He laughs. “And yet, she still threw in free vegan brownies. You’re welcome.”
The door opens, bringing in Andre the Giant and Company, but I’m not done arguing. “Why is she so obsessed with you? Do you give off magic dick energy or something? And even the phrase vegan brownies should be a felony.”
“Eww. I do not need to hear about Brady having a magic dick,” Blakely adds. “And hard agree. Some things were never meant to be vegan or gluten free.”
I point my fork at her. “Didn’t you just get a tonsillectomy in the driveway? Are you in a position to be talking shit on anyone right now?”
She gapes at me, but her counterpart snickers. “Good point,” he says to his wife.
If something is said under her breath, I simply choose to ignore it and glare at Brady until he feels my eyes on him. “What? I like the sound of magic dick. If the shoe fits, you know.”
He’s giving me a migraine. I toss the mostly eaten food in the trash and make an excuse to leave without seeming ungrateful. Who knows which one I use, I’ve got a Rolodex of them stored away for times like this.
I’ve stayed at Blake’s enough times after having a few too many drinks that I have a preferred guest room already on my mind. My shoes barely make it off my feet before I crawl under the blankets to keep the frigid air conditioning at bay and pass out. Hopefully for a long, long time.
CHAPTER 7
EASTON
“Hey, sweet pea. What’s going on?” Blake asks, looking up from her double monitor as I slink into her office.
What’s there to say? I’m anxious about hanging out by myself, and Chase and Brady have both gone into their rooms. I don’t know how welcome I am with either one and Blake is nice to me. Instead of all that, I shrug.
She gestures to the day bed made up like a couch under the window. Lots of girly, bright-colored throw pillows. This whole room is like that, actually. Like someone gave Polly Pocket and Barbie’s child a decorating budget with the only condition being to make it look like it was intentional. I kind of dig it.
“Come hang, babes. I could use some company, anyway.”
I appreciate the effort to make me feel like I’m not trampling all over her space. “Thanks. I promise, I’ll be as invisible as possible so you can keep working.”
The typing abruptly ceases. I become wholly focused on smoothing this lavender blanket over my legs and fluffing a pillow that looks like a seashell. When Blakely grows tired of my procrastination, she clears her throat expectedly. I finally look at her, the feeling of being in trouble making me squirm. “Easton,honey, the last thing I want is for you to be invisible. Never that. Take up all the space you want. If I didn’t think I could get done what I needed to with you in here, I wouldn’t have invited you to hang out with me. Okay?”
“Okay,” I parrot sheepishly.
She finally releases me from the spell of her eye contact as she picks back up with whatever she was doing. “Good. Glad we have that settled. How are you feeling?”
In shock. Exhausted, but unable to sleep for another second without losing my mind. Sore. Scared shitless. “I’m hanging in there,” I say.
“You don’t lie very well.”
I make a wounded noise. “I try to.”
She clicks her tongue. “I can tell. Wanna try again? I don’t mind.”
Admitting defeat, I slump back into the mountain of pillows. “It’s not fair. It’s like everyone else has all these words that I don’t and I’m still supposed to talk like I really understand them. Of course I’m not hanging in there, but the world keeps moving. So that’s the closest thing I can think of to say. But there’s a thousand other things I’d say if I could name them.”
“I get that. Not growing up with language around feelings really stunts you in adulthood. It’s still hard for me sometimes, especially with Landon. My mom really got in deep about always lying to men, so it’s hard for me to talk to him when I’m upset sometimes. It’s like my vocal cords get snatched. I hate it.”
Finally, having someone understand me is such a relief I could cry. I don’t, thank goodness, but it’s damn close. “Exactly. Then it makes me feel worse when I try to explain why I’m not okay because I don’t even understand it myself. I don’t know how to deal with it.”
“Say it in your words, sweet pea. I’m sure I’ll be able to understand what you mean.”
Here goes nothing… “My heart hurts, like this stabbing pain. It’s like that all the time, at least a little bit, but it’s really bad right now. If I focus on it for too long, it makes me want to cry. But it’s not like it's something special making it like that. I’m so tired, but if I close my eyes, all these bad things start trying to flood my brain. Some are things that have happened, some are things that might happen. But one thing or another will always grab ahold of me and drag me down. Then it’s like I can’t come back from it. I really don’t want that to happen, so it’s easier to just stay awake. If someone hugs me, I might shatter into a million little pieces, so obviously, I don’t want that. But I also still kinda do, because maybe it’ll hurt in a good way and not in a bad way? I’m sure that sounds insane. Sorry.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever put words to all that. Not in my entire life. I’m scared to look at her, see that she is disappointed or disgusted with me. I’m not expecting it when the bed dips, but she’s not put off by my startle reflex. She pulls me against her in a bone-crushing hug that breaks me apart just like I thought it would.
Her scent is unfamiliar, as is the hair ticking my neck as I fold into her, but the hug is one I know well. It seems to be the standard you develop when your favorite people are the broken ones. Like your body becomes familiar with where your hands need to be so that you can hold someone together while they do their damndest to shatter. You learn the right pressure that allows each sob the air it needs, but tight enough that some of the love you’re trying to give imprints on their bones.
We’re all that exists in the world right now, me and this girl who was a practical stranger a week ago. It’s just us, and the whispers in my ear about how she’d take it all away if she could.
