CHAPTER 34
Easton
The look on his face—I can’t bear it. This isn’t supposed to be easy. I knew that he’d eventually show up to say goodbye. I also knew that nothing about him issuing me goodbye was going to be easy, but this would make recovering from it quicker. Two days alone with my thoughts while Jason was out there… not dead—it’s a miracle I didn’t hop on my bike and drive halfway across the country by now in a fit of madness.
“He got out on parole and had nowhere to go,” I explain casually.
“But…he killed your mother.”
“More or less.”
“Wait…why did you say he was the plumber?”
Because I’m a fucking idiot who’s used to lying to every man I sleep with. Nope. Not responding with that.
Because I love you and didn’t want you anywhere near him. Because that was before I thought you were going to give up on us. No. Not going there either. Stick with the plan, Easton.
Squinting, he stares down the hallway in thought. “Wait… That was a week ago. How long has he been here?”
Slipping my hoodie on, I shrug like it’s no big deal. “A few weeks.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“He said he wouldn’t be here long.”
“Is that why you always stay at my place and don’t want me to come over here?”
Is he actually hurt by that? I never said I didn’t want him to come over here. Fuck. Why didn’t I just lie? Leonard looks like a shitty plumber. Maybe Aaron would have believed it.
“I didn’t want to be here . I wanted to be there ,” I concede, because it’s the truth and I don’t have it in me to act aloof any longer.
“But…Easton, I don’t understand. How can you let him stay here?”
“He’s my father.”
“He’s a murderer!”
I want to believe his concern is for my well-being, but the hike in his confidence over my affairs compared to his own the other day strikes a nerve. I didn’t think he’d judge me. Or maybe I did and was hoping he’d prove me wrong. I can see the opening like a sinkhole appearing in the ground, ready to swallow up our relationship. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? A way to be pissed off again instead of feeling like I got dumped for Jason.
“ You’re staying with one, aren’t you?”
“What?” he balks.
“The man who killed your husband,” I challenge, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
A blush creeps across his cheeks and his posture deflates. “That’s not the same.”
This is fucking stupid, says the heartsick part of me that equals ninety-nine percent of my being. Why am I trying to pick a fight? I don’t want to fight with him. I just want him to tell me he doesn’t give a damn that his husband is still alive or that my father is an ex-convict. I want him to tell me he’s come to get us both out of here until the unwanted people in our lives fuck back off to where they came from. I want him to tell me again how he never knew what love was until he met me. And I want the chance to tell him back without getting my heart smashed by a boot heel of a plastic surgeon with shitty taste in cologne.
“What are you doing here?” I murmur, picking at a splinter on the doorframe.
“I just…wanted to check on you and see how you were doing.”
To check on me…
To see how I’m doing…
Oh, God, doesn’t that sound familiar? And it’s a far cry from the way he usually greets me, distant. We’re back to day one again when he first showed up at my apartment with his electrolarynx. I saw this coming like a drunk staggering into the shop wanting their partner’s name tattooed over.
An ugly sound comes out of my throat. It doesn’t quite feel the way laughter has recently.
“Well, I’m living with a murderer and my boyfriend has a husband who isn’t dead. I’m fine. How are you?”
His little puff of air twists something in my heart. “I’ve been better.”
I can’t do this awkward pleasantries thing anymore. I need to know, and I need to know now.
“Have you figured out what you need to figure out?”
“No. I don’t think I’ve figured out anything.” He grimaces, scrubbing his hands down his face.
The foolish part of me that would do anything for him is pitying, but something is glaringly obvious. He freaking figured out that he hasn’t figured out where I stand with him. He did come to tell me goodbye. Maybe not today. Maybe tomorrow or in a few weeks or months, but I can see it.
I see all his smiles and images of his laughing profile flash before my eyes as I stare at him. I can hear all his aroused breaths, his sleepy ones, and feel the touches of his hand. I’m almost embarrassed to ask, dreading the answer, but it’s just too damn hard to let all that go.
“Did you need somewhere to stay?” I venture, hating how hopeful it sounds, almost like a plea.
His wary gaze travels to my apartment door as if he can see Leonard wielding a chainsaw through it. “No. Um, Jason’s making dinner tonight. I have to get home.”
Jason’s. Making. Dinner.
How fucking quaint. If I could scream, I would.
“South America—I’m sure you’ll like it there.”
Frowning, his brow wrinkles. “I never said I was going with him. We just have a lot to work through.”
But you never said you weren’t…
I can’t fucking do this. Turning, I start back toward my apartment. If I head downstairs, he could follow me. At least this door locks, and if I want to hit something, there’ll be a deserving target inside my apartment.
“Yeah, well, call me when he gets into another car accident.”
“Easton…that’s not fair.”
That’s life, I tell him with my hands.
“Don’t do that. Please. Don’t close up on me.”
Him and his freaking projects. I’m not a damn crossword puzzle. If he wants something to fix, he can go home and find plenty to do there.
It’s full circle, the way I open the door and see him standing in my hallway looking befuddled, just like he did the first day he showed up. It’s some creepy-ass déjà vu shit that feels like there was a brief intermission in an alternate universe where I discovered what being a boyfriend for the first time was like. I don’t understand what the point was, but I’m not going to waste another eight years dwelling on it.
“Why don’t you worry about the other man in your life? I did just fine without you.”