Chapter 63
Flashback
Ethan
The house was loud.
Music bled through the walls, bass rattling the windows, voices overlapping in the way they only did when everyone was drinking and nobody was listening. Someone had hung a banner crooked across the living room.
LAST NIGHT OF FREEDOM.
I leaned against the kitchen counter and watched Nate try to open a beer with his teeth. He missed twice. On the third try, the cap flew off and skittered across the floor.
“Still got it,” he said, grinning.
I lifted my glass. “A true display of skill.”
He clinked it. “A week, man. One week.”
“Yeah.” I took a drink. “A week.”
Someone shouted my name from the living room. Someone else shoved a shot into my hand. I didn’t remember agreeing to it, but I drank it anyway. The burn was sharp, then gone.
People kept slapping my back, telling me how lucky I was, how Claire was a catch, how I’d somehow pulled off the impossible. I smiled, nodded, let it roll off me the way it always had.
I was good at that part.
At some point, my brother found me. He stood in the doorway, taller, steadier, watching the chaos like it was something he’d already grown out of. He waited until the room thinned, until it was just the two of us and the hum of noise from the other side of the wall.
“You having fun?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “You know.”
He didn’t smile. He leaned his shoulder against the frame, arms crossed. “You helped with anything yet?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The wedding. Claire. Anything.”
“I mean,” I searched for something light. “She’s got it covered.”
He exhaled through his nose. Not angry. Just tired. “Ethan.”
I looked at him then. He wasn’t scolding me. He wasn’t laughing either.
“You know this is real now,” he said. “Right?”
“I know.”
“She’s not just your girlfriend anymore.”
“I know that too.”
He stepped closer, lowered his voice. “You’re not the center of things anymore. Someone else is going to depend on you. That’s not a joke. That’s not something you can charm your way out of.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
He waited.
“I can do it,” I said finally.
“I think you can,” he said. “But you’ve never had to before.”
He put a hand on my shoulder, squeezed once. “Just don’t sit through this. Don’t let her do everything.”
I nodded. “I won’t.”
He studied my face like he was trying to decide whether to believe me. Then he smiled, softer this time. “You’re going to be fine.”
I smiled back. I was good at that part too.
The party blurred after that. Laughter, noise, another drink pressed into my hand. I didn’t remember much. I just remembered the quiet when I finally shut my front door.
The house felt too big without everyone in it.
I checked the clock. Late afternoon. I was supposed to meet Claire for cake tasting today. I’d told her today I wasn’t feeling well. She’d believed me.
My phone buzzed. A text from her.
You, okay?
I stared at it longer than necessary before typing back.
Yeah. Just tired.
The lie slid out easy.
She came by later. I heard her before I saw her, soft steps, the sound of her setting her bag down like she was being careful not to wake me up. She smiled when she saw me, but there was a crease between her brows.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.” I pulled her into me before she could say anything else. Her hair smelled like soap and sunshine. I pressed a kiss to her temple, then her mouth, slow and familiar. She relaxed into it, melted a little.
I felt the guilt like a stone in my chest.
She pulled back first. “I was thinking,” she said, already distracted, already planning. “I might skip the florist. Make my own bouquet. Save some money.”
She said it lightly, but I knew what it cost her to say it at all.
I took her hand. “Whatever you choose will be beautiful.”
She smiled, small. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I do,” I said. “Especially since you chose me.”
She laughed, rolled her eyes, kissed my cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
After she left, the house went quiet again.
I poured myself another drink.
Then another.
I sat back down, staring at the floor. Marriage pressed in on me from every direction. Responsibility. Being needed. Being relied on.
I loved her. That part was true.
What scared me was how much she believed in me.
The TV flickered on, some football game I didn’t care about. I drank anyway. The noise filled the space where my thoughts were getting too loud.
There was a knock at the door. I swayed a little as I opened the door.
Ashley stood there.
“Hey,” she said.