I snort into my coffee. “We should take this act on the road. It would make a great one-act play.”
She snarls without much heat. “First, you guys suck, and I’m picking one with or without input so make your decisions accordingly. Second, let’s not pretend I wouldn’t steal the show, so probably not our best idea.”
“Depends on how close you’re comfortable being to someone that you intend to inflict harm on,” Easton grumbles, shuffling across the hardwood with his hair in complete disarray, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pocket.
Well, he’s not wrong.
“Good morning, gorgeous, and what a wonderful point.” Blakely smiles wide, passing him a steaming mug of too-sweet coffee.
Brady eyes his brother wearily. “Where exactly are you jumping into this conversation at?”
After a long sip, he comes my way, making my heartbeat stutter. Like nothing has changed since the mornings I treasured so much, he hops up in my lap. After a moment of rebalancing, he leans back and answers, “Long enough to pull context clues for what I missed.”
“Awesome,” his brother mutters under his breath.
There’s genuine worry lingering behind Blakely’s eyes, as much as she tries to mask it. I don’t even know what I’m hoping he’ll say about her idea. As much as I despise admitting it, she’s right about the motivation aspect. We’re already on a tightrope here, trying to gauge what Easton can handle, and that kid dying would send him careening. I couldn’t get him back from that, I don’t think.
Easton’s body is slack against mine, not a thing keeping him upright on his own, and I wonder if he’s already resigned himself to this fate or if this is the result of last night’s confession breaking down the last of the walls between us.
“Well, how do you feel about it?” Blakely asks.
He takes a shallow breath, ribs contracting against mine. “I could use the exercise,” he admits eventually. He drains the last of his coffee-flavored creamer before looking around like he’s expecting the boogie man to jump out from the refrigerator. Well, come to think of it, maybe that’s the attitude we all should adapt. “We should start today, get a routine established so that we pull Asher out of Aaron’s focus.”
Easton raises his hand, letting those long fingers idly caress along my jawbone. “You okay?” I mumble softly.
If possible, he sinks further against me. “Yep. I’m still okay.”
So no, but he’s planning on pushing through. Awesome. “You don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for, Chaos.” As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I’ve already got money on what he’ll say next.
“The world doesn’t stop turning just because I’m feeling weird. I have to help that kid.” Well, look at that. I owe myself a twenty for my spot-on accuracy. I’d burn the world down to keep his heart safe, but there’s only so much I can do when it’s his brain I’m worried about. “I can hear you thinking,” he says when the declaration renders me silent.
I press a kiss to the side of his neck. “What am I thinking?”
Blond hair tickles my nose as he shakes his head, and I try like hell to memorize the scent. It’s a little bit of laundry detergent from our sheets, a touch of sleep lingering on him, and a heavy dose of sunshiny Easton. “That I should prioritize my well-being or whatever.” Two for two, today. We’re on a roll this morning. “I told you last night, I’m working on it. I’m sure I could be doing a million things differently, but I have to do this in a way that makes sense to me, and I am.” We’ve garnered the attention of our housemates, who are suddenly paying rapt attention. “When I say I’m okay, it’s because I can handle it. If it gets to be too much, I know I need to communicate that, but until then, I have to do what feels right. Anyone have any issues with that?”
He looks from person to person, ending with me. “Not a one,” I assure him. Honestly, I’m proud beyond what my measly words can convey to him. Worrying is a knee-jerk reaction that I’m trying to kick. He’s been doing more for his mental health lately than any of the rest of us. He probably spent half the day yesterday with his sketchbook and a tablet in between the various celebration activities. It’s not the conventionaltreatment method, but there’s a visible difference in my Chaos, and that’s all I care about at this point.
When he’s assured that no one is going to fight him on it, he heads back upstairs to change with Blakely following soon after. Brady looks my way with an absolutely evil gleam in his eye. “You know what we should do?”
“No,” I say without hesitation.
He only rolls his eyes. “Let’s go to the hardware store and get stuff to build a gazebo.”
Oh, I think the fuck not. I don’t call him a suffering addicted dumbass, but it’s a near thing. “We don’t live here. Not happening, Bray. Find something else to occupy your restless energy.”
He smirks, evil thing that he is. “Blakely thinks it’s a great idea. I ran it by her before you got up this morning.”
Brady is lucky I’m head over heels in love with his little brother or there’s no way I’d keep putting up with this shit.
“No.” My answer is firm, unwavering. Imagine my fucking surprise when after seeing Eas and Blakely off, I somehow end up in his passenger seat, cursing my own existence. He assures me it’ll be a great distraction so we don’t go insane as the maniac circles closer. I wonder about his survival instincts if he thinks putting power tools in my hands and keeping us in close quarters with another fucking project is a good idea.
I will accept no blame or criticism for how this turns out.
CHAPTER 19
EASTON
The headphone in my left ear is for decoration. I wish it wasn’t. Some noise to drown out the worst case scenarios playing on repeat in my head would be a welcome distraction. Blakey is wearing the other half of the pair to keep up appearances that we’re unaware of our surroundings. Unfortunately, that’s not something we can actually risk.
