Chapter 28
CHASE
The nightmares are back in full force, and I’m torn up watching him struggle. “Baby, please wake up,” I urge, rubbing his back soothingly.
He whines, a broken, terrified sound that shatters my heart. His hair is soaked through with sweat and his skin is clammy to the touch. My poor, sweet Chaos. He’s in the thick of it and he’s not easily roused. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”
Easton flips to his back, sheets clenched tightly between his fingers and neck corded with tension.
I’ve got to get him to wake up. This one isn’t letting him go without a fight.
This time, I shake him; not hard but not even close to the loving touch I prefer when it gets bad.
“Come on, baby. It’s okay. You’re okay. Just wake up for me. ”
With a gasp, he bolts upright, making me pitch sideways to avoid a broken nose. His breath wrenches out of his chest in shallow pants. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe,” I assure him, rubbing my hand over my pounding heart.
Cautiously, I slide an arm around his back, carefully watching for signs that he’s still coming around. He doesn’t flinch or try to get away, but it takes a long moment for him to relax into my arms. “There you go. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
From behind me, I grab a bottle of water from the nightstand and pass it to him.
After a few swallows, he hands it back and rubs his eyes tiredly.
Ever since his most recent run-in a couple of days ago, he’s been having a hell of a time processing it.
During the day it is a little easier, but he’s noticeably more distracted and far away, often spending as much time painting as possible.
It doesn’t help as much as it normally would.
Then night rolls around and he’s getting less sleep than he was last summer.
He’s exhausted and in pain, which is not a good combination for anyone. Given the way his muscles are still rigid from the nightmare, he’s probably not going to be able to go back to sleep very easily. “Hey, I’ll be right back, okay? I want to grab something.”
Easton’s nose scrunches up slightly, but he’s too tired to really ask questions, so after a quick kiss to his temple, I slip out of bed and pad quietly down the stairs.
It’s a hairbrained idea with very little chance of success, but hopefully he’ll at least think it’s cute and get a laugh out of it.
I find him exactly where I left him, sitting upright in the bed with the sheets tangled around his waist. “Watch your eyes, baby.” He winces when I turn on the lamp and crawl back in bed.
“Why in god's name is the light on?” he grouses, falling backwards and pulling a pillow over his head.
I chuckle warmly. “Come here, grumpy. I’ve got an idea.”
Reluctantly, he slithers over and buries his face in my skin to make up for the absence of a shield. This has me feeling oddly self-conscious, but I’d do anything to help him in any way I can. I grab the book, crack it open to page one and start reading out loud.
He taps my shoulder, like he doesn’t want to interrupt, but curiosity is consuming him. I stop so he can ask, “What are you doing, love?”
“Reading to you. Is that okay?”
“Yeah… but why?”
Because I’d do anything to distract you from your pain since I can’t take it away. “Well, it might have something to do with the fact that we’re both wide awake in the middle of the night, and you seemed to really like these books when you were reading them. Maybe you were on to something.”
He nuzzles further against me like a cat. “Okay. If you’re sure—they’re kinda cheesy and gooey. That’s not really your thing.”
“It’s yours and you have excellent taste. If we don’t like it, we’ll find another one. Deal?”
Easton pulls the blankets up to his ears, sealing us in a warm little cocoon. “Deal.”
It’s not a permanent solution by any means, but when he falls asleep about twenty pages later, I’m able to close the book and join him easily knowing that it was enough to give him some much-needed reprieve.
~~~
We’ve learned that after Easton stumbles, he’ll come to us when he’s ready to address the situation, and any attempts to say something beforehand will just cause him unnecessary stress.
So as challenging as it’s been to wait him out after the panic attack and injury resulting from running by himself, no one has pushed him, and we’ve just been trying to be there for him in a way that helps instead of hurts.
The only real clue to how worried the three of us have been is the concerned looks we share over his shoulder.
But it happened to him and he gets the right to decide how to proceed from here, so we’re following his lead.
Brady has been dragging my ass down to the basement at a horrifically reoccurring pace to try and mitigate the added energy, and it has—as much as it pains me to admit this—helped significantly.
So when Easton, with a decent limp, walks down the stairs and stands in front of the couch with his hands on his narrow hips, I know that he’s ready.
“I’m doing the gallery,” he announces firmly, not an ounce of doubt in his voice.
“Okay. That’s great, sweetheart. We’re all behind you a hundred percent.”
He nods, like he was expecting that. “But Aaron will sabotage it if he’s given an opportunity, so we need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Blake claps her hands together. “Couldn’t agree more, lovebug. Come sit down. Let’s figure it out.”
Brady glances at me, resignation on his face. “There’s no way I don’t hate the end result of this fucking strategy meeting, is there?”
I shake my head and clap him on the shoulder in sympathy. “Nope. But I’m gonna hate it just as much.”
“Well, that’s fair then. At least I’m not alone.”
No. He’s very much not alone. In the following debate that would put the United States Congress to shame, I say at least a dozen times that we are not qualified for any of this shit.
Unfortunately, that doesn’t change the fact that the police aren’t finding him fast enough, and the only thing that sicko wants is in this room.
“Look, Easton cannot be put in a position where he’s the only one to defend himself.
He’s got a shit ton of PTSD and fight, flight, or freeze is unpredictable.
That’s what went wrong a few days ago. It’s nothing against you, sweetheart, but it’s just dangerous to have you try anything on your own.
And this fuckhead watches closely and only tries shit when you’re alone. We’re at an impasse.”
Easton digs his hands into his eye sockets and groans. “I know. But what do we do?”
Brady cracks his knuckles and looks to the ceiling for inspiration. “Okay. Why doesn’t he act when you and Blake are together? He’s seen you guys together frequently since you got out of the hospital. He gets closer than when it’s me or Chase. But never tries anything.”
Blake says, “The obvious answer is that he’s more confident in his ability to overtake two people if one is Easton and the other is a woman. But I’m the most recognizable out of us, and I’d be surprised if he didn’t know that.”
“Okay.” I sigh. “So physically speaking, he only considers me and Brady a threat, but you’re a threat by nature of people being more aware of you.”
“That would make sense for him,” Easton adds.
Easton tucks his cold feet under my thigh and collapses on his back with a flare. “So we’re right back where we started.” He throws his arm over his eyes and swears colorfully.
“So what’s stronger? His fear of getting noticed because of me or the impulse to destroy something important to Easton?”
Brady scoffs. “Nothing would be more important to him than fucking up the gallery.”
Easton sits up, wincing at the pull to his leg. “So let’s make him think it’s a different day.”
Now I’m fucking confused. “How?”
Blake, as always, catches on before me. “No, that’s a good idea, actually. Especially if we can make it seem like the boys leave for some reason, but they don’t. That way he’s willing to risk it just being me.”
“And then what?” I squawk. “We whip out the handcuffs and perform a citizen’s arrest?”
Brady sniggers like I’m making a joke, but I really am not.
This has got to be a result of true crime culture or something.
Not that I’d turn down the chance to shove that fucker’s teeth into a curb, but he’s got a fucking hostage—who is a minor—stashed somewhere, and an itchy trigger finger when it comes to a blond-haired, blue-eyed guy I’d like to keep around.
“No, dumbass. We call Isaac or Chief Brooks and let them handle the rest. If we can keep him in one place long enough for them to show up and not get killed or injured in the process, it’s not a half-bad idea,” Blake insists.
I’m developing a severe headache. I knew I’d hate it, but I still ended up surprised at how much I truly loathe the idea of Easton being in danger again, and all of us—me and the two weirdos I collected in college like Poke?mon—trying to keep a murderer in line.
This is a horrible idea. And somehow, no one has a better one that allows a guarantee that Easton can have his gallery and not be attacked when we have our backs turned.
If we keep letting Aaron control the game, we’re bound to lose.
I try to have faith that they’re doing everything possible trying to find Asher and arrest that son of a bitch.
I really do. But after weeks of them finding nothing while the personal attacks against us are ramping up speed, I’m running out of excuses.
“Babe, just for the sake of clarity,” Blakely starts. “Which came first: you hearing sirens or Aaron taking off?”
Easton sighs. “Well, it’s not like I was the most observant person on the face of the earth at the time, but he left before I heard them. No doubt. Because I stood there trying to figure out what happened after he sped past me.”
“Why?”
It seems like a redundant question. None of us know what the fuck we’re doing or why we’re asking what we are, but it slips out regardless. “Well, I’m wondering if he heard them in his car and got spooked or if he knew they were coming.”
“Like a police scanner or something?”
She throws her hands up, exasperated. “I don’t fucking know, Brady. I don’t. But it seems safer to assume that’s what he’s doing than not.”
Easton’s nose wrinkles adorably. “What would that change, though?”
This one, I know. “It would mean that we shouldn’t risk calling the police until it’s too late for him to hear about it.”
Blakely snaps. “Yep. That’s it. Which also means we’re going to have to be exceedingly careful. Everything is going to shit and maybe we’ll go to jail.”
“Well, I’m not going down without taking that motherfucker with me, so let’s finalize this asinine plan.”
There are no objections. We may be dumbasses but we’re in this together. There isn’t a cost we’re not willing to pay to save Easton and Asher’s life.