In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(35)

“It’s fine,” he smiles, pulling two plates from a cabinet and setting the sandwich on one to cut in half. He slices it unevenly, giving me the bigger piece, then glances up when he’s done, sliding the plate in my direction, the slight smirk back again. “You can come here any time.”

I nod, then turn my focus to the sandwich on my plate, taking a bite that is probably far too big for me and definitely way unfeminine. I have to chew with my mouth open for the first few seconds, but it’s better than locking gazes with him. He’s looking at me like he knows a secret. Or maybe…

“Are you drunk?” I ask.

He chokes on his bite and pounds at his chest with a fist through his laughter.

“Right now? No. About twelve hours ago? Definitely,” he laughs.

“Oh,” I say, looking back to my sandwich. I bring it to my mouth and take another ridiculous-sized bite, my eyes busy reading the ingredients on the back of a bottle of soy sauce sitting out on the counter.

We all chew in silence for a few minutes, and I memorize the first sentence on the soy sauce label: ALL PURPOSE, NATURALLY BREWED AND OVER 300 YEARS OF EXCELLENCE. That feels like a really long time to be excellent at soy. I’m working on the second line when my brother pipes in, folding the paper around half of his sandwich.

“I’m full,” he says, pushing the paper toward the sink. Casey grabs it before it falls in.

“That’s okay; I’ll eat the rest,” he says, winking at me. He’s hardly touched the ham.

“Can I see your recording equipment?” Lane asks.

“Lane, let him finish his dinner,” I say, mouthing an apology at Casey. He shrugs it off.

“Sure…yeah, let me set you up with something in my room. Come with me,” he says, fingering over his shoulder. My brother practically skips after him, and I follow them a few steps behind.

I wait at the entry to his room, watching while he twists my brother toward his desk and shows him his headphones. He pulls a mic forward next, unwinding the cord and plugging it into a jack on the side of his laptop.

“You can sing or talk or make whatever sound in here, then this…” he pauses, dragging his finger over the touchscreen to open up a set of files, “is where you can mix it with other sounds. If you find something you like, hold it like this…and drag it down here. When you think you’re done, hit the play button and put these on to see how it sounds.”

“Awesome,” my brother breathes out, his feet kicking nervously under the chair he’s sitting in.

It doesn’t take Lane long to begin, and Casey eyes back toward the kitchen with a smile. “I have a turkey sandwich with my name on it,” he grins. I giggle and follow him out of the room, leaving my brother’s heartfelt but off-key vocals in the room with the door mostly closed.

“Thanks for doing that,” I say, picking at the edge of my bread. I’m not really that hungry, but I don’t want to waste the sandwich Eli gave up. I’m picking at it to make it look like I gave it hell.

“Of course,” he says. “If he wants, I can take him to a gig sometime and show him how I mix for a club.”

“He’d like that,” I smile at him. His eyes linger on me again, like they have since we’ve arrived. It’s arresting.

“Are you…okay?” I ask, partly to turn the focus away from him looking at me.

It works, and his gaze falls to his plate, where he’s now picking at the edge of his bread too. He tears away a piece of cheese and pokes it in his mouth, nodding slowly. Eventually, he pushes the sandwich away, and I feel double amounts of guilt. Two sandwiches wasted.

“My dad’s sick,” he says, his eyes narrowed and his attention on the smooth counter before him. He runs his hand along it, pushing a few small crumbs into the sink.

“Casey, I’m so very sorry,” I say, remembering everything I saw on his phone.

“Don’t be. It’s…it just is what it is, I guess,” he says, looking up. His eyes hit mine like stones through glass. There’s the hint of tears in them, but he laughs them away quickly with a sharp guttural sound. “It’s…cancer, I guess. I don’t really know much. I…we don’t…talk.”

He leaves that thought in the air and closes his lips tight, keeping his gaze on me. My head falls to one side as I imagine how that’s even possible. My father travels between here and Dallas a lot for the few rental properties they have. He’s the handyman for them. But he always comes home. I can’t imagine life if one day he just…didn’t. I can’t imagine what it would be like for my mom.

“Casey—” I begin, but he starts to talk again.

“I never really wanted to beat to his drum,” he says, his gaze falling back to the counter, where his hands push together, his fingers forming a diamond. “My dad’s an engineer. So’s my mom. My sisters are all successful, all…you guessed it…engineers,” he chuckles once, but his mouth remains a flat line. “Except for my oldest sister, but that’s because she’s a lawyer. And her path was…I don’t know…acceptable?”

He glances up for a moment and shrugs.

“I’m sure it sounds petty and stupid. I mean, every parent wants their child to be successful. It’s not cruel; it’s wanting something good for your kid. But…”