Page 76 of Easton
East sleeps fitfullythrough the afternoon. I don’t leave the bed, holding him, kissing his temple, making sure if he wakes up, he knows I’m here.
That had been the most intense, soul-shattering sex of my whole life. It hadn’t come from a good experience, but I think it led us to a good place, one where East lowered more of his walls and gave himself to me in new ways. I couldfeelit happening.
And later, when he wakes up, I’m going to talk to him about getting help, seeing a therapist, because there are so many things he needs to work out, but we can’t do it alone. The stuff his father said, I can’t imagine growing up hearing that, believing it. That negativity would affect anyone.
Evening comes, and East doesn’t wake up. He must be mentally and emotionally drained. He’s restless every night, falling asleep and waking up numerous times, and now, I think his body and mind are just too exhausted.
I slip out of bed only long enough to piss, wash my hands, and tug underwear on. I go downstairs and feed the dogs, then take them out, before going back upstairs to climb into bed with East.
I lie awake and watch him sleep as evening turns to night, wishing I had done more today, wishing I hadn’t let Gregory Swift get away with how he’d spoken about East.
Eventually, I fall asleep too, with East warm and relaxed in my arms.
My body wakes up naturally in the morning, and East is gone.
“East?” When he doesn’t answer, I go downstairs, but the house is quiet.
“Where’s Daddy?” I ask the dogs before opening the front door and noticing East’s truck is gone.
My heart drops to my feet, and I run upstairs for my cell, trying to tell myself there’s a logical explanation. I call his phone but hear it in the room. Jesus, I hadn’t even noticed it sitting on the nightstand on his side of the bed.
My damn pulse is banging against my skin, stomach twisted up and chest too tight. How in the fuck had he slipped out of bed without me noticing? I should have stayed awake, should have been more careful.
Why didn’t he wake me?
Why did he leave?
I don’t know where I plan to go look for him, but I have to dosomething, so I tug on the rest of my clothes, then jog downstairs. I pull the front door open, bile burning up my esophagus when I see Craig and Martinez standing there. “Is he okay? What happened?”
Of course, it’s Craig who speaks. “Archer, is Easton Swift here?”
I breathe out a sigh of relief. He’s okay. They aren’t here to tell me something happened to him. “No, he’s not. Can I ask what this is about?”
“We really just need you to tell us where he is,” Craig replies. “How long has he been gone?”
“Just a few minutes,” the lie slips out. I have no idea if I’m doing the right thing, if I’m saying the right thing. “What happened?”
Martinez says, “Gregory Swift’s house was broken into last night. No one was hurt, but some personal effects were taken.I’m sorry, Archer, but he’s convinced it was Easton. Said the two of you got into an argument with him just yesterday. You know we’ve got to check it out.”
“It wasn’t him.” I try to school my features. It wasn’t East. Deep down, to the marrow of my bones, I know it wasn’t. “Gregory just wants to blame it on him. He’s got this hatred for East, and I’m sorry about what happened to him, but it wasn’t East. He just sees East as an easy target.”
“Gregory Swift? You’re talking about the mayor? The ex-congressman?” Craig’s words are sharp as a knife.
“Yeah. I am. I was fucking there. East didn’t say a word to him. If anything, I’m the one who got into an argument with him.”
“You know we have to at least talk to him, Archer. We’re not trying to be the bad guys here.”
The thing is, I know it’s their job. I would have to do the same thing, but while Martinez feels bad, I don’t think Craig does.
“He went for a drive this morning. I’m not sure when he’ll be back, but he was here, all night, with me. He couldn’t have done it because he didn’t leave.” In my gut, I know there’s no going back from that lie, but East is worth it. It doesn’t matter if he left last night, I know who he is, and he didn’t break into Gregory’s house. It’s like he reverts to a child just by seeing the man.
“Okay,” Martinez replies.
“We’ll be back,” Craig adds, and I watch as the two of them head back to the cruiser, climb in, and drive away.
Goddamn it, sweetheart. Where are you?
The second they’re gone, I call Dusty.