterday on my fingers, but Easton is visibly tense and uncomfortable. And what he thinks I can do to help is a mystery for Scooby and the Gang because I’m coming up empty .

“Brady! Look at you, a sight for sore eyes. Good to see the band didn’t break up while I was away.”

He lifts the corner of his mouth in a half smile as he pulls her in a one-armed hug. “Hey there, Blakely.” He looks at me and I can see the conviction in his eyes. “No way. Ace will never be rid of me.”

Why would I want to get rid of him? Am I picking sides? Because I did not sign up for that. Not to my knowledge at least.

“Nope. We’re locked in until the bitter end, unfortunately.” I lighten it with a quirk of my lips and it seems to soothe whatever territorial bullshit he was feeling.

My guard hasn’t lowered enough for him to get a clear view of Easton, though. “Hey, Eas.”

He’s close enough that I can hear him swallow thickly. “Hey.” Stiff and unfeeling, no traces whatsoever of the boy who couldn’t stop the emotion from pouring from his eyes after just a few months apart. Maybe years is a deeper canyon than they can overcome.

There’s a clawing desperation threatening to rip me to shreds to get even more space between them, only physically so that Easton can take a deep breath again. “Your arm,” I say stupidly to the butterfly refrigerator magnet.

“Huh?”

I cough to clear my throat. “Your arm. I haven’t checked your bandage today. Totally should, it could get infected.”

His voice is barely a sigh. “Okay.” He barely had the sound out before I was gingerly guiding him away. Away, away, away, like it was my business to do so when really only the opposite was true.

He is a dutiful thing, I’ll give him that. I got none of the snark from last night and he hopped up onto the counter without even so much as a glare. Maybe getting him out of the room for a minute was the right thing to do after all. Either that or his arm was giving him trouble, neither of which were options I particularly enjoyed.

“How bad is it hurting?” I ask as I start pulling what I need from the drawers.

He looks at me through his almost translucent eyelashes. “I’ve had worse.”

Is he always so indirect? “I don’t think that’s what I asked, Chaos.”

After I peel back the bandage, the answer can be assumed by how red and ugly the blister is. The sympathy wince on my part can’t be avoided. “Do you really care? It’s only a small burn.”

If Brady is a fluffy golden retriever, then Easton would be the gun-shy stray cat that darts away before you can pet it but looks at you with big sad eyes afterward. Good thing I have all the time in the world to earn his trust. “Small or not, I care a great deal if something is causing you pain. Especially if I can do something to alleviate it. So how bad are we dealing with here?”

He looks positively gobsmacked, like he truly expects me to be indifferent. Those creeping suspicions rear their ugly heads again as I uselessly ask myself why.

“It doesn't feel great, but it’s manageable if I make myself not think about it too much.”

His cheeks darken to a dusty pink, like even admitting he’s capable of feeling pain embarrasses him. “We’ll keep an eye on it, okay? But you have to tell me if the pain gets to be too bad and you want to see someone for it.”

I eye him carefully, trying to appear serious. The last thing I want is for him to clam up if it’s too much. He chuckles airily. “Don’t worry, I can deal just fine.”

“I’m sure you can.”

He searches my face for something while I finish what the task at hand, but seems to either find what he's looking for or is willing to let it go. I’m just about to tell him he’s all set, but something just above the bandage catches my attention.

“What is this from?” I murmur, thumbing it carefully. It’s a scar; an imperfect circle just above the crook of his arm that must not have healed properly because the interior is filled with tiny bumps and ridges.

Easton takes in a shaky breath and hops down, crowding me for a moment and giving me the faintest trace of his scent—warm, like amber with a trace of citrus. Goosebumps break out over my arms, and I see something like heat in his eyes. But before I can be sure, it’s gone, and he steps past me without a word.

“Get it together,” I mumble to myself. Fucking hell. What am I going to do with this guy? The question isn’t even all the way out in my head before I answer it. Whatever he wants, because I’m starting to think while this may be my house and my life he walked in on, I am not the one running this show.

I stalk off to go find my ringmaster because I’m a well-trained monkey like that, and find him cornered against the fridge holding a carton of almond milk like a life preserver, looking like he walked straight out of the frying pan and into the fryer.

Goddamn Brady and those catchy ass phrases. What an asshole.

The man himself was in the middle of a sentence. “… he’s gone, we can go check out the glass museum or something.”

Easton looks furious, those ocean eyes are a dark and stormy hurricane, but then he turns them on me. “You’re leaving?” he demands.

Right, Mom needs me to come home. “Yes, I have to. Not for long, though. I’ll probably leave Friday night and be back on Sunday.”

“So that’s that then? ”

Alex, I’d like to buy a vowel. Several, actually. “What do you mean, Easton?”

He huffs. “You’re leaving me here?” He looks at me imploringly and then darts his gaze to Brady.

“Easton, you’ve got to stop acting like we’re strangers. You’re my baby brother.” Brady looks fractured, like this is ripping some essential piece straight from his chest.

Blakely looks around like she accidentally walked on to a daytime soap opera set and very much would like to leave as Easton snaps, “I don’t think I ever knew you at all, Brady. Not in any way that mattered.” Okay, so we’re going straight for the jugular. Awesome. “Chase,” he implores.

I don’t even have to think about it. “Come home with me.”

His eyes widen. “You mean it?”

“If you really want to come, of course I do.”

Easton looks so adorably shy. “But I’d be meeting your family.”

“That would be the point, yes. If you don’t want to stay here while I’m gone, that’s a route we could easily go with.”

One brother beams as the other crumbles, the latter doing everything he can to hide it. I really am the worst kind of person. There is no way both of them can be happy at the same time. What should I have done? Asked Brady’s permission? I’m not crossing state lines with a minor here, and I can’t imagine just telling Easton to tough it out. He’s so uncomfortable around Brady, leaving him here alone with him will more likely damage their relationship than it will heal it. At least I think so. Easton doesn’t strike me as fragile but definitely brittle, and the wrong move on Brady’s part will make him shatter. I want to be able to keep him around long enough that they can really work through things, so what’s one weekend in the grand scheme of things?

Blakely is conveniently ignoring the tension in exchange for eating the brownies while they’re still warm while I’m left drowning miles from shore out here. “If you’re sure it’s okay with you, I’d like that a lot,” Easton says.

“That’s a great idea, buddy.” Brady forces it out like one would admit to kicking puppies professionally. “I’m gonna take off. I’ll see you before your flight, though.”

He claps Easton on the shoulder and finally releases him from the stainless steel prison. “Bray,” I start but he quickly jumps in to interrupt.

“All good. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ace.”

I have to try again. “Brady.”

With far more effort than should be necessary, I manage to corral him by the front door. “Just come with us. I didn’t mean to write you off like that.”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s fine. I’ll transfer my ticket to Eas when I get home.”

My heart contracts painfully. “That’s not what I want. Come on. It’s almost your birthday. Don’t stay back here and be miserable. It might help take the pressure off, anyway.”

If he cracks a tooth from the way his jaw is grinding, I won’t be surprised. “You and I both know that’s not how it’ll go. That’s a lot of new people all at once for him to get used to and it’ll be easier on him without me there.” He slips around me, flashes a two finger wave on his way out, but doesn’t stop or turn around, just stalks out of my house like he never belonged there at all.