3. Ethan

CHAPTER 3

ETHAN

It was hard to tell how old Mickey was. His vulnerability that made him seem younger warred with the deep bruised look under his eyes that made him appear older. The thick scruff of hair on his face and the way he moved with the weight of the world on his back that also made him seem far older than Ethan knew him to be.

It twisted something inside Ethan to see someone his son's age struggle the way Mickey did. If he hadn't managed to stumble into the diner, Ethan had the sinking feeling that he wouldn't have made it through the night. It was why he'd told the little white lie about the basement not being warm enough. While it was on the cool side, it wouldn't take long for it to heat up to a comfortable temperature.

Coughs wracked Mickey's slender frame. Too slender. When Ethan had taken his soaking wet jacket off him, there'd been nothing to him. It wasn't a wonder he was so sick. He just hoped he could convince him to stay longer than a night or two, but he had the feeling that it might be a tough sell.

Ethan unlocked his door and ushered Mickey inside and into the living room. He'd have loved to have a wood burning fireplace, but it was times like this that made him grateful for the modern convenience of pressing a button on the remote to make the fire come to life.

Mickey was still huddled by the door. He'd managed to get his shoes off and Ethan held back his frown when he saw the state of them.

"Come inside. The fire is on. We'll get you a little warmer, get you fed, and then get you into the bath to finish warming you up." Ethan slung his arm around Mickey's shoulders and tugged him into the house.

"Thank you." Mickey winced when he talked. How long had he been sick for? Had he really recovered before he'd left the first time? Ethan had so many questions, but he didn't think Mickey would respond well to an interrogation.

Ethan saw the hesitation on Mickey's face, and the flush of embarrassment as he sat down. He couldn't imagine what it must be like to be in Mickey's shoes. Ethan grabbed his slippers from the hearth and put them on the floor.

"You should take your wet socks off. You'll warm up faster."

Mickey didn't move; he just stared down at them with misery etched into his features. "I'll get them dirty."

"So I'll wash them. They're just slippers. Far easier to replace than frostbitten toes." Ethan gave them a nudge with his foot, moving them a bit closer. Because silence was often deafening and awkward, he turned the television on and handed Mickey the remote. "I'm going to make some garlic toast. Do you like cheese on your chili?"

Mickey nodded. Ethan thought he might've tried to say thank you, but he didn't seem to have much of a voice left.

Ethan left him alone and got the kettle going. He stirred the chili then turned the crockpot off and got the garlic toast in the oven. When Mickey's coughing continued, Ethan made a detour into the bathroom and he dug through the medicine cabinet for anything that might help. Raising three boys on his own had taught him to always keep a well-stocked first aid kit and supply of cold and flu remedies.

While everything finished up in the kitchen, Ethan pulled out the TV tray he used more often than he'd like to admit. Mickey watched him set it up nearby. They could eat at the table in the kitchen, but it was warmer here.

Ethan carried everything out to Mickey and laid it out for him on the TV tray. The television had stayed on the same channel it had been on last night, but Mickey didn't seem to have the energy to mind.

Though Ethan knew he must be half starved, Mickey picked at his food while Ethan ate his quickly on purpose. Having Mickey here made him feel restless, like he wanted to be more helpful than he was able to be. He didn't feel completely helpless, but he did feel like they were on borrowed time. Like the moment Mickey found an out, he'd be gone.

"I'll get you clean towels and warm clothes to wear. You can have a shower or a bath. As long as you want. I have a fancy tankless hot water system so the hot water never runs out."

Ethan reached down and nudged the cold medicine closer. "You should take some. I know it tastes like shit, but it'll help."

Ethan took his dishes to the sink and when he walked past, Mickey was struggling with the childproof cap. Without a word, Ethan went over and gently took it from him. After opening it, he measured out a dose into the plastic cup and twisted the cap back on.

"Thanks," Mickey said.

"You don't have say anything if it hurts to talk. I'm happy to help. I can't stand the thought of you out there in this shit."

Mickey met his gaze and gave him a nod. Ethan was pleased that Mickey was accepting any help at all, though he knew it was likely because he was too sick to put up much of a fight.

Ethan didn't know what happened to Mickey and he'd do his best not to pry or be pushy, but he had the feeling that if he knew, he'd want to bust some heads. He grabbed a pair of his thickest pajama bottoms, the kind he wore around the house when it was bitterly cold outside, and a long-sleeved shirt that wasn't quite as bulky. He grabbed a pair of thick work socks and kicked himself for making Mickey wait by the fire to warm up.

Maybe he should've ushered him straight into the bath, but he'd wanted to warm him gradually. He should've googled hypothermia or frostbite recovery. He wasn't sure now that he'd done the right thing. Right or wrong, it was too late to do anything about it.

"The bathroom is ready for you. Take as long as you'd like. If you need anything, give me a shout."

Mickey looked like he was dead on his feet as he shuffled down the hallway and vanished into the bathroom. It was all Ethan could do not to hover around the bathroom door and press his ear against it, listening for sounds of distress.

The shower turned on and Ethan forced himself to go tidy up the dishes and make the couch comfortable for Mickey. The hallway closet always had fresh bedding in it, a holdover from his boys' teenage days. Ethan never knew how many people would end up at his house on any given weekend.

He draped a sheet over the couch and tucked it in, then put a clean pillowcase on a spare pillow and unfolded a couple of thick blankets. It had been a while since he'd done this for someone, and it brought back memories of his boys bringing friends home in various states of intoxication. At least Mickey wouldn't require a bucket and Ethan wouldn't have to ask questions about whether or not his parents knew where he was.

He did wonder about Mickey's family, but he wasn't going to poke into his business. Ethan suspected that Mickey would be out the door faster than a speeding bullet if he asked too many questions too soon. Or at all. Mickey didn't seem to want help. It must have been sheer exhaustion and desperation that had driven him inside the diner earlier.

When the shower stopped, Ethan went to the kitchen and brewed two cups of hot chocolate. He added whipped topping and chocolate sprinkles and carried them out to the living room.

Mickey appeared, looking warmer. His hands were tucked inside the sleeves of the shirt Ethan had loaned him. The pants were slightly too long, pooling around the tops of his feet.

"Better?" Ethan asked.

Mickey nodded and sat down on the couch where Ethan had made a bed for him. "Thanks. I didn't know what to do with my clothes."

"I'll throw them in the machine. Do you have stuff stored somewhere that we need to go get?"

Mickey shook his head. "I had a bag, but it got taken."

Mickey's shoulders rounded and he retreated into himself.

"I'm going to tell you the same thing I told my kids and their friends when they'd stay the night."

"I'm not a kid," Mickey snarled.

It was his first real show of emotion all night and Ethan was secretly a little glad to see some life in his face.

"I know you're not, but hear me out. I'll listen to anything you want to tell me, and I'll respect the things you don't. I won't ask you about what you've been doing, but I'd like it if you stayed here where I know you're safe."

Mickey's lip curled, but it was hard to read the emotion behind it. Amusement? Distrust? Ethan wasn't sure what note he'd struck with the man.

"For how long?"

Ethan shrugged. "As long as you need. There's an unused basement apartment you could use, or you're more than welcome to crash on the couch up here, or in one of the spare rooms. You could use one tonight, but I thought you'd like to be in front of the fire tonight."

Mickey opened his mouth to say something, but a coughing fit overtook him. Ethan got up and poured him a glass of water and set it next to his hot chocolate. Mickey sipped at it when he was finished coughing.

"You look like you've had enough talking for one night." Mickey nodded, looking relieved at Ethan's observation. "Just promise you're not going to slip out without me knowing, okay? I know I can't keep you here, but I'd like it if you stayed. Okay?"

Mickey held his gaze and eventually he gave Ethan a stiff nod.

"Good. You should get some rest." Ethan stood and turned the kitchen light out. He left the bathroom light on and the door open so Mickey could find his way there in the dark if he had to get up. By the time he came back to the living room to turn the light out, Mickey was curled up facing the fire, the blankets were pulled up to his chin, and he was already sleeping.

Going to bed this early wasn't Ethan's usual routine, but he shed his clothes and had a quick shower in his en suite before putting clean briefs on and climbing into bed. He'd never been a sleep-in-the-nude kind of guy. Instead of sleeping, Ethan lay in bed and used his phone to see if he could find anything out about Mickey. There was a brief mention of him in the newspaper from years ago when he'd been on the school's basketball team, but nothing else. No social media accounts. Nothing.

Ethan sent a text to Taylor to let him know that Mickey had returned and was crashing on the couch. He told him not to come over in the morning or he'd likely scare Mickey away with his puppy-like enthusiasm. Taylor pretended to take offense, but promised to be on his best behavior.

Taylor fired off no less than half a dozen questions about Mickey, all of which Ethan refused to answer. It wasn't like he had the answers anyway. He didn't know what had compelled Mickey to stumble into the diner earlier or where he'd been hiding since he left. He had a million questions of his own and no way to get any resolution.

His kids had talked about Mickey after his great disappearing act in high school and none of them had any idea what happened to him. All anyone knew was that he didn't show up to his graduation and no one had seen him since.

The possibilities of what might have happened to Mickey kept Ethan up and he stared at his ceiling as though the answers might float down to him. Whatever it was, Ethan hoped Mickey stuck around.