30. Easton #2
“I used to feel that way,” he says steadily. “But the slate has been wiped clean. I’ve been, uh, born again, ya know?” His voice drops deeper as he continues. “Not saying I can just go kill people and ask for forgiveness after. That all will be good. But—”
“I get it.” I know his faith journey—one my sister was part of. But his past isn’t mine. Plus, I’m not even dealing with my past sins, more like my present ones. And future ones I’m trying to prevent from happening.
“The lives you took on that island were justified,” he says matter-of-factly.
“I’m not questioning that.”
“Then what is it?”
“I have no remorse.” I look him in the eyes. “I’d do what I did again. Only, I’d take my time, if you get what I’m saying.”
“I do. And if that’d been Juliette in the room . . .” He closes his eyes. “I’d offer up my soul to stretch out the time I had to take his life.”
“My sister wouldn’t let you do that,” I say without hesitation.
His eyes flash open. “I know,” he rasps. “Thank God for her.”
I shove my keycard into my pocket as my phone dings from another text. Reflexively, I check the message.
Gwen: I have the movie on pause, just waiting for you to start it.
“That Gwen?”
I lower the phone to my side. “How’d you know?”
“You’re smiling.”
I drag my free hand across my mouth to erase the smirk sitting there. Shit.
“Go to her. I’ll cover for you.”
I laugh. “Cover for me?”
“Run interference with her dad.” He lifts his chin, eyeing the hall behind me in the direction of Gwen’s suite.
“I’m not—” I don’t even know how to finish that thought without ending it in a lie.
“You are,” is all he says.
“Screwed, you mean?” I almost laugh, but I can’t bring myself to fake it.
“Listen, when my best friend fell in love with my sister, he . . .” He scrubs a hand down his face, a mix of frustration and something else—maybe sadness—in his expression.
“He was too afraid to tell me at first.” His light Italian accent always thickens whenever he gets emotional, like he appears to be getting now talking about his sister.
“He thought I wouldn’t approve, especially because of their age difference, and his past.”
What point is he stumbling through and trying to make here, and why am I hanging on to his every word? It’s not like I don’t already know the story. My sister told it to me twice.
“He was wrong. I couldn’t have been happier for him. For her. And they wasted all that time living in uncertainty,” he continues, his voice gravelly. “I know Gwen is Wyatt’s daughter, so it’s different, but you’ll never know how he feels until you talk to him.”
“Are you suggesting I ask Wyatt for permission to be with his daughter? He’ll deck me.”
He winces like it’s a distinct possibility. And yeah, it’s sure as hell possible Wyatt will wanna do a lot more than slug me. She’s his baby, and I swore to protect her, not fall for her.
“Is she worth the risk of his right hook?”
“She’s worth dying for,” I say without a second thought, and my chest tightens at the emotion cutting into me. I draw my hand over my heart to try and grapple with the pressure building there.
He lifts his chin, his quiet way of saying, That’s your answer, then.
I don’t know what to say, so I simply nod, then turn, preparing to go to her room, not mine.
“Easton,” he calls out, and I glance back at him. “Just so you know, if the fact you don’t feel guilty makes you feel guilty, you’re not as lost as you think you are.” He turns away after that, and I continue on mission to Gwen’s room, more confused now than before.
Outside her door, I open up our text exchange.
What movie?
Gwen: Finally answering me. And the movie is Sinners. It came out in 2025, but I was too scared to watch it before.
And now is a perfect time to watch a horror flick, right after we survived our very own nightmare. Makes total sense.
Gwen: And you know I’m a Michael B. Jordan fan. So, I have to push through the anxiety and suck it up and watch it.
Something tells me she’s not only talking about the movie when it comes to “pushing through,” but about what happened to her.
Isn’t that about vampires?
Gwen: Wait, you didn’t watch it without me when you were staying at your dad’s, did you?
Unlike you, I behave and do what I’m told. And you gave me orders to never watch one of his movies without you. Or any film that has your other 3 favorite actors in it.
With the hand not clutching my phone like it’s a lifeline, I brace against the doorframe, unsure if I’m going to stay or go. The decision is stolen from me, because trouble herself swings open the door before I make up my mind.
She’s standing there in short white cotton shorts paired with one of my T-shirts from flight school. Coyote brown never looked so damn good. I shouldn’t have given that to her.
“I could feel you out here. All that brooding energy slipped under the door and radiated toward me.” She steps aside, keeping the door open while waving me in.
I stare at her long, beautiful legs, then blink my way up her body, not stopping until I land on her glossy lips. “What flavor are you wearing?”
Her smile reaches her eyes as she answers, “Bubble gum.”
I know exactly why she chose that one to wear, and so help me . . . I need a taste.