You’re Mine by Penny Brooks novel Chapter 169

 

Chapter 169

Harper

He's acting weirder than normal.

My eyes narrow as Easton stares into his spaghetti then looks up at me like he's trying to figure something out.

I frown.

"So, Harper his dad says, "what are your plans next year?" Easton shifts in his seat while I reach across and put my hand on his thigh.

“Honestly, I'm not sure.

I got accepted into San Jose State, so I'll probably go there.” "Ah, congrats"

His dad raises his wine glass.

"Might be hard being away from Easton, huh?" Talk about stating the obvious.

He drinks his red wine, tossing it back in two sips before setting his empty glass back down and looking between us.

"If it's supposed to work.

It will"

That's it.

That's all he says before getting up; even Easton's mom is grinning at us like her smile is either frozen, or she's trying to look encouraging.

Nothing about their expressions are helpful, nor do they make me feel better about my life right now.

"Easton.."

His mom stands and spreads her hands wide across her black designer skirt.

Even her makeup is perfect, her lipstick still somehow on after eating dinner, her smile white, and her dark hair pulled back into a low bun that just manages to look both pretty and classy at the same time.

"Why dont you and Harper watch a movie or something? Use the last few months you have together before school.” Her smile is genuine, but my gut still sinks to my feet as Easton stands and holds out his hand.

We walk toward the living room, and then he tugs me down the hall into the theater room, and we walk inside.

He says nothing as he grabs the remote and turns on Netflix.

He presses play on Red Notice and snatches a blanket from the little basket next to the wet bar, then curses under his breath and goes back, grabbing a bottle of expensive whiskey and slumping into a seat holding his arms out like he wants me to sit on his lap.

I do.

I sit there.

I feel how hard he is.

But more so, I feel how sad he is.

The whiskey bottle is handed to me.

I take a sip, then hand it back; we do this for at least five minutes, each of us getting buzzed as we watch the movie.

It's hilarious, but neither of us are laughing.

Because this world is one that exists without us together in it, at least that's how it feels as we both think about our futures.

He can't leave.

I cant leave.

I assume he'll probably fake a fight and break my heart in order to stop the pain from leaving my chest.

He would fix it by breaking it, and I would let him because of his love for me.

“Easton,” I whisper his name; I taste it on my tongue and wonder what it would be like years from now, remembering his name, saying it, worshipping it, without having him in front of me.

I dont want to imagine that sort of pain.

And yet, my heart tries to.

I try to imagine a world where our breaths aren't mixed, our hands aren't tangled, our bodies aren't pressed against one another, and where our heartbeats aren't synced.

It's like bleeding out—this pain.

It's like being shot and then told that there's nothing you can do to stop the wound; that's what it feels like sitting on his lap and imagining a world where we aren't together.

For a minute, I think I'm being dramatic, and then he rests his head against my back and sighs.

"I can't do it.” My eyes squeeze shut.

"What are we going to do?" He holds me tighter.

"I'll love you no matter what"

"My love for you-" I smile to myself "—isn't measured by distance.

But by the size of your heart"

"And my dick?" "Very funny.” For some reason, I want to burst into tears.