Chapter 3
ETHAN
“So, you mean to tell me you punched him and went to cuddle with Aretta?”
I glared at his smug grin through my sunglasses. “Yes, Liam, I went to meet Aretta but for other reasons. And I don’t cuddle.”
“Yeah, right, as if I didn’t catch you cuddling Evey last month,” he said, opening the door of the café, the scent of freshly ground coffee wafting in my nose as I followed my friend.
“She is my little sister.”
I missed her a lot because I had to leave San Diego for NYU, and then I couldn’t spend as much time with her as I would like to.
But I made it up to her and my parents every time I visited them.
I met Liam again at NYU. He had applied for the same swim program that me and Rio had, so it was no surprise to find him there.
Soon, we talked out everything between us, and since then, we have been good friends.
We sat in the corner booth, because we didn’t need to draw attention to ourselves, and ordered breakfast.
“So, how serious is HR?” He asked, sipping on his black coffee.
“As serious as HR can get when they find their athlete punching a reporter and threatening to cut his arm.”
He grinned at me, but his grin slipped off when he looked down at the styrofoam cup. I knew something was bothering him. His shoulders were tensed, and he couldn’t look me in the eye.
“What is it?”
“Did you check up on that model?”
Sighing, I raked a hand through my hair and removed my sunglasses. “Her name is Emma. I haven’t, actually. I will call her today.”
He glared at me with his piercing grey eyes. “You could ask her to tell what happened, you know? You wouldn’t be—”
“And then what?” I clenched my jaw. “They harassed her for fuck’s sake, Liam. I will not ask her to tell the media what happened if she’s not comfortable with it. I punched him so I will deal with it.”
He stared at me for a moment, studying me, and nodded. “Okay. But how did it feel to punch that jerk?”
I grinned, “I wish I had done it before.”
We laughed and ate eggs and bacon. We both were starving after our morning swim practice, but I knew I would let Liam take the lead at this Olympic. As we talked about swimming, modelling gigs and the endorsement deals, I realized I hadn’t told him about the volunteering work I had to do.
“I have to volunteer for community service, or HR will cut off my sponsorship and endorsement deals,” I said, waiting for his reaction.
“Of course, they would, Ethan. Remember Lee? They cut him loose because of a scandal. And this is big.” I knew what he meant. “People are still talking about it even though it happened two weeks ago.”
“I know. That’s why I need your help to find me any service, so far what I have come up with doesn’t fit with swim practice. Now is not the time to miss any of them.”
I thanked the waitress when she cleared our empty plates from the table as Liam thought about it. After a moment, he grinned at me, “Did you search for any swimming related volunteer work?”
Now I knew where to look.
After breakfast with Liam, I was back in the home I had bought as soon as I came back to San Diego.
It was love at first sight. It was a two-story house, with a backyard pool and a small place for a barbecue.
The lower floor had a large glass door which led to the pool and backyard.
I remembered when I didn’t have furniture for the house, I would sleep on the couch looking out of those glass doors. This home was my sanctuary.
I kept my car keys in the bowl and went upstairs into my room to check any emails. I also researched for any volunteer work related to swimming. I told Elliot about it, and he said that his assistant would send me the list before evening.
Ignoring Aretta’s missed call, I took a quick shower and changed into sweatpants. My eyes went straight to the locked drawer in my closet. My jaw clenched and my pulse increased even thinking about it.
I shouldn’t. But I needed it right now.
It was as if her words, her diary had invaded deep into my brain, my heart and my soul, that I knew I would forever be tainted with the memories we had spent together.
With a heavy heart, I unlock the drawer and take her diary in my hand, already feeling the weight of her words on my body.
I remembered the first time I read it on the flight from San Diego to New York.
I had to rush to the washroom and puke out the breakfast I had.
It was not because it was disgusting; it was because I had hated myself for not being the guy she could trust to tell me all about it.
Later, I had realized that it was not my fault.
None of it was. It depended on her, whether to tell me about it. We were just teenagers, high on love.
Taking a deep breath, I sat on the edge of my bed, my body already feeling stiff and foreign.
I opened the old leather and flipped through the pages with blurred ink smattered across a few of the pages with her tears.
I felt out of my body. As if I was nothing but a floating head in the room watching someone open the diary of his ex-lover because even after six years, he was not over her.
Will I ever get over Kiara Sharma? No, I won’t. She loved me, I loved her, and it was nothing but a hurricane and storm striking together, ruining each other in the process. I did not want to forget her.
She was my saving grace, too.
Even now, as I opened the diary entry that had made me puke six years ago in an airplane, her words cut deep in my heart, bringing tears in my eyes. I blinked them away and read the last line of that entry.
I pushed you away, but you stayed and now I wished I had stayed too.
For years, I had wanted the same thing, but I knew that it wouldn’t have helped her. She would have never been strong enough to talk to me about it, any of it. I hate it that she left so suddenly, but I knew she needed it.
I needed it too.
Closing the diary, I put it in the drawer and slammed it shut. I let out a sharp exhale and closed my eyes for a few moments. Just like every time I read one of her entries, I stalked her name on the internet. A small smile lit up my face when I read one of her interviews.
She was a teacher now. I chuckled thinking about Kiara Sharma, who had hated school for half of her life, teaching students, being their English teacher and grading essays.
I remembered when I had seen her book, her debut novel, in the bookstore and bought it while I was in my last year of university.
I was so proud of her I had finished it in two days.
No wonder it was an International bestseller.
But then I read the acknowledgements and read how she wanted to thank young Kiara for falling in love with one of the best persons in this world. I was furious reading it, but it all died down in a few minutes.
I still had that copy in the same drawer. Locked away like a box of old memories. I would visit them like a nostalgic wounded lover in dark nights and early mornings, holding on to each page as if trying to figure out how she must have felt writing it down, pouring her heart out in blank pages.
Feeling overwhelmed, I called Emma and ignored the clipped warning from Elliot when I asked for her number. She picked up on the third ring, asking who it was. She was relieved when I said my name.
“How have you been?”
Words clogged my throat, thinking about large hands forcing her down, bruising her lips, icy fingers sliding down the skin.
I cleared my throat, “Are you okay?”
Emma didn’t reply for a while. “Yeah, I am. Thank you, Ethan, but don’t worry about it.”
Her voice was too firm, but I didn’t want to push her. “Okay. If you want to press charges against him, I have a lawyer who can help you.”
I heard her laugh, “No, Ethan Kane. I am not some big shot celebrity who can press charges on Richard Jane for manhandling me. Seriously, it is okay. He wouldn’t be the first guy to do that, and certainly not the last.”
“Emma.”
“Why do you care, anyway?” She sighed. “I am glad you stepped in that night, but it’s been two weeks.”
“I care because I saw how shaken up you were.” I paused and looked at my closed closet, where the diary was locked inside a drawer. “Something similar happened to a girl I once knew.”
“Oh.” She stayed silent for a while and asked, “Did she press charges against him?”
My silence was her reply.
“I am grateful for your support, Ethan, but I just want to forget it and move on.”
“Alright, Emma. As you wish. Take care.”
I ended the call and before I could toss it on my bed, I saw my mothers were video calling me and a smile lit up my face.
We ended up talking for an hour because Eveline wanted to talk to me about her school, her ballet classes, and her new friends.
I listened to her and wanted nothing more but to go see them soon.
“When will you come visit us? We all miss you,” she whined, her curly blonde hair clipped back from her face.
I smiled, “Soon, sweetheart. I am planning to visit you soon after an event I have to go to.”
“Which event?” My mom piqued in.
“It’s a fundraiser for children, I want to be there.”
They wished me good luck, and I ended the call after waving them goodbye. Elliot’s assistant had sent me a list of volunteering work related to swimming. After going through it, a small grin tugged at my lips.