Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Jacob
“I don’t know if I like this, Ethan.” I grip the arm rest as the plane accelerates down the runway, my knuckles turning white from how hard I’m squeezing.
The second the seat belt sign went on and the doors closed for takeoff, my nerves skyrocketed.
At first, I was too in awe of the first-class lounge.
I was already living my best fake-boyfriend-of-a-famous-athlete life when we boarded the plane, and that was before I realized our seats could turn into beds.
We were given pajamas that were so soft that I had to stop myself from rubbing against them like a cat, all while sipping on a glass of champagne and getting giddy over an amenity kit.
Yep, I was rendered speechless as I sat there, taking in the luxury. My mouth gaping like a goldfish to the point where Ethan ended up leaning over to close it with his finger .
However, now my knees are bouncing at a nervous rhythm. My nails dig into the soft leather of the armrest, and the distinct taste of copper hits my tongue as my teeth bite the inside of my cheek.
Alex and Blaine returned from California yesterday, and I’m pretty sure I drove Daniel crazy with how panic-stricken I was, making sure everything was set so they wouldn’t need anything. He even tried to send me home a few times just so he could work without me stressing out every five seconds.
But there’s no going back now.
I’m going to be over four thousand miles away, and the voice in my head keeps asking if I can really do this.
“What if Alex needs me, or the bakery? What if everything falls apart while I’m thousands of miles away? What if there’s a fire? Or a power outage?” My words come out in a rush.
Ethan places his hand on my knee, halting the bouncing. His other hand lands on my chin, turning me to face him. Those dark brown eyes bore into mine as he gives me a soft smile.
“It’ll be fine,” he affirms. “Alex will be fine; he has Blaine, Daniel, and Aria, Elliot, too. And if he needs any more help, the Kendricks are in town. Jonathan Peyton will also be back from his vacation in a few days.”
He drops his hand from my chin, and my breath comes out in a whoosh. I instantly miss his touch.
“If there’s a fire, they’ll call 911, and if there’s a power outage, they’ll work through it. The bakery is in safe hands. You deserve this break, Jacob. You need to refuel your soul so you can continue thriving.”
I try to focus on the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric of my pants. The curve of his lips and the stubble that surrounds them.
“Well, when you put it like that,” I huff out a laugh, trying to quell my anxious thoughts. I glance out of the window at the blue sky passing by us. “Don’t you get scared?”
“Of flying?”
I nod.
“No, I wouldn’t say so.” He scoots as close as he can with the divider separating us.
“I’ve taken thousands of flights, and I’ve never been scared.
Sure, there’s been times where turbulence has made me feel a little uneasy.
Everyone’s different, though, eh.” He pauses for a beat.
“But I’m here, okay? You don’t need to be afraid because I won’t let anything happen to you. ”
I drag my teeth across my bottom lip. His brows are furrowed slightly, like he desperately wants me to believe he’ll protect me, so I give him a shaky nod.
Then the plane bumps with turbulence, and my heart shoots up into my throat as my hands grip the leather armrests again.
“J,” Ethan calls me calmly. When I look over at him again, he’s holding his hand out over the divider. “I’ve got you.”
I shakily slip my hand into his, and he gives it a gentle squeeze, his thumb coasting over my knuckles in a soothing caress.
“Keep your eyes on me. Remember to breathe through your nose and out slowly through your mouth.”
Taking a deep breath in, I slowly exhale, watching as his face morphs into a smile. I keep my eyes locked on those chocolate orbs as I focus on my breathing.
“I’ve got you, J,” he whispers so quietly that I barely hear him over the noise of the aircraft. “I always will.”
Ugh! Why does he have to go and say things like that? Why does he have to be helping me breathe through the anxiety and nerves with kind words and gentle sweeps of his thumb against my skin?
It should scare me to realize how relaxed I am around him. He encompasses everything I’ve stayed away from most of my life, but there’s just something about him that puts me at ease.
He makes me feel safe. Like he would be there to catch me if I fell.
And that, in itself, should terrify me.
But then I think back to the other day when I watched the strong armor he wears slowly disintegrated, showing me the emotional wounds that have been left by ghosts of his past. He’s been hurt, not just once, but twice, in such monumental ways.
I’ve been through the heartbreak of losing both of my parents and grandparents, but it’s a different kind of heartbreak.
The people in my life didn’t choose to leave, but his did.
And those wounds have to be the hardest to heal.
“Jacob, we’re here.”
I rouse at the rumble of Ethan’s voice, slowly blinking my eyes open. My neck aches from falling asleep at an awkward angle against the car window, and I let out a groan as the sun hits me in the eyes.
I don’t remember a single thing since we got off the plane and collected our suitcases. Jet lag is hitting me like a freight train, leaving me a little delirious. I’m not sure I can remember my own name right now.
After we had some food on the flight, the cabin crew made up our beds, and the anxiety must’ve wiped me out because I slept the entire flight—holding on to Ethan’s hand.
He must’ve been so uncomfortable, but he didn’t say a word about it when I woke up.
He just gave me one of his small smiles and carried on reading his book.
Oh, and another thing that has added fuel to my very inconvenient crush?
Ethan wears glasses.
Yep. He was in full-on Clark Kent mode: dark eyes, dark hair, dark-framed glasses, and a broody expression. It was a good thing I had a blanket covering me because there was no way my pants alone would be able to conceal the semi I was sporting from the visual.
I apparently revert to my teenage years whenever I’m close to him.
Ethan opens the door to the rental car and gets out, the sound of the door closing behind him snapping me out of my daydream. I shield my eyes and open my own door and see the stunning house for the first time.
Vivid wisteria climbs up one side, a pop of color against the centuries-old sandstone. Stone mullion windows give it that typical British country home vibe you see in magazines, along with the immaculately landscaped grounds.
It’s picturesque. Postcard-worthy .
“Is this your house?”
“Yeah. Do you like it?” I note the slight hesitation in his voice.
I turn around to face him, shocked. How could anyone dislike this?
“Ethan, it’s beautiful.”
He smiles coyly, like my words mean a lot to him.
I remember Blaine telling me they haven’t met his mom, which must mean none of them have been here to visit. Blaine has also mentioned before that they all travel during the off-season, either going back to their hometowns or on vacation.
So aside from his mom, does Ethan spend every summer on his own?
The thought makes me sad.
“Can I help?” I ask as he begins to unload our suitcases from the trunk.
He hands over the keys. “Wanna open up?”
“How long have you had this place?” I ask while unlocking the door.
“About five years,” he begins, following me into the hall. “My mom had been begging me to find something permanent instead of renting or staying in hotels whenever I visited, so when this house came on the market, I knew I had to get it.”
“What made you choose it? I mean, aside from the fact that it’s absolutely gorgeous.”
“There are no neighbors for a mile or so, and it’s still within an hour’s drive from London. It’s peaceful and fairly isolated, but close enough if I need anything. I love it.”
I look up at the exposed wood beams, taking in the plain jasmine-white walls, oak finishes, and neutral-colored carpets.
It has a modern touch while keeping a lot of the original features.
I don’t see any photos or the kind of finishing touches that make a house a home .
It’s so…sparse, and a part of my heart breaks at that.
My home is the house my grandparents handed down to me when I turned twenty-one.
The same home they brought me and Alex up in after our parents passed away.
It’s still full of memories: photos, vinyl records, ornaments, and trinkets.
Each piece tells the story of something I experienced or learned from my grandparents.
But Ethan’s apartment back in Chicago—and apparently his British home too—feels empty.
Almost temporary. Like he doesn't know if adding a personal touch is worth it.
“Just wait until you see the backyard. It’s the best part,” he says before winking, and I damn near trip over my own feet as he catches me off guard.
“That sounds amazing.” I can’t help but grin. “But can I take a nap first? I’m so tired, I think I could fall asleep standing right here.” Right on cue, I cover another yawn with my hand.
“Of course.”
Ethan leads me up the stairs, carrying both my bags with ease. I follow closely behind, admiring how his strong arms carry the suitcases with ease.
And his ass?
Holy. Shit.
It fills out his jeans to an inch of their life. I have to stop myself from reaching out to pinch it to see how firm it is.
Needing to distract my brain from giving into the urge, I ask. “Will I get to meet your mom today? ”
“Yeah, she’ll be over a little later.” Ethan pushes a door open and walks inside, placing my bags at the end of a king-size bed. “This is your room.”
I toe off my sneakers and fall face down into the plush white bedding.
“Omigod, it’s like a cloud,” I mumble into the sheets.
He chuckles under his breath. “Go ahead and get some rest. I’ll get you some water.” He pauses in the doorframe. “Her name’s Jennifer.”
I look over to him, confused.
“My mom. Her name’s Jennifer.”
I nod into the bedding.
Jennifer. Such a pretty name.
I think I say it out loud, but I can’t be sure.
My eyes suddenly feel so heavy, tiredness taking over me in a rush.
I manage to strip down to my briefs and slip under the covers, unable to keep my eyes open any longer.
I’m floating on the edge of unconsciousness when there’s a clink from what I think is Ethan placing a glass on the nightstand.
“Thank you for being here,” I hear him whisper, and I’m not sure if the gentle press of his lips to my forehead is real or if I’ve already drifted off into a blissful dream.