I just want out of this nightmare. I’d do anything to rewind an hour ago to the biggest problem in the room being deciding the color for his fucking nails. He’s being stalked again, and just like I said—this maniac is escalating. The psychosis that goes into finding Easton here of all places, following him, taking photos, developing them, and then leaving them on the front porch as some sort of power play is sickening to me.
Whether fear for his safety finally pushes me in his direction or my selfish desire to be near someone who makes me feel better, Brady looks relieved when I squeeze beside my boyfriend. What is most concerning to me when Easton is spiraling, it’s all so internal. The most visible reaction he might have issometimes he’ll cry, but a lot of the time, it’s all completely invisible to the naked eye.
And right now, that’s where he is. Knees drawn to his chest as a tsunami of his thoughts assault him while he remains silent. Only his erratic heart rate in his neck and the clench of his jaw give away his inner turmoil. I still can’t hear whatever Brady is saying to try and soothe him, and I’m pretty sure Easton can’t either. He wouldn’t be Brady if he wasn’t trying, though.
As my body stumbles and stutters, trying to find solid footing, I try to remind myself of the things I’d try to get Easton to do to steady himself.
Breathe.
Not a damn thing is going to get better without that.
It hurts, that first real inhale. No wonder it usually comes out as a gasp when I tell him to do it. My lungs burn, but helps ease the lightheadedness plaguing me.
“Blake, please tell me you got him on camera or something,” Brady pleads.
Without thinking about it, I wrap my hand around Easton’s elbow and tug him into me so I can bury my lips in his corn-silk hair. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here,” I whisper.
Blakely makes an aggravated noise. “If only it were that easy. My internet was coincidentally down when it got delivered, but not for long enough that I got an alert about it. I contacted the gate security to see if they have any footage. We’ll see, I guess.”
That sparks something in the back of my mind that I had forgotten about. “Mine was too, or at least my cameras went offline before Easton got back from his test.”
“Are you serious?”
I nod. “Yeah. Easton wasn’t able to text me when he got home either.”
She sucks her teeth, wheels turning in her incredible brain. Thoughts that I’m not even close to capable of at this moment in time.
“Ace, why don’t you and Eas go to bed? I’ll help her and see what we can figure out. You two have had enough for the day.”
I rarely need to be told twice. I just need to get Easton back enough to tell him, so he’s not startled. “Come back to me, Chaos. Please.” My hand rubs up and down his back, taking note of the goosebumps across his skin as the sweat cools.
It takes a few minutes, but eventually, I can feel his heart rate beginning to slow. “That’s it. You’re okay. I’m here.”
Well, one of those things isn’t true. He’s not okay, clearly, but I’m gonna make sure he gets there. While I’ve been preoccupied, Brady and Blakely have procured laptops and have already got to work. “Let me help,” I say to the back of their screens.
Blake glances up long enough to roll her eyes pointedly. “Get fucked.” She laughs when Brady raises his eyebrows at her. “Well, only if you’re into that. What I mean is—no, you’re not helping until tomorrow morning.”
Aye, aye, captain. “You’re the best,” I tell her before trying again with Easton. He seems like he’s coming back around, rubbing his eyes and evening out his breathing. When his weight falls into me, relief washes over my frayed nerves. “Let’s go upstairs, sweetheart.”
He nods tiredly, so I scoop him up and push to my feet. Easton lets out an adorable squeak of surprise that makes my heart skip a beat. “Put me down,” he demands.
“Nope.” He tucks his nose into my neck, muttering something about me being insane that is probably true. I can live with that because it’s hard to miss the way he relaxes against me, all the trust in the world that I’ve got him while he’s vulnerable.
When we get to his room, he’s still a little paler than I’d like, but his eyes are clear and a win is a win. He crawls down on the bed, looking at me expectantly. “What’s that look for?”
“This is the part where you hold me, usually.”
I bark an unexpected laugh. It soothes my soul that he’s found a little post-panic attack routine. “You’re right.” Easton reaches for me, but I pull him to his feet instead of letting myself be yanked on top of him. He hums into my chest, wrapping his arms around me. “Let’s shower first.”
He agrees easily, but I falter after steam starts filling the bathroom across the hall. What if he’s uncomfortable with me seeing him naked? He was violated for fuck’s sake. I don’t want him re-traumatizing himself or getting the impression I want to hurry him beyond what he’s ready for.
Is there some sort of guidebook?
My head aches.
During my turmoil, Easton has already stripped down and stepped under the spray. This role reversal where I’m the chronic overthinker and he’s the even-keeled one is an absolute roller coaster. “Hey, love?”
“Yeah?” I rasp.
