Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

CHASE

I n five minutes, the most perfect moment will be over. He’s beautiful in the gray morning light filtering through the curtains. He’s all sleep-warmed skin and rosy cheeks and utter peacefulness. The minutes have stretched into hours right in front of my eyes, and I still haven’t had my fill. He’s intoxicating. I’ve watched every twitch of his eyelids and fingers like I’ll be quizzed when it’s over. My hands are twisted in his T-shirt, anchoring him in place, itching for the feeling of his bare skin.

Easton is a messy sleeper, he’s got the blanket rucked up by his ears enough that my feet are uncovered. Somehow the case from the pillow behind my head is off and somewhere behind his shoulder. He literally wrapped the top sheet around his fist and yanked it loose, reasons unknown, but to hell with the damn thing. I am very impressed.

The one thing that has not changed throughout his round-the-world travels in my bed is that Easton absolutely must be touching me at all times. Every time he nuzzles deeper into my chest, he makes this little happy noise; a kind of hum and a breathy sigh that I’m rapidly becoming addicted to.

The outside world doesn’t exist when he’s in this bed, finding comfort in my arms. I haven’t even cared to check my phone. Life is continuing on while I’m watching this clock on the wall begging for time to stand still.

My dynamic with Easton is becoming very powerful; fast enough that my head is still spinning trying to catch up but there’s no way I can slow it down or put a stop to it now. Something bone-deep is motivating me, some intrinsic force well beyond my control.

I may not have the people skills to properly dissect the whys of me being so drawn to Easton or to know how to make this easier on him or Brady, but I’m pretty damn good at feeling the room out. Logan tells me all the time that she sees a lot of me in Sage, and until Easton got here, I thought she was making it up.

My niece is already the kindest soul on the planet who easily seeks out the person in most need of joy and tries to make them happy. She finds the lonely kid at the playground and makes friends with them, or trades giggles in a restaurant with the stressed out server. Logan says it comes from me. My siblings are much more outgoing and likely to light up the room with colorful stories but apparently the individualized care is more my thing. I thought she was just being a good sister and talking me up, but maybe she was onto something.

Granted, this thing with my best friend’s brother goes well beyond what I normally would do for someone, but Easton has always been a part of my friendship with Brady. Even if it was just pictures he’d show me or stories he’d tell about his favorite person. Losing him left us with a gaping wound. It was a palpable thing; it tried to heal, but at the slightest prodding would reopen and bleed again and again. I know if Brady was seeing the things that I am, he would understand why I’m being so protective of him. Easton’s emotions are a summer thunderstorm right now. They come out unexpectedly, seemingly out of nowhere, and are so powerful that they can halt you in your tracks.

But what Brady is missing is that they clear up just as fast as they came in, and the sunshine afterwards is something to behold.

It’s not my story to tell, and betraying Easton’s fragile trust by going behind his back and trying to explain things to his brother is quite simply not an option.

But alas, my time to poke at this whole ordeal has run out. I rub Easton’s back encouragingly. “Time to wake up, sweetheart. I let you sleep as long as I could.”

He grumbles and groans a little but those pretty ocean eyes peek out at me. “Good morning,” he mumbles.

“Morning, Chaos. How’d you sleep?”

He sits up, stretching like a cat and revealing the slightest teasing line of pale skin at the bottom of his shirt, making my mouth dry out. “So good. I’m going to mess up and get used to sleeping this much and end up miserable when I have a whole bed to myself again.”

“Is that why you’re having trouble?”

He regards me carefully, eyebrows slightly and nose scrunched up. “Um. Not quite how you think, but kind of.”

I’d call that a non-answer but he seems to be making an effort, so I might as well see how far he wants to go with it. “What about having a warm body next to you makes it easier?”

Easton cocks his head, platinum hair flopping over to one side. “Not a warm body,” he corrects solemnly. “You.”

How can one word change so much? Validate my efforts, soothe my doubts all in one breath. “Me?” It’s almost too good to be true. I don’t know why it feels like the ultimate compliment but it’s about to have pure sunlight pouring out of my chest.

He leans back and crosses his legs, one balanced against my hip. Seems the contact rule extends to when he’s awake too. “Can I tell you something?”

“Anything.”

Easton’s lips purse, like he’s choosing each word carefully. “I got really used to this slimy feeling. It was always kind of there, sometimes worse than others. But it always feels like it’s choking me.” He grimaces, making me lace my fingers together over my chest so I don’t reach out for him. “It makes it hard to do the most basic things like eating or sleeping—hell, even breathing sometimes. It settles at the bottom of my lungs and stomach and makes me feel so awful. I thought it was normal, maybe it is, I really don’t know. But it goes away when you’re around. You make it better, especially at night. I’m not good at a lot of things, but I know a good thing when I see it.” He smiles shyly, making his dimple pop out. “You’re my good thing.”

I no longer identify as living. My heart no longer lives in my chest cavity, it’s laying at his feet. And here I thought that was a cheesy expression reserved for Jane Austen novels. I have to blink a few times and swallow roughly before I can say anything around the lump in my throat. “Fuck, come here,” I rasp, sitting up and pulling him into a fierce hug. “You can’t just say something like that.”

“Why not?” is his muffled reply through a mouthful of my shirt.

My thumb traces the silky short hairs at the base of his skull. “Because you’re too fucking perfect, Chaos. Where the hell have you been?”

The question was meant to be rhetorical, more a sigh of longing than anything. I’m surprised when he answers. “Searching for a sign. ”

I pull back. “I’m glad you found it.”

He nods. “Me too. We’re not going to be late for our flight, are we?”

My phone is on the nightstand so I shrug and grab it. Eh, not great. “We’ll make it. Might need to hurry a bit though.”

Easton slinks off my bed, and hurries off to pack and get dressed. There’s a text from Brady I was ignoring until I was alone and now seems like as good a time as any.

Brady: Maybe it’s unfair of me but I just wish you were on my side. You know what losing him did to me, and now I’m having to watch my best friend referee my reunion. He’s my brother, Ace.

I sigh as my fingers start flying. I don’t think he’s being unfair at all, quite the opposite; he’s being pretty diplomatic, all things considered. But I did the right thing for Easton yesterday and what he said reaffirms it.

Me: I am ALWAYS on your side, Bray. Forever. Full stop. There are things going on behind the scenes here that you’re missing, so I’m only trying to do the right thing by both of you. There’s no how-to guide for this. But there are no sides to it, just two people with a lot to get through. I’m sorry that my actions caused you pain, I never wanted that. Come see us off. Tell Easton you love him and remind him you’ll still be here when he gets back. It may not help, but it might.

See? I can be diplomatic too. I’m trying to be Switzerland here, I really want them to work through this, but there’s a damn ear worm that will not stop insisting that it’s more important for Easton to have a safe place to land.

I’ve gotten no less than five texts from my mom about our arrival, like does Easton like chocolate chip cookies or snickerdoodles, and the classic mom snooping of how many beds should I make up. I love her so much, I really do. She’s quirky and creative, fiercely passionate about both her family and her career. But holy fuck, is she nosy. No detail is too much for her. I learned that the hard way when I overheard the sordid tale of my niece’s conception while I was in the shower.

Please, Chase. I just need to touch up my makeup, I swear I won’t even be five minutes. Yeah, right. Until Mom came in and then it was, I’ll take things I didn’t need to know about my sister for a thousand, Alex. Even the memory makes me shudder in horror.

So, she might be a little much sometimes, but I wouldn’t change her for all the money in the world. I send off a quick I love you, I’ll see you soon since I waited long enough to text her back that she answered her own questions, and it’s mostly just excited nervous energy on her part.

Packing is quick, we won’t be gone long enough for me to really care what I bring, anyway. Once I’ve got what I need and am dressed, I head to the kitchen to heat up the leftovers. What Easton said earlier is stuck in my head, and while I hope he gets to where the day-to-day stuff is easier on him, he really couldn’t find a better place to be staying when he has trouble remembering to eat.

The fact that my mom used to have to do that for me because I’d get distracted with a book or video game for hours at a time is not lost on me.

Either you never grow up or live long enough to see yourself become your parents, or whatever the dark knight said. Twenty-four seems a little young for all that, but if Easton is eating, then I’m a happy man.

Just as the microwave announces the second plate being done, Easton wanders in looking mouthwatering in a tight pair of dark jeans and graphic T-shirt that’s thin enough to show skin. He shoots me a quick, but beautiful, smile and thanks me when I hand over his food before settling on the barstool I’m rapidly starting to consider is his .

“What is this?” he asks, running his fingertip along the grain of the countertop. “It’s so pretty.”

“Labradorite,” I answer automatically. “It was the only one that wasn’t boring.”

Easton’s eyes widen around a mouthful of lo mein. “You picked it out?”

“Yeah. Hell, Brady and I installed it. We refinished and painted all the cabinets, put up the backsplash, and did the counters.”

He takes another bite, looking around with a curious look on his face like he finally is absorbing the space. After a few moments, he speaks. “It’s incredible. I didn’t know that y’all did all this by yourselves.”

I shrug. “It turned out okay.”

The corner of his mouth turns up. “Watch out, an ego that size will make it hard to go through doorways.”

“Such a brat.” A knock on the front door has both of us looking up. Easton’s whole body tenses. “It’s probably just your brother,” I add in as much of a reassuring tone as I can manage. Not that it helps him all that much. “Are you okay if I let him in? I know he’ll want to talk to you but you guys can do it on the porch if that makes you more comfortable.”

He gapes at me. “It’s… my choice?” He asks like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“Yes, Chaos. As long as you’re here, it’s your home too, and I will not let him in if you say no.”

He considers it for a minute, nose full-on bunny scrunched. “He can come in.”

As you wish, my dear. I brush past him on my way to answer the door, making my nerve endings light up. Easton sucks in a sharp breath. Then Brady knocks again, and whatever it was is over. He’s pacing when I open the door, hair tousled with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Have I mentioned I hate that he’s feeling like this? Guilt sits like lead behind my ribs. His attention snaps to me, features set in a mask designed not to reveal anything. “Hey, man,” I mumble lamely.

“Hey.” Brady rolls his shoulder back, as if he needs strength to get the next words out. “Can I come in?”

Not even a week ago, he wouldn’t have ever knocked or asked to come in. He’s walked in on me in all stages of undress, interrupted four different hookups, and never once have either of us felt like we were lacking boundaries. It was just Brady.

Now, I step aside with my throat tight and choke out a barely audible, “Yeah, for sure.” Easton is rigid when we make it back to the kitchen, back as straight as a steel rod. He’s not facing us as he rinses off the dishes we just ate on, but the second he hears our approaching footsteps, he gets impossibly more tense.

“Hey, Eas,” Brady tries.

Nothing. Crickets. Brady waits for one minute then two. After three, he goes for the second attempt. “Are you excited to go to Chicago?” He waits for a few moments then barrels on. “Chase’s family is awesome. They’ll be so excited to meet you. You’re going to have the best time.”

I wonder how long I can stand here and count the tiles on the backsplash above my stove before one of them figures out I’d rather be getting a root canal. They’re pretty tiny, so I’m only up to thirty-four, but I’m just trucking along.

This is so fucking uncomfortable.

So persistent, my friend is. “I wanted to stop by before you leave and tell you I hope you have a good trip and all that.”

That plate at Easton’s mercy is going to be scrubbed down to paper thin before this conversation is over.

“I love you, Easton. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

There it is, the spark that caused the inferno. “You’ve got a lot a fucking nerve,” Easton seethes as the throws the plate down in the sink, shattering it, and spinning around to face his brother. Sixty-five tiles and I’m out. Shit.

“Can you clue me in to your problem with me, Easton? Because I don’t have the slightest clue.”

Was Jamestown the right color for the lower cabinets? Why call it that? It’s dark teal, why not just say that? I thought it matched the counter, but I easily could have gone with black. It felt like the lazy choice though, everything goes with black.

Easton stalks forward and jams his finger in Brady’s chest. “My only problem with you is that you won’t leave me the fuck alone. I don’t know how much clearer I can make it. I don’t want to be around you.”

This is going well. So great. “I just fucking found you again, like hell am I leaving you alone,” Brady exclaims.

Easton turns all that fury my way, yanking my attention away from my awkward musings and throwing me straight into the flames. “Didn’t you say we were going to be late? Why haven’t we fucking left yet?” Before he gave me insight into that pretty head of his, I would have only heard the anger and assumed he was just taking it out on me. But now, it’s crystal clear. Easton is begging, pleading, with me to get him out of here.

And there’s my cue.

“We can go,” I tell him. “Go start up the car, I’ll be right behind you.”

He’s gone in a whirl, taking the car keys off the hook and snagging our bags from the brown leather couch on his way out.

An apology is already halfway out of my mouth when Brady speaks over me. “I’m?—”

“Don’t,” he snaps bitterly. “Don’t apologize or pacify me or whatever you’re about to do. ”

“Okay.”

“Great.”

I hesitate. “So… what now?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Take care of him.”

No. No fucking way. I know that tone, that’s the classic The Better Man Won, now all I can do is bow out gracefully. “Don’t you fucking dare, Brady,” I growl.

“What, Ace? Fucking what??”

There’s defeat in his anger, an awful combination of pain, regret, and something damn close to jealousy. “You cannot give up on him, Brady. You’ll never be able to live with yourself. You’re his brother. That means you’re supposed to stand beside him when it’s hard. Not give up after two fucking days because he’s not being nice enough for you!”

“I’d like to see how Mr. Perfect Response for Everything would handle being hated like this. I really fucking would. Losing him almost destroyed me, you had to hold me together for months! And now he’s back and can’t stand to be around me. I can’t even be happy he’s alive because I don’t know what I did to him!”

I need to go because if I don’t, I’m going to say something I’ll regret.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Brady, and if you let him go again, you’re not the guy I thought you were.”

Like that. Fuck. Brady pales as it sinks in. “The fuck do you mean let him?”

I should apologize. Make amends before Easton and I leave the damn state together. “See you around, Brady.”

Yeah, not happening apparently. I grab my phone and wallet and take off. I’m not doing this right now. This already has Easton freaked out, and the longer I stay in here, the worse it’s going to get. I don’t look back to see the devastation I caused on my best friend’s face.

Can’t keep his little brother waiting, after all .

Easton says nothing when I get into the car and neither do I. His leg is bouncing at the speed of light though, so I know he’s working up to it. When I turn my head over my shoulder to merge on the interstate, he finally lets it out.

“Can we just get it over with?”

Things with him never go how I expect them to. “Say again?”

He huffs, agitated little bunny. “Our argument about me being rude to Brady. Can you just get to the part where you tell me you’re disappointed in my behavior or whatever?”

Not one single time have I ever known what was going to come out of his mouth next. My confusion must show on my face. “Please, because I’m kind of freaking out over here about it and I’d rather get it over with.”

Oh, sweetheart. Who made you think like this? “Easton, your conflict with your brother is between the two of you. I’m not going to police it. If he has an issue, he can bring it up to you. I’m not the deciding factor in anything. I just want both of you to be happy.”

He twists in his seat to face me, one leg tucked under the other. “How can you say that?”

“Say what?”

He buries his face in his hands and groans loudly. “That you want him to be happy. He’s a fucking homophobe, Chase. Doesn’t that just kill you that he doesn’t accept that part of you? What does he do, just pretend you’re straight, so he’s not disgusted with you?”

“He what?” My voice borders on hysterical. I didn’t even know it could do that. “Easton, your brother is the exact opposite of a homophobe. He’s so ally; full blown safe space for all queer people, protests anti-trans legislation, has a pronoun pin on his lanyard because, I quote, ‘is essential to helping normalize the fluidity of gender for people who don’t grasp it.’ Jesus Harold Christ, the questions he asks when I hook up with someone would make a homophobe have a stroke. I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, Chaos.”

Holy fuck, did his jaw come unhinged? Is this why he won’t have anything to do with his brother? How in the fuck he got that idea, I don’t have the slightest clue.

Easton rubs his eyes tiredly. “I thought… Never mind. It doesn’t matter what I thought. Can we talk about something else? I’m getting a headache.”

I sigh, more confused than anything, but it seems I’m not the type to tell him no. “Sure, sweetheart. Anything in particular?”

“What’s your family like?” He sounds almost nervous, a slight quake in his voice.

“They’re a fucking mess, all of them. Mom runs an art gallery she opened with her partner who created a lot of the bigger pieces they showcase. I’m sure the two of you will have a lot to talk about. My dad is quieter, but he’s the most devoted guy I know. To my mom, to his kids, to his granddaughter—doesn’t matter who, he’s always had our back. Logan, my sister, is the one I’m closest to, I think. She’s wicked smart, a damn good mom, and annoyingly insightful so watch out for that. Then there’s Parker, he’s competitive and driven, but will do anything for anyone. Emerson is the baby, he’s sarcastic and more free spirited. Doesn’t really know where life will take him but down for the journey.”

I see them all the time, most recently when Emerson graduated college last month, but it’s never enough. This may have been a sudden trip but it’s like a balm to my soul already. Frustrations with Brady, confusion and insecurities about Easton, even just the stresses of day-to-day life—it all melts away at my parent’s house. There’s always a metric ton of food between my dad’s cooking and mom’s baking. They don’t expect adults, it’s this perfect bubble where my siblings and I can exist in a simpler time period. The struggles are who’s turn it is to pick the movie and get out of the fucking shower before all the hot water is gone, you asshole.

A scarce commodity when I’m fighting with my best friend for the first time in the six years I’ve known him, I’m possibly the only person who can really help someone I’m quickly growing to value in a way that is absolutely terrifying.

Easton’s voice is so reserved, timid. None of the fire he’d used on Brady. I hate it. “Will they like me?”

I’m about seventy-four percent sure someone wrecked the way he sees his place in the world, and it’s climbing. “Easton, they’ll probably like you more than me. I promise.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him chew on the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t believe me now, but he’ll see it firsthand in a few hours.

Park sends me a picture in our family group chat just as we’re settling into our seats on the plane, captioning it let the games begin. Easton peaks over my shoulder and scoffs. “What even is that?”

“You’ll see,” I return cryptically with a playful wink.