Chapter 50
Claire
I wore my red dress. Not because I expected anything big, just because it was the one night that week Brandon was supposed to be home before midnight. I smoothed the fabric over my hips and checked my reflection one last time, tugging slightly at the hem until it sat where I wanted it.
The apartment was clean. I’d wiped down the counters, lit the small candle I only used when I expected company, and set the dish on the table so the smell of garlic and tomato sauce filled the room. The kind of evening I’d been missing without fully admitting it.
I checked the time again. He was late, but not unusually so.
When the knock finally came, it was softer than expected, followed by a clumsy shuffle. I opened the door and barely had time to register what was happening before Brandon stumbled forward, catching himself awkwardly against the frame. I gasped and grabbed his arm without thinking.
“Hey, are you okay?”
He laughed, low and loose, the sound already answering my question. Up close, the smell of alcohol was unmistakable.
I steadied him and guided him inside, my hand firm on his elbow. He leaned heavier on me, and my shoulders tightened as I helped him toward the couch.
“You’re drunk,” I said, trying not to sound accusing.
“Mm,” he hummed, carefree.
I felt the irritation rise immediately, but I pushed it down. Tonight was supposed to be ours. The only night this week. I didn’t want to start a fight.
He looked up at me then, eyes unfocused but sincere. “You look beautiful.”
The words were a little slurred. I didn’t smile, but I didn’t pull away either.
“Sit,” I grunted, guiding him onto the couch. He collapsed into the cushions with a contented sigh, shoes still on, tie crooked.
“I made dinner,” I added, mostly to fill the silence.
“That’s… great,” he said, already drifting.
I went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, trying to steady myself. I told myself it wasn’t intentional. That work dinners blurred into drinks, that he probably hadn’t planned to come home like this. I focused on practical things: filling the glass, pushing my hair back, breathing.
When I came back, he was already eating.
He’d pulled the container of spaghetti toward himself and was halfway through a bite, sauce on the corner of his mouth, fork clinking clumsily against the cardboard.
I stopped short.
“Brandon,” I said, then paused. I could’ve just killed him right there. Could’ve just finally snapped. Instead, I asked, “Did you drive here?”
He shook his head, chewing. “Nah. Took a cab.”
“Okay,” I said. I set the water down in front of him. “Drink this.”
He did, obediently, spilling a little on the coffee table before laughing again.
“Sorry,” he said, not really looking at me.
I sat down beside him, leaving a careful space between us, I didn’t trust myself, not to strangle him. The candle flickered quietly in the corner.
“I thought tonight was date night,” I said eventually. My voice sounded calm, but it took effort.
“It was,” he replied, getting up. “I mean, it is. I just… went out after work. Lost track.”
Brandon kept talking.
“I didn’t get that promotion,” he said, now pacing unevenly in front of the couch, “I swear to you, everyone in that room thought it was mine. Everyone. They were already congratulating me before the meeting even started.”
I stayed quiet, watching him carefully.
“And then my boss stands up there,” Brandon continued, his voice rising, “with that stupid tight smile he gets when he knows he’s screwing someone over, and he says Dave’s name.”
I frowned. “Dave?”
“Yeah. Dave,” he snapped. “The guy who’s been talking about quitting for six months.”
He laughed, without humor. “Can you imagine that? They give the promotion to the bastard who was halfway out the door.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration pouring off him. “I’m sitting there thinking, this has to be a joke. It has to be.”
I opened my mouth, but he cut me off.
“Afterward,” he went on, slurring just slightly now, “my boss pulls me aside. Tells me upper management really appreciates my work. The fucker says, I’m next in line. Next in line.” He scoffed. “Like that’s supposed to make it better.”
He shook his head, jaw tight. “I busted my ass for that place, Claire. And they hand it to him.”
This was the most candid I’d ever heard him. Usually he kept things guarded, filtered. Tonight, there was no filter at all.
I understood why he was angry. I really did. But the way his voice kept rising, the way his hands wouldn’t stay still, made my stomach tighten. I didn’t like being around angry drunk people. I never had.
His hand tightened around the glass.
“And I’m supposed to just take that?” he scoffed. “Smile and wait my turn?”
Before I could answer, he picked up his glass and hurled it across the room.
It shattered against the wall.
The sound was sharp and violent, glass exploding outward. I shielded my face where I stood, my heart slamming hard enough to make my vision blur. For a second, I didn’t remember how to move.
Then someone stepped in front of me.
A solid presence. Broad shoulders. A body placed deliberately between me and the mess.
I didn’t need to see his face to know who it was.
Ethan. The realization left me lightheaded.
He stood there like a wall, tall and still, blocking my view of Brandon entirely. Brandon, slumped on the couch, squinted up at him, clearly trying to understand how a stranger had appeared in our apartment.
“Who the hell are you?” Brandon asked.
Ethan didn’t answer him.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to look back at me. His voice was low, steady. “Claire, go outside.”
I stared at him, trying to catch up. How he was here. When he’d come in. Why my chest felt so tight.
Before I could say anything, Brandon snorted. “Oh. So, this is Ethan.”
He stood up, unsteady but determined, moving toward us. I could see the anger sharpening as recognition set in.
“Finally get to meet the infamous ex,” Brandon said, his mouth twisting. “The one whose house you keep hanging around.”
Ethan didn’t move. Didn’t turn.
“Claire,” he said again, more urgent now. “Leave. Before I do something, you don’t want to see.”
That’s when Brandon seemed to understand what Ethan was saying.
“Who do you think you are?” he snapped. “Telling her to leave? I’m her boyfriend. Even if she doesn’t act like it, I’m still the boyfriend.”
At this, Ethan turned to him.
His voice dropped even lower, cold and flat in a way that made my skin prickle. I recognized it instantly, the tone he only ever used when he was close to losing control.
“You might want to stop talking,” he said. “Right now.”
The room felt charged, tight with something dangerous. I knew, that if I didn’t step in, this was going to turn physical.
“Brandon,” I said quickly, forcing calm into my voice. “You’re drunk. We’ll talk tomorrow when you’re sober.”
Then I turned to Ethan. “I’m not leaving my own apartment,” I said, heatedly. “Not with him like this. I’m not going to leave him here alone to burn the place down.”
“I’m not leaving you with him,” Ethan shot back, heat finally breaking through his control.
Before either of us could say more, Brandon laughed bitterly.
“I’ll solve the problem,” Brandon said, swaying slightly on his feet. “Give the lovebirds some privacy.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I snapped, the edge in my voice cutting through his sarcasm. “We’re not doing this tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow. When you’re sober.”
He scoffed, grabbing his jacket off the chair. “Yeah. Sure. Tomorrow.”
I couldn’t see Ethan’s face, but I could hear the faintest hint of a smirk in his voice when he spoke. “Don’t worry,” he said, eyes still locked on Brandon. “I’ll take care of Claire.”
That did it.
Brandon’s mouth twisted into a sneer. He hesitated like he wanted to say something else, then thought better of it, or maybe just couldn’t find the words.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered.
He yanked the door open and stumbled out into the night.
The door slammed behind him.
For a few seconds, neither of us moved. Then the sound of his uneven footsteps carried through the open window, fading as he made his way down the driveway toward the bus stop at the end of the road.
The apartment finally went quiet.
Ethan was still standing in front of me, like he was waiting for Brandon to come back.