Keeping Casey (Keeping Him #1) - Amy Aislin Page 0,76

and let loose a sob that hurt more than the worst of his flare-ups.

Chapter Twenty-One

It was after one in the morning when Casey pulled into his driveway in Lighthouse Bay, exhausted and confused. After he’d found a gas station in New Hampshire, he’d had to drive with the window halfway down to keep himself awake. Putting the car into Park, he sat for a moment with his forehead on the steering wheel.

He was the biggest asshole in the world.

Ethan had been injured and Casey had just left him there.

He needed to turn around right now and beg Ethan for another chance.

About to do just that, footsteps crunching on pavement had him blinking his eyes open. He rotated his head toward the driver’s side window.

Mom stood outside of his door, bent at the knees to look at him. She held a mug from which steam curled upward. Tea, if he had to guess. She never drank coffee after lunch. And it was way past lunchtime.

She wore leggings, tall boots, a T-shirt, and a long sweater that went down to her knees. Her blonde hair was loose to her shoulders.

She looked like home.

“Hi, my baby.”

“Hi, Mom.”

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know.” Didn’t know anything anymore.

“Hm.” She straightened and brought the mug up to her mouth. Then she inspected his car, a frown marring her features. “This isn’t Ethan’s. Did you steal a car?”

Out of everything she could’ve said, why was that the thing that made him cry? “I have to go now,” he croaked, wiping his eyes. “I have to go back to GH.”

“I don’t think so.” She knocked on the window. “Window up. Car off. Come inside.”

He didn’t have it in him to argue.

Inside, all the lights were lit on the first floor, and he was hit with a sense of homesickness so hard it made his head spin. He braced himself on the wall of the foyer and took it all in.

On his right, a staircase went up to the second floor. The hallway dead ahead went back to the kitchen and to a family room he couldn’t see from this angle. On his left, a cream-colored couch hung out against the wall in the living room. A coffee table held assorted coasters, an indoor plant in the center, and a book facedown to mark Mom’s place. A colorful throw was piled at the end of the couch. Beyond the living room was the dining room with a table that could hold six. More if they added the extensions in.

For a moment, the ghost of his father sat in his usual seat at the table, the one on the end, head bent as he showed a younger version of Casey some antique trinket or other. He winked at current Casey before disappearing, as if he’d never been there at all.

Tears sprung to his eyes and his nose burned. Sniffling, he left his boots and coat in the foyer. When he turned, Mom was right there, drawing him into a hug. She rocked him side to side as Casey hung on tightly. She smelled like soap and her favorite lavender earl grey tea.

“You don’t call, you don’t write . . .”

It made him laugh wetly, and he straightened to wipe his nose on his shirt sleeve. “Every time I call, you’re out with your friends.”

“Because you always call on Saturday night.” Mom took her boots off and slipped into fuzzy fox slippers Casey had gifted her for Christmas last year. “Why aren’t you out with your friends on Saturday night?”

“’Cause the only person I want to hang out with is Ethan.”

Mom plunked onto the couch, feet on the coffee table. The gas fireplace in the wall across from her was on, casting shadows across her face. “He’s okay, you know.”

“How d’you know?”

“He called me. Told me you were coming.”

“That’s why you’re still awake?”

“Mm-hmm.” She patted the couch next to her.

He sat, letting himself curl deeper into the couch until his head rested on Mom’s shoulder, as though he were five years old instead of twenty.

Mom laid her head on top of his and reached up to blindly pat his stubbled cheek. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“Ethan got hurt tonight,” he whispered. The fire kept him mesmerized, the flames dancing across his vision.

“He told me when he called. It scared you.”

“Did he tell you that too?”

“Mm-hmm. What was it that scared you?”

“That he could get hurt and die like—” Like Dad. There one second, gone the next. Wishing Casey a good