Chapter Fifteen #2
“Your head’s not in the right place,” he said. “You’re in shock. It’s like you’re drunk, and you don’t cross that line, remember?” One hand lifted, his knuckles brushing under my chin.
With me seated and him standing, the height of the bed put us almost face-to-face. For once, we were level. He only had to look down slightly.
“I’m so sorry,” I said anyway. Because even if I couldn’t say the rest, I needed him to hear that much.
His eyes dropped for a second. “Ash…”
Tentatively, my hands settled at his hips, expecting him to pull away.
He didn’t.
“I didn’t mean what I said,” I went on. “Or how it came out. I want you here. I need you.”
His blue eyes strayed, then locked on mine.
“Sometimes I need you more than air,” I said softly. “Like right now.”
His brows drew together, and his expression softened.
“I’m sorry for ever making you feel like I don’t. That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told.”
He searched my face, eyes moving slowly, like he was deciding whether to believe me. Then he nodded. “Okay.”
The tension in my jaw eased. Some of the urgency drained out of me, leaving fear in its place.
Ethan must have seen it, because he stepped closer, his hands sliding into my hair. “I’m not leaving you, Ash. I can be angry at you. I can need time. But I will never turn my back on you when you need me. Never.”
A weak smile broke through my expression, and whatever resolve I had left shattered.
I pulled him in by the waist, wrapping my arms around him.
A second later, his came around my shoulders, holding me just as tightly.
The warm press of his body, the clean scent of him, the way he fit against me—everything about him—quieted some of the ache spiraling inside me.
How could one person hold this much power over another?
His fingers traced my shoulders, then slid into the hair at my nape. “When did it happen?”
I didn’t need to ask what he meant. “After we kissed. That same night.”
His body relaxed a fraction more. “You’re an idiot for not telling me.”
I nodded into his neck, eyes closing as I nuzzled closer. “I am. I’m sorry.” My arms tightened around him.
Ethan exhaled softly against my temple. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” His voice dropped. “Will you talk to me?”
My first instinct was to deflect—to joke, to flirt, to pull us out of the moment before it could cut too deep.
But I couldn’t. Not now. Not with him.
“I’m scared.” Saying it felt like stepping off solid footing.
The engines roared around us, sealing us into a private bubble. Just him and me.
“Of what?”
I buried my face in his neck for a moment longer, breathing him in, buying myself a second before lifting my chin.
My gaze drifted past his shoulder to the endless white of clouds beyond the window.
“Of things changing,” I said quietly. “Of losing something again. Of having the ground pulled out from under us—Henny, Oli, and me.”
The words settled between us. I felt them land—on him, as he tried to understand, and on me, as I realized how true they were.
His hands cradled the back of my neck, fingers moving slowly through my hair. “Are you thinking about your mom?”
The drop in my stomach was immediate. All the words I had vanished, caught in the tight knot in my throat. I nodded.
“That does sound scary,” he said. “Life does that sometimes. But I’m here, okay? And your brothers are right there on the other side of the door.”
My eyes burned, and I closed them again.
“They don’t need you to carry this for them,” he went on. “You can do it together. All of you. And I’m here too.”
He didn’t have to say the rest. I heard it anyway.
You’re not alone this time.
Fear still pressed against my ribs, familiar and stubborn, slow to release its grip.
“Don’t close up on us,” he murmured. “It’s not the same.”
My eyes burned harder, and I tucked myself back into the curve of his neck—half hiding, half holding on.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Anytime.”
Night started to settle around us, the plane humming steadily beneath our feet, and we stayed there in that same embrace for a while—my heart slowly finding its rhythm again, Ethan holding me through it.
I used to wonder what it was about him. Why he had this effect on me. Why he made me feel seen and… safe. Of all the people in my life, why him?
I’d asked myself that question for years.
And right then, wrapped in his arms, with everything stripped down to what actually mattered, the answer came to me—soft and simple.
With him, I didn’t have to hold myself together. I didn’t have to be careful, or controlled, or strong. I didn’t need to anticipate the next fracture or brace for impact.
I could just be.
And somehow, in the middle of everything falling apart, he made the chaos feel fucking beautiful.
The house was quiet.
It was the wrong kind of quiet. The kind where people held their breath in the same space, tense and afraid.
I dropped my bag by the door. People moved through the house—none of them familiar. Some glanced at me as they passed, then quickly looked away. No one said a word.
The living room wasn’t empty. People stood scattered, like they didn’t know where to put themselves. My eyes locked onto the one thing that didn’t belong.
My mom.
I couldn’t see all of her, just her feet, but I knew it was her.
Why is she on the floor?
I hadn’t even finished forming the thought when hands closed around my shoulders and pushed me back. My father’s face filled my vision.
“Sebastian, go upstairs,” he said.
“Is Mom okay?”
Silence.
His face looked wrong too—flushed, eyes too bright.
“Go upstairs,” he said again, firmer this time.
“Mom?” I twisted my head, trying to look past him, but his hands came up to my face, cupping my cheeks and holding me still.
“Your mother’s gone.”
Gone where? She’s right there.
My body reacted before my mind caught up. My eyes burned. My breathing turned shallow, uneven.
“Gone where?”
He might have answered. I wasn’t sure. All I could hear was the ringing in my ears, everything else muffled and far away. When I didn’t move, he grabbed my arms and pulled me with him, steering me up the stairs and into their bedroom.
Oliver and Henry were sitting on the bed. Oliver’s face was red, his eyes swollen. Henry started to wail the moment he saw me, even though his cheeks were already streaked with dried tears.
I turned back to my father, standing in the doorway.
“You have to keep your brothers in here,” he said. “Don’t let them come downstairs.”
“Dad—”
“You have to keep them in here.”
“Dad, what—”
The door shut behind him with a hard, final thud.
A hand landed on my shoulder, jolting me awake.
“Fuck,” I breathed out, blinking through the darkness, slowly making out my brother’s face.
“Sorry,” Henry said, offering an apologetic smile. “We’re landing soon.” His eyes flicked to the space beside me. “You’ll need to get back in your seat.”
I followed his gaze. Ethan was stretched along my side, half curled into me. There was barely enough room on the chair for one of us, let alone two, which left us pressed together beneath the thin blanket.
“I’m up.” My voice was rough with sleep, and I cleared my throat.
Henry gave us one last smile before heading back to his.
We’d stayed out in the lounge together. All of us. Waiting for updates. Sitting in the quiet after they told us he’d need surgery. It hadn’t been a small heart attack. Multiple blockages, which meant a bypass. When I’d finally drifted off, they were already prepping him to go in.
Sleep never settled properly after that.
I’d slipped in and out for hours, memories tangling with nightmares.
After one particularly bad one, Ethan had unbuckled his seatbelt and, without a word, slid in beside me.
I’d stretched the chair flat, pulled the blanket over us, and let the warmth of his breath and the press of his forehead against mine pull me under again.
For a moment, I studied his face while he slept, brushing his hair back from his ear. A sharp wave of panic hit me as I watched him—the aftershocks of the dreams still clinging to me.
I couldn’t lose him. I wouldn’t survive losing him.
Keeping the contact light, I pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his cheek. He stirred, beginning to surface. Watching his lashes flutter open felt like relief. Real relief—even though I’d known he was only asleep.
As he blinked and rubbed a hand over his face, I wondered how much rest he’d actually gotten. The last thing I remembered before sleep had claimed me was his hand tracing slow circles over my back, his eyes still wide open.
“We’re landing,” I whispered.
He nodded, rolling onto his front as much as the space allowed, stretching with a soft groan. “Fuck,” he muttered. “My neck.”
I hummed in agreement. “Did you get any sleep?”
He made a face. “Barely. I’m gonna go wash up.” His voice was still low, meant only for the two of us, rough with exhaustion.
I couldn’t stop staring at him.
With one last stretch, he leaned in and pressed a kiss high on my cheek. “Be right back.”
I trailed my hand over his arm as he stood, watching him disappear down the narrow aisle. Rolling my neck, I straightened the chair and pulled the blanket off. When I looked up, I was met with three identical stares. Henry, Oliver, and Charlotte—all sitting upright now, rumpled and watchful.
“Any news?” I asked, shifting the focus away from myself.
Oliver leaned his elbow on the armrest. “Still in surgery.”
I dragged my palm over my beard. “Christ.”
“They might be done by the time we get there,” Oliver added. “But he’s going straight to the ICU. It’ll still be a while before we get any real updates.”
“We’re all going straight to the hospital, right?” Henry asked.
A wave of quiet agreement moved through the cabin.
“Coffee, anyone?” he said, already pushing to his feet. “We’re in for a long night. Or day. Or whatever time it is.”
More nods.
“I’ll help,” Charlotte said, and they headed toward the front.