Sometimes his stubbornness makes me want to shake him.
He doesn’t need to go out of his way with me. I’m happy with whatever he’s able to give me, even if it’s just him. Hell, all I need is him.
A few minutes later, there's a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” Mom says, getting up from her spot on the couch.
I watch as she heads toward the door, wondering who it could be. There’s a small gasp that comes from her, and it has me sitting up.
I’m out of my seat and rushing to the door in seconds.
My heart fucking shatters when I see Easton standing there, soaking wet from the rain. But that's not what has me ready to tear the world apart.
It’s the broken and sad look in his eyes, the bloody split lip, and the bruised eye forming.
“Who did this?” I rasp, stepping forward, not meaning to, but pushing my mom out of the way. “Who fucking did this?” I cup his face, hating how he winces.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.” His voice is so low, so child-like.
“Come in,” Mom says.
“I don’t want to impose.”
“Nonsense.” Mom grabs his hand, pulling him inside. “You are always welcome here.”
I’m vibrating with anger. I want to lose my fucking shit, but I keep it together.
“Come with me.” I grab his hand and tug him toward the back of the house. He comes willingly. We don’t stop until we’re out of the house and into the poolhouse.
As soon as the door is closed, I spin around, nostrils flaring, anger clogging my chest. “It was him, wasn’t it?”
Easton nods his head, eyes cast down.
“Don’t.” I grip his chin. “Don’t look ashamed. You did nothing wrong.”
“I told him everything,” he rasps. “I stupidly thought my mom’s invitation for supper would be different this time. But he found out about me hanging out with you, and I told him everything. As you can see, he didn’t like what I had to say.”
“I’m going to fucking kill him.” I growl. “Easton, we need to call the cops.”
“It’s over, Bennett.” He shakes his head. “I need it to be over. He knows. And he’s out of my life for good. I just, fuck. I just can’t.”
“Shh.” I pull him into my arms. He buries his face into my neck, and his body starts to shake.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to cry, trying to be strong for him. He holds me tight, like he’s afraid to let go.
“Everything is okay. I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.” Hearing him cry is one of the most heartbreaking things I’ve ever heard. It kills something inside me.
When he’s done, I guide him to the bathroom.
Without a word, I strip him out of his cold, wet clothes and into a hot shower. As he warms, I work on cleaning up his face.
He won’t look me in the eye, and I fucking hate it. I understand, but I hate it.
Once we’re in dry clothes, I bring him to my bed. Crawling under the covers, I cuddle into his side.
“It could have been worse,” he says. “He only hit my face a few times. This time, I’m bigger, stronger. It took a second, butthis time I fought back.” He laughs. “You should have seen his face, Bennett. The shock of someone finally giving him what he deserves.”
“I’m proud of you,” I say, my fingers trailing over the hair on his lower belly. “I just fucking hate that you had to go through that.”
“I used to hate the fact that you were born into such a perfect family and I wasn't. But it was also a blessing. You, and this house, were my safe place. Losing it when we moved away, when we stopped being friends, it hurt more than my dad’s fists.”
