Chapter 28

TWENTY-EIGHT

I finally get up the nerve to send him a text. It goes unanswered. So do the next ten, twenty, thirty. That doesn’t stop me from obsessively checking my phone every few minutes, or jumping at even the slightest sound that resembles a phone ringing or the chime of a text.

At night, I stare at the ceiling and wait. I don’t even know what for. A few times I almost manage to convince myself the lights of passing cars are stopping in front of our house. I get out of bed to check. It’s always a pointless exercise because there’s nobody there.

I go to Sutton’s apartment with no idea what to say. I knock on the door and wait and wait and wait, but the end result is just more emptiness.

A part of my self-respect has always depended on having pride. I’ve never had my heart broken. Not truly. So I just arrogantly figured I’d handle it if it ever happened, because that potential ‘if’ was a huge one. Truth be told, the likelihood of handing my heart over to another person seemed improbable enough that the possibility of anybody breaking it had been theoretical in a wild, distant future way. Like colonies on Mars—might happen, but who knows if I’ll ever get to see it.

I wasn’t prepared.

Can anything prepare you for heartbreak, though? It’s not like you can practice for it.

I resort to approaching Quinn for information. Scraps. Anything.

He looks surprised when I ask about Sutton.

The ache in my chest gets even worse. It beats there. I think doctors would say it’s my heart, but I know better.

And now here I am. A stupid, lovesick idiot. A veritable disaster.

I could’ve just kept my mouth shut.

I’d still have Sutton. Sure, just for now. But I’d have him.

I get into a moronic habit of staying late at work because of an impossible what if. What if he waits for me there? Like he has so many times before.

I lecture myself to get my head out of my ass the whole time I’m scrubbing the floors, and then I stand in front of the exit with a swirling, desperate hope churning in my stomach that he’ll be there when I open the door.

He never is.

Week two post-Sutton, I start my internship. I was excited about this. Prestigious company. Real life experience. Something to put on the résumé. It’s another step toward my future. A building block. Something I’ve been working toward for years.

I should be happy. Ecstatic.

But I can’t find it in me to give a fuck.

Jordan sends me a look over the rim of his coffee cup and lets out a low whistle when I walk into the kitchen. I hold out my arms and show off the dark blue pants and light gray dress shirt.

I quirk my brow at him.

“Okay?” I ask.

“Very professional.” He takes another sip, eyes still fixed on me. “Excited about today?”

I execute some sort of shrug-nod hybrid. I start with a shrug, but then halfway through I realize a shrug doesn’t convey being okay and change it into a nod. The result is truly pathetic.

Jordan’s expression morphs into barely concealed pity.

“You’ll do great.” He sends me a long, appraising look.

“Thanks.” I avoid looking at him while I say it.

He knows something’s up. I’ve been spending so much time at Sutton’s place lately that there’s no way the fact that I’m suddenly home all the time will go unnoticed.

I haven’t really explained anything, just been evasive and most likely mopey, even if I’ve put in some serious effort not to look like it.

What would I even say?

I love Sutton, and he doesn’t want me to.

“You can talk—” Jordan starts.

“I have to get going.” I speak over him.

It makes Jordan sigh and shake his head before he drains his cup and puts it in the sink.

“Want to walk together?” he asks.

For more interrogation? No, thanks. Then again, I don’t really have a reason to say no.

“Let me just go get my stuff,” I say.

We head out together and the next fifteen minutes feel almost normal. It’s a beautiful summer day. Not too hot yet, which it will be in a few weeks, if not earlier. The sun is shining, and people seem in less of a hurry today.

It should be nice, but I take all of it in with my newfound apathy. I’m not even sad, except for that annoying ache. Not angry either. Just sort of… empty. Which is somehow even worse. Everything is in dull gray monotone. Pathetic.

I turn toward Jordan on the street corner where we’re supposed to part ways to say goodbye. Instead of letting me do that, he’s suddenly in front of me, pulling me into a tight hug.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says once he lets go, squeezing my shoulder quickly.

I watch him walk away until he disappears behind a corner.

“It’s going to be okay,” I mutter under my breath.

I highly doubt it.

I turn left and walk toward the subway.

My first week is long. There’s a lot of paperwork to cover and a lot of people to meet, so usually, by the time I walk out of the building, rush hour is already over. I don’t mind staying late. It gives me less free time. My new routine is that I finish at my first job, quickly grab dinner, and head to the pool. Then, once I’m done there, I’m exhausted to the bone, so all I can manage is to drag my sorry ass back home and fall into bed.

Which makes it really fucking inconvenient when on Friday, my supervisor, John, sticks his head into the office I share with two other interns, and tells me to head home early.

I frown at him while I silently root for him to rethink. He’s smiling, so this doesn’t seem like one of those situations where I don’t know how to read the room and ‘leave early’ is code for ‘you’re fired.’

“Are you sure?” I ask. “I don’t mind staying.”

“One hundred percent. I’m heading out myself. Visiting in-laws. So you might as well go, too.”

I don’t know exactly what my expression says, but it makes John laugh.

“Stop looking so worried. You’re doing great. Honestly, I’m really impressed with you so far, so in order to have you back on Monday, well rested, I want you to head out, kick back, and relax for the weekend.”

I take a quick glance at my watch.

“It’s an order,” John says.

So I force myself to smile back and nod.

“Okay. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Fucking crap.

“Enjoy your weekend.” He disappears from the doorway.

Hayley, one of the people I share the office with grins at me from behind her computer.

“You heard the man. Get lost.”

I shut my laptop and hold my hands up.

“Going. I’m going.”

In another minute, I have my stuff packed, and I wave at her.

“Bye.”

“Do something stupid,” she tells my back, grinning when I turn around with a startled look.

Once outside, I take a deep breath and glance at my watch again.

Four fifteen. The hell am I going to do until eight o’clock? Head back home and stare at my phone, trying to figure out where the line is between trying to get your boyfriend to talk to you and harassment, and whether I’ve already crossed it?

Goddamn pathetic.

I’m hovering in the middle of the sidewalk, most likely annoying people, when I hear my name.

I whirl around so quickly I almost slam my messenger bag into some dude’s face. Heart beating wildly, I look around.

The overwhelming, nauseating hope crashes and burns in record time when I see who it is.

Ethan’s smile is wide and happy and slightly crooked. He’s dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a pale green short-sleeved shirt with flowers printed all over it. Sunlight makes his hair look copper today.

“Hey,” I say as he stops in front of me.

“Hey.” He grins.

And then we both ask, “What are you doing here?” at the exact same time.

Ethan barks out a laugh.

“Great minds,” he says.

“Clearly.” I force yet another smile onto my face. It’s not Ethan’s fault my life is a mess. Plus, I don’t want to invite any questions or observations.

“You first,” I say.

“My mother works”—he points to one of the high-rises on our left—“in that hotel. And my little sister had a piano lesson, so I picked her up and took her to my mom so they could head home together.”

I nod and look at him. There’s kindness in his eyes and humor on his face. He’s a good person.

An uncomplicated person.

“You’re a really nice guy, Ethan,” I blurt. For some reason. I mean, I know he is, but it’s the kind of thing you don’t just say, randomly and out of nowhere.

Ethan looks surprised for a moment, but also flattered, so I decide it’s okay that I said it after all. It’s nice to be nice for a change.

“Nah. I’m just—” he starts to say.

“It was a compliment.” I interrupt him and force another smile. “You should just say thank you.”

I didn’t mean to sound like a dick, and for a moment I suspect I still did, but Ethan just tilts his head to the side for a moment and studies me before he says, “Thank you.” There’s a teasing note in his voice as he says it, and it brings a lump to my throat because I’ve used that same tone while saying thank you to Sutton.

“You never said what you were doing here.” Ethan looks around the busy street. “This isn’t exactly your usual turf, is it?”

I snort out my first genuine laugh in weeks.

“My usual turf?” I repeat.

“I heard it myself as soon as I said it.” Ethan laughs, too.

“I’m in this new gang. The Snake Tails. We’re really badass. Have jackets and everything.”

He chuckles at that.

I point my thumb behind me. “I scored myself an internship.”

“A good company?”

“Yeah. I got lucky. It’s a great opportunity, and I’m learning a lot. And they even pay me a decent salary on top of everything.”

“You must’ve done something good in your past life.”

“Oh, I was a saint, for sure. Saved lives left and right.”

“That’ll do it,” he says.

This smile actually comes more easily.

“Well,” I say after we’re done with the smiling. “It was nice seeing you.”

He nods. “Really nice.” He sends me a long look, and I wait. “Are you in a hurry?” he asks, then.

The question catches me off guard, so it takes me a second to answer.

“Umm. Not really? I’ve got work later, but that’s still a few hours away.”

“In that case, want to go and grab some dinner?” he asks.

“Oh,” I say slowly. I definitely did not expect that invite. I’m also not sure if I’ll even manage to be halfway decent company right now.

Ethan looks at me expectantly.

I don’t really want to go home, back to uselessly staring at my phone and hoping, so somehow, I find myself saying, “Sure.”

Ethan and I used to be friends. Dating him didn’t work out, but maybe we could rekindle the friendship?

I could use some friends, if I’m being honest with myself. I basically have none.

His smile widens.

“Cool. Let’s do this.”

“—he walks straight through the glass, so the thing shatters around him, shards raining down everywhere, and the dude just looks up, takes out one of his earbuds, and says, ‘This wasn’t here the last time I was here.’ And then he just walks off.”

I laugh and wipe my fingers with the napkin before I ball it up and drop it on the empty plate.

This is the Ethan I remember from when we first met. He always had an endless supply of stories at his disposal. Things he’d witnessed. Observations. Things he’d heard or read or discussed with somebody. There are never any awkward silences with him, and he manages to easily draw anybody, no matter how socially awkward, into a conversation.

“Nobody stopped him to check if he was okay?” I ask. “Or, I don’t know, cover the damages?”

“I think we were all just too shocked at first, and by the time we snapped out of it, he was already long gone.”

The dinner rush has long come and gone, but Ethan and I are still sitting at the table where we landed two hours ago, in some little burger bar Ethan swore by. Two hours of easy chatting, no important topics. I can almost forget there’s life outside. A life that is complicated and messy. A life that hurts.

So I sit back and listen to Ethan, until eventually, I pick up my phone and look at the time.

“Time to go?” Ethan asks.

I nod. “Work awaits.”

He shakes his head as we get up. “I don’t know how you have the energy to do that. One job is exhausting enough.”

“Practice?” I offer. “You get used to it. And I like keeping busy.”

He eyes me thoughtfully.

“Well, thanks. It’s been—” I start to say when he interrupts me.

“I’ll walk you.”

I drag my hand through my hair and chuckle. “I’m just headed to the subway, so there’s not much walking involved.”

“I’ve got nowhere to be,” he says, and he sends me an expectant look, like he’s really excited about the prospect.

“I mean. Sure. If you want to.”

So we walk to the subway and then take a train back to Brooklyn. I stop by home and change while Ethan makes quick friends with Jordan, so when I come back downstairs, I find them chatting and laughing.

I grab my backpack, throw my stuff in, and we head out. Ethan’s still sticking around, and I honestly cannot even begin to guess why. But I appreciate it. He’s a good distraction, and I really do think we could be friends again.

Once we reach the pool, we stop at the front door, and I pull out the keys and lean my shoulder against it. Ethan mimics my pose.

“Thanks,” I say.

“For?” he asks, eyes shining with mirth.

I lift my shoulder in reply. “Dinner. The company. It’s been nice.”

Ethan’s green eyes move up and down me, a contemplative look in them.

“It was nice. Really nice.” He chews on his lip for a second. “You’re different,” he says.

My brows hike higher. “Different how?”

Another calculating glance follows. “More…” He purses his lips, eyes still racing up-down-left-right like he’s on a timer and needs to take everything about me in while he can. “More confident,” he says. “Back when we were going out—and I don’t mean this as an insult—but it was like you were always trying your damn hardest not to stand out. Even if it was just the two of us. You put so much effort into hiding from me, even if I didn’t care about…” His voice drops off, and he gestures toward me with his hand.

“The scars,” I say. “You can say it. I won’t freak out on you.”

He shakes his head, a bit of exasperation, and a large portion of knowing in his gaze. “It didn’t matter to me,” he says. “I just liked you. A lot. And I guess I was a bit offended that you thought I was… I don’t even know. Shallow like that?”

“That wasn’t about you. It was just my own insecurities being very loud and intrusive, and I didn’t know how to deal with it back then.”

“But you do now,” he says, and it’s not a question so much as a simple confirmation.

I card my fingers through my hair and chuckle. “I’m a work in progress.”

He cocks his head. “Aren’t we all?”

“Some more than others.”

He smiles at that.

And I smile back.

It’s nice.

And yeah, I think we can be friends again. The crush is long gone by now. When I look at him, I don’t get anything. No butterflies. No wild heartbeat.

But—

My thoughts grind to a sudden halt because in the blink of an eye, Ethan is in front of me.

And his lips are on mine.

It takes a good few seconds to even register the fact that he’s kissing me. Then I’m pulling back, but he’s following me, and there’s a handrail behind me, so I end up in a strange bridge pose, half bent over the railing, which is uncomfortable as hell.

My brain snaps back into action, and I put my hands on Ethan’s chest and push him away.

I’m not the only one whose brain isn’t firing on all cylinders, because once I’ve straightened myself up, Ethan tries to kiss me again.

“Ethan, come on. Stop,” I say. “This is not?—”

That’s all I get out, because seemingly out of nowhere, there’s a whirl of commotion, and Ethan’s back slams against the wall.

“The fuck do you not understand about a ‘stop?’”

That voice is painfully familiar.

Everything about that voice is fucking achingly familiar, even if I don’t seem to be able to compute what the hell is even happening.

Ethan is still pushed up against the wall, with Sutton of all people in his face, gripping the collar of Ethan’s shirt with his fists.

“What the fuck?” Ethan sputters.

“Here’s a hint, asshole,” Sutton growls and cocks his fist.

I snap into action.

“Sutton, stop.” I grab his shoulder. “It’s not what it looks like.”

At my voice, he starts to turn, and Ethan chooses that exact moment to charge. I’m right behind Sutton, one step below, so when Ethan slams into Sutton, Sutton is pushed backward a step, and his elbow slams into my nose.

Everything seems to still.

“Shit,” I say, blinking. Not so much because of pain, but from surprise.

Sutton whirls around. His eyes widen, and he stares at me, nothing but sheer horror in his eyes.

“Wren,” he chokes out. “Wren. Oh, fuck. Wren.”

I gingerly wipe at the underside of my nose and make a face when the back of my hand comes away bloody.

Sutton’s in front of me immediately, palms on my cheeks, eyes wild, but the thing I feel most is how his hands are shaking. Shaking so hard, he can barely keep them against me.

And all the while he keeps repeating, “Wren. Oh, fuck. Wren,” in a steadily louder, increasingly panicked voice.

“I’m okay,” I say, which comes out a bit muffled because of the blood flowing freely from my nose now.

Ethan grabs the back of Sutton’s shirt and pulls him away from me.

“Ethan!” I snap.

He doesn’t seem to hear me. He’s on top of Sutton now, and I just know he’s preparing to land his fist in Sutton’s face, and that’s not happening while I’m here. I rush forward, grab Ethan’s arm, and twist it behind his back.

That finally gets his attention.

“The hell, Wren?” he grouses.

“Leave him alone!” I say.

I pull him off Sutton and push him back, so he staggers a few steps backward.

“Are you okay?” I ask and reach out to Sutton.

He looks at my hand, but instead of taking it, he scrambles backward, away from me, and then when he’s a good few steps away, he pushes himself up to his feet.

“This dude is nuts! I’m calling the cops.” Ethan’s already digging around in his pocket for his phone.

“No, stop!” I say. “I know him, okay? He’s my… he’s… Do not even think about it!” I point at his phone he’s finally managed to pull out.

He freezes and looks from the phone screen to me.

“What?” His voice is full of disbelief.

I wipe my hand over the underside of my nose and upper lip once again and close my eyes for a moment. Calm. Be calm. When I open my eyes, I aim my gaze at Ethan. “I think you should go.”

He blinks at me for a long time.

“What?” he repeats, still with the same confused expression.

“Go,” I say. “Home. Or wherever. Just go.”

Ethan’s brow furrows. “Are you serious with this shit?”

I look him straight in the eye.

“Very,” I say. “Go.”

He shakes his head slowly.

“Whatever,” he finally mutters. He turns on his heel and stalks off.

I close my eyes for a second and blow out a breath of relief as his back disappears from view, before I turn around and face Sutton. I’m still pinching my nose, trying to get the blood to stop.

“Sit down,” Sutton says softly. So softly I can barely hear him over the noise of the traffic and the rush of blood in my ears. I follow the order and sink down on the steps.

“Keys?” he says next.

I dig them out and hand them over wordlessly. He unlocks the door, disappears inside and is back a little while later with a roll of paper towels, some cotton balls, and a bottle of antiseptic. He kneels down in front of me and gently wipes away the worst of the mess with the help of the towels and the antiseptic. The bitter smell permeates the air around me.

I keep my eyes on Sutton the whole time, because I think that if I look away even once, he’ll disappear.

There’s an ache in my chest and hope in my throat, and I don’t know how to handle either of those.

Or what to say.

Or what to do.

He holds the wad of paper towels against my nose, impossibly gentle and ominously silent.

Another calm before another storm, I think. Think and fear.

I finally take the risk and look away down at my hands, uselessly resting in my lap. When I look up, he’s still there.

“I think it’s stopped,” I say hoarsely.

He pulls his hand away slowly.

Reluctantly.

Or maybe I’m imagining it.

Maybe it’s easy.

Maybe me and my bloody nose are an inconvenience.

He sits back on his hunches. He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept in weeks.

Chestache and hope again, a little more of the latter this time.

“Why are you here?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw.

“You weren’t supposed to see me,” he says.

“Why—” I start to ask, when a thought stops me. “Have you been here in the last few weeks?”

He avoids my gaze.

Some kind of piping hot ball lodges deep in my chest, so I feel like my insides are burning up.

“Have you?” I repeat. That horrible, deceitful hope spreads everywhere like wildfire.

His mouth stays firmly shut.

I blink.

And I let it sink in.

This knowing.

A bone deep certainty that settles in my bones and circulates in my bloodstream.

“You have,” I say slowly. Slowly, slowly, slowly but steadily, my heart picks up speed. “How many times?”

He stares back at me, stubbornly mute.

“Five? Six?” My hands shake the tiniest bit when I lift them up. “Stop me when I get to the right number.”

I run out of fingers and drop my hands back into my lap.

I nod.

“You love me, too,” I say softly.

“Stop!” he snaps. He’d sound harsh if I couldn’t hear the fear in that one word. It’s oozing from every letter. It’s in the way he holds himself.

“You do,” I say.

He grits his teeth. “No.”

Unbelievably, my lips pull into a small smile.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” I say to the thudding staccato of my heartbeat in my ears.

“Do you have any self-preservation left anywhere in you?” bursts from his lips. “I fucking hit you!”

“Ethan pushed your elbow into my face.”

“Don’t make excuses for me,” he practically spits out.

“It’s not an excuse. Just an account of what happened. At most, it was an accident.”

He shakes his head.

“I told you,” he says. “I told you I would hurt you. Do you see it now? Do you finally believe me?”

“It was an accident, Sutt.” I enunciate every word as clearly as I can, as if that has ever helped. “An accident.”

“That’s an excuse. And it doesn’t matter. Excuses never do. Words never do. What matters are actions. I hit you. Me. I did that. I hurt you.” He swallows so hard the gulp is audible. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You didn’t!” Frustration is loud and clear in my voice, because I don’t know how to get through to him. “Fuck’s sake, it was an accident. You didn’t hit me.”

He looks away, staring unseeingly into the distance for the longest time before meeting my eyes again. And the look he gives me? It’s hollow.

“Is that what you’re going to tell yourself the next time? What about the one after that? How many accidents will you have before you start to realize things have gone horribly wrong for you? How many excuses will you make for me, then?

“Because of course it’ll be an accident the first few times. And then I’ll be stressed from work and the accidents will continue. Then you won’t have dinner ready on time, or you’ll smile at somebody for too long, or you’ll go out to drinks with your friends without asking for permission.”

I stare at him while he’s speaking, and I can’t breathe.

It’s different hearing a variation of the same thing from Sutton.

“How many accidents will you have while I take everything you have to give? Everything that makes you you ?” he continues with that same terrible hollowness in his voice. “While I methodically rip it apart and destroy it. While I take everything you are. Not all at once. Not just for a moment. I will take it bit by bit, every day, until you wake up one morning and realize you’re transparent because there’s nothing left.” He lets out a cold, harsh laugh.

“How many excuses will you make then? Because if you really think about it, you haven’t always been the best partner, have you? You’ve talked back, right? And nagged about not being on time. And, really, when my team lost, you should’ve been more understanding instead of saying it’s just a game. And that one time I came home after a failed contract negotiation, and you sang too loudly in the shower? That was inconsiderate and thoughtless. And maybe if you try to be better, do better, everything is going to be fine again. Because you can change me.” He sends me a pitying look. “First, I’ll make you transparent. And then I’ll take everything from you. Until there’s nothing left. Nothing.” He spits that last word out viciously.

I still can’t seem to breathe or swallow through the dryness in my throat.

“That’s not you,” I say.

He stares back without blinking.

I can’t breathe.

“It’s a funny thing,” he says. “Evil. People who’ve never encountered it tend to believe evil is something concrete, clear-cut, and distinct. Black and white. Something you can pinpoint with a look. Actually, it’s a vague gray mass. Ambiguous and obscure. And so well hidden. Impossible to see at first. Until it’s too late. Do you know what the best part is?”

He waits in expectant silence until I shake my head before he leans closer, so I can feel his soft, warm breaths on my lips, his eyes boring into mine.

“When you try to tell somebody? About the evil. About that dark gray mass that’s seeped into everything ? No one will believe you.”

He falls back on his haunches after that, and we look at each other. Minutes tick by. Long, silent minutes.

“That’s not you,” I whisper.

He quirks a brow in challenge. “Are you really willing to risk it?”

I hold his gaze.

“Yes.”

He shakes his head. The hollow determination has once again been replaced by fear.

“Well, I’m not.”

I grab his hand and hold him still.

“You’re not that person. You are not your father. The Sutton I know and love is not him. I trust you. Even if you don’t trust yourself. I do.”

He looks down at where my hand is clasping his and closes his eyes.

“I can’t,” he grits through his teeth and opens his eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t risk you. I won’t.”

He pulls his hand away and gets up.

“Sutton,” I say helplessly.

He turns around and starts to walk away.

“Sutton!” I call after him.

He doesn’t stop.

Just walks out of my life.