Chapter 58
Ethan
Time stretches the way it does when you don’t want it to move too fast and can’t stop it from doing so anyway.
Mom checks her phone and frowns lightly. “Bathroom break,” she announces to Lily. “Before we regret these milkshakes.”
Lily groans dramatically but hops down anyway, grabbing her hand as if Mom might get lost without her. “You promised dessert after!”
“I promised nothing,” she says, smiling as they walk away. “You heard what you wanted.”
Their voices fade into the hum of the mall.
Almost immediately after, Sophie’s phone buzzes. She answers it distractedly at first, nodding along, then her posture stiffens.
“Oh. Okay. Yeah, I’m so sorry, no, I’ll come right now.”
She hangs up and looks at Claire, already gathering her bag. “Theo has a fever. The sitter’s worried.”
Claire’s face softens instantly. “Go. I’ll call later.”
Sophie squeezes her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She leaves in a rush, heels clicking away, swallowed by the crowd.
And suddenly, it’s just us.
The space across the table feels… charged now. Electric. Like the energy has shifted without either of us noticing.
Claire sits opposite me, one leg crossed over the other, absently stirring her drink with a straw. I lift my cup and take a long swallow, realizing too late how dry my throat is.
She’s not wearing what she usually does.
At school, she dresses with intention, to disappear just enough. Soft sweaters. Long skirts. Cardigans buttoned high. Clothes that make her look safe and untouchable.
Today, she’s let herself be seen.
Her hair is down, falling in loose waves around her face, catching the harsh mall lights and somehow softening them. Strands brush her collarbone when she moves, and every time she tucks one back behind her ear, my attention follows the motion like it’s instinct instead of choice.
She wore a pale green, strappy dress, the hem just above her knee, easy and unassuming, the kind of thing that looked better the longer you looked at it. I certainly did.
The thin straps rest against her shoulders, sliding over freckles I recognize without trying.
The fabric hugs her waist gently, clings just enough to make my hands itch with awareness.
I don’t have to look at her chest. The shape of her breasts is there, undeniable, the neckline modest but devastating all the same.
I look away. I look back.
Her eyes flick up and meet mine for half a second.
There’s a faint flush on her cheeks now, a delicate dusting of pink that tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. Her lips, painted red, fuller than I remember, softer than they have any right to be, press together as if she knows her dangerous effect.
My pulse kicks hard.
I swallow again and stand abruptly. “I’ll grab the drinks.”
Her brows lift slightly, a hint of a dimple at the corner of her cheek. “Okay.”
I turn away before I do something stupid.
The counter feels like a safe distance. A necessary buffer.
I order mindlessly, my attention still locked on the way she sits alone now, phone in hand, one foot swinging lightly beneath the table. She’s done that since we were kids, when she’s waiting, when she’s thinking, when she doesn’t realize anyone is watching.
The sight punches straight through me.
Then I hear it.
“Claire hasn’t changed at all.”
The words drift over, casual, unguarded.
“If anything,” the deep voice continues, “she’s only gotten better.”
My jaw tightens.
I don’t turn. I shouldn’t.
I know that voice.
Liam.
I focus on the register screen; on the way the cashier asks if I want a receipt. I nod, take the cups, tell myself to let it go.
Then he laughs.
“Think she’d let me do her?”
Fury, cold and sharp slices through my chest.
His friend snorts. “Who?”
Liam gestures lazily. “Her. Blonde. Green dress.”
I glance over despite myself.
Claire is still looking at her phone, unaware. Her foot swings. Her hair falls forward, catching the light.
The friend squints. “Dude. No way. Have you ever looked into a mirror? She’s way out of your league.”
Liam smiles. “She’s got low self-esteem.”
My grip tightens around the cups.
“Always did,” he continues. “Just my type.”
The words scrape.
The friend frowns. “How do you know that?”
Liam shrugs. “Small town. Everyone knows everyone.”
Then, too casually, like he’s commenting on the weather he adds, “She was engaged once. To some guy named Ethan, I think.”
My stomach drops.
“She walked in on him screwing her own bridesmaid.”
The sound that leaves me isn’t human.
I don’t remember moving.
One second, I’m at the counter. The next, I’m in front of him, my hand fisted in his collar, yanking him forward so hard his drink splashes onto the floor.
“What did you just say?”
His eyes widen as he looks up at me.
I’m taller. Bigger. And I don’t bother hiding the fury.
“Ethan.”
I shake him once, hard. “Say it again.”
People scatter. Chairs scrape. Someone gasps.
His friend stammers, hands up. “Man, Liam’s just an idiot.”
I ignore him.
Liam’s face pales as recognition settles in. “I didn’t—”
I shove him back into the counter. “You don’t get to say her name.”
“Ethan!”
Claire’s voice cuts through the noise.
She’s there suddenly, hands on my arm, fingers curling around my sleeve, grounding and urgent. “Stop. Please. Lily will be back any second.”
The name hits me like a bucket of ice water.
Lily.
My breath comes hard. My hands shake.
I release him.
Liam stumbles back, coughing, eyes darting around. His friend grabs him and drags him away, muttering apologies without meeting our eyes.
The food court slowly resumes, people pretending nothing happened.
Claire’s hand lingers on my arm for half a second longer than necessary.
“Are you okay?” she asks quietly.
I nod, jaw clenched.
Inside, all I can think is this is my fault.
If I hadn’t made her story public property in a town that feeds on drama.
I watch her sit back down, smoothing her dress like nothing happened, like she hasn’t just been dragged through my worst mistake all over again.
And I wanted to hurt him. If he had a problem, he should have brought it to me.
I would have stood there and taken it. That would have required a spine, though, and none of the people in this town had one.
It was easier to tear at her than to face the man who caused the damage.
Easier to punish the visible wound than the person who made it.
When Emma and Lily return, Claire smile immediately, as if she’s having a fun time.
I smile too.
And all I can think is how badly I wish I’d made Liam bleed.