Chapter 25 The Interruption
the interruption [trope]
a perfectly timed plot device sent by the universe to ruin a pivotal romantic moment; defined by ringing phones, intrusive exes, crying babies, or a well-meaning friend bursting in with snacks
We enter the house, dark and silent, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound. Ethan is still out, which makes sense since it’s only ten thirty. That gives us about one and a half hours before he’s back. Ninety whole minutes of just us.
I glance at Rafael as he shrugs off his jacket, the muscles in his forearms flexing slightly.
The mustard-yellow fitted T-shirt beneath clings to his frame, the bold, horizontal stripe and GOOD TIMES, BAD DECISIONS lettering stretching faintly over his chest as he moves.
His eyes catch mine, and his lips curve into a small, knowing smile that sends a shiver racing down my spine. He glances around. “Ethan?”
“Out,” I reply, my voice a touch too breathy.
“Oh.” His gaze sharpens for a beat, the implication sparking there. “Too bad. I was hoping to play some GTA.”
Sure he was.
He steps closer, his movements deliberate. “When will he be back?”
“Midnight.”
He checks his phone, the glow illuminating the sharp planes of his face. He lets out a low whistle. “Plenty of time, then.”
My heart is pounding against my rib cage. The scent of his cologne fills my lungs, mingling with the faint tang of beer on his breath. My thoughts keep circling back to last week: his hands gripping my hips, the hard press of his body against mine.
His fingers brush over my forearm, light and teasing, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His chest is almost against mine. “Should we read? Watch something?”
“No,” I say, making the corner of his mouth twitch.
He leans in, so close I can see the gold flecks in his gray eyes. “Then what should we do?”
Oh, I know what we shouldn’t do. We shouldn’t kiss. We shouldn’t let our hands wander. We shouldn’t give in to the electricity crackling between us. It’s a bad, bad idea.
Apparently, I like bad ideas now.
“Each other?”
He laughs, the joyful noise quickly turning into a quiet smile. He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry I hurt you. But if it’s all right with you, I’d really like a second chance.”
“Technically, third chance.”
“Third time’s a charm, right?”
I lean into him, lips hovering inches from his, his warm and heavy breath fanning over me. There are no more secrets now, no more reasons to hold back.
I think we’re about to kiss.
The noise of a key rattling in the door has us both turning to the right. I take a step back as Ethan comes in, one hand on the side of his face.
“Ethan?” I gasp.
An angry purple bruise is blossoming across his cheekbone, and blood trickles from a scratch on his cheek.
“Please,” he mumbles, swaying slightly on his feet. “Don’t make a big deal, okay?”
I grab his good arm to steady him, my mind reeling. “What the hell happened?”
Ethan’s one good eye darts nervously over my shoulder, landing on Rafael, who walks closer and puts a hand to the small of my back. “Get the first aid kit,” he says. “I’ve got him.”
I move, dazed. Someone hurt Ethan, and it isn’t the first time, but it’s the last, because I’m not settling for half answers tonight. I want the truth.
I walk into the bathroom, then rush back into the living room with the first aid kit. Rafael has helped my brother settle on the couch, and he’s dabbing his face with a washcloth. “How bad is it?” I ask as I drop onto the couch next to Ethan. “Should we go to the hospital?”
“I’m fine.”
“Nuh-uh.” I open the first aid kit and take out the disinfectant. “I wasn’t asking you, I was asking Rafael. The only thing you can tell me is the truth, and nothing else.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Ethan says. He winces when Rafael dabs his bottom lip. “Everything is fine.”
I meet Rafael’s amused gaze, then scoff. This kid is going to drive me insane.
“Get some ice, Freckles.”
I blush, throwing a pointed glare at Rafael.
Not in front of my brother, it says, but I doubt he even notices.
After my expedition to the kitchen, I come back with ice in a cloth.
Ethan holds it over his eye, and Rafael steps back.
Now that he’s cleaned off the blood, it feels like I can breathe again. He’s hurt, but he’s going to be fine.
“Okay. Come out with it, Ethan. I want to know what happened and who did this. Right now.”
Ethan rolls his one good eye, then winces. “I don’t want to talk about it, Scarlett.”
“Well, you will anyway.”
Ethan looks away, as if that’s going to magically change my mind. “I said forget about it.”
Shoulders hunching, I try as hard as I can not to cry. How am I supposed to make this work? How can I hope to convince a judge he’s better-off staying with me than with my grandparents when I can’t even get him to open up?
As he handles a piece of gauze, Rafael shoots a look my way. “I get it. He doesn’t feel like opening up to his sister and some guy she’s dating. He’s not wrong.”
Ethan bobs his head up and down in firm agreement. Whose side is Rafael on? And why did he say “sister” like that?
“You know who would know about it, though?” He snaps his fingers. “His friends.”
Ethan shifts on the couch, throat working hard.
Oh, so that’s what Rafael is doing. Of course, no teenager wants their sister to meddle in their life publicly.
“Right.” I pretend to be deep in thought. “Jace—that’s his best friend. My grandma must have his number.”
“Jace, huh?” Rafael’s eyes focus on mine as if Ethan isn’t even in the room. “Not that common. I bet if I run his name through the system, I’ll find only one Jace who lives in the area and is about, what, sixteen? Seventeen?”
System? What system?
I shrug. “Let’s just do that, then.”
“You can’t!” Ethan stands, sweat accumulating on his forehead. “Seriously, man? I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends,” Rafael says. “And friends tell each other the truth.”
“It was just a stupid fight, okay? No big deal. I’m not lying.”
“Friends,” Rafael insists as he grips his shoulder, “stand up for each other. We’re friends, Ethan. Would you let this go if you were in my place? If your sister was?”
When Ethan looks back at me, I say, “Tell us who did this. And I promise, Ethan, today’s the last time they lay hands on you. I’ll make sure of it.”
“You’ll make it worse,” he pleads, his voice breaking.
It feels like my heart is ripping open. Someone’s terrorizing him into silence, and I don’t know what to say to make him feel safe. To make him trust me.
“Okay. Forget about it,” Rafael says as he slumps back on the couch. “Wanna play some GTA?”
“S-sure.”
Ethan watches me warily as Rafael stands and turns on the console. He must think it’s weird we’d just let it go, and so do I, but I assume this is all part of Rafael’s plan.
“You know, I was bullied, too, when I was your age.”
Ethan wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt. “Yeah, right. I know about you—bad boy Rafael Gray. Nobody would have ever dared bully you.”
Rafael makes his way over with the controllers. “No, nobody at school would bully me. At home, however…”
I watch Rafael sit next to Ethan, trying to gauge whether he’s being honest or just making up a whole thing for my brother’s benefit.
“What does that mean?” Ethan asks.
Rafael crosses his arms, focusing on a spot on the floor. “My dad was a bully. He smacked me around, but that honestly hurt less than the stuff he said. That was…” He swallows. “Hard to take.”
I take a seat on the armrest of the couch, not daring to make a noise.
“Stuff like what?”
Rafael’s gaze darts to me, and I don’t really know what to do with myself.
I think he’s being honest, and if Ethan wasn’t here, I’d hug him.
Sit on his lap or touch him some other way, hoping that the skin-on-skin contact could provide him some sort of comfort.
But Ethan’s here, so I offer a light smile.
“Lots of things. How I was a constant disappointment. Stupid. A waste of space. How I’d never do anything with myself, and my mom leaving us was all my fault.”
I’m pretty sure my lips twist in disgust. What kind of parent would say things like that to their own son?
Ethan scoffs. “What an asshole.”
“Yeah.”
Yeah. A real asshole.
Ethan shakes his head. “But it’s nothing like that. Nobody’s saying anything to me.”
Rafael’s eyes are on me again, as if weighing something. Then he leans forward, elbows on his thighs, and says, “You were pretty young when I left. Do you remember what happened?”
Ethan shakes his head.
“Well, that night my father was having one of his fits of rage. Hitting me, insulting me. I knew if I just let him use me as his punching bag, everything would be fine. He’d eventually stop, and life would move on.”
“Why was he hitting you?”
Rafael hesitates, eyes stuck to the floor. “He…”
“Rafael,” I finally interject. “You don’t have to—”
“It’s okay.” He looks up at me, almost apologetically. “He found a letter that was meant for me.”
It takes a moment for the words to sink in. For the meaning to really permeate every piece of my being.
A letter. My letter.
“A letter from whom?” Ethan asks.
“From a girl who said she loved me.” He presses his lips tight. “He made me read it aloud, then he got really… really mad. She was a minor, and he assumed I was doing something I shouldn’t have been doing.”
My voice shakes. “But you weren’t.”
“It’s not supposed to make sense, Scarlett. Abuse never does,” he says. I catch the undertone of reassurance, but it does little to soothe me. “My father was a horrible man, that’s all.”
“What happened then?” Ethan asks.
“He always hit me somewhere nobody could see, but that night, he couldn’t contain himself. He kept…” He pauses, then clears his throat. “He kept asking if I was a…” He shakes his head.
I was seventeen! Three years younger than him—three.