Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Jacob
Rolling over onto my side, I stretch my arm out across the mattress, expecting to find Ethan’s warm body, but my hand meets the cold, empty sheet instead.
I can’t believe how amazing last night was. Well, I can. Mainly because my body has that delicious ache to it. A pleasant reminder of being fucked so spectacularly.
So thoroughly.
Twice .
I slip out from under the covers and head to his closet to pull out a pair of pajama pants.
They’re huge on me. The sight makes me chuckle.
I tighten the drawstrings, then head downstairs where I’m greeted by the smell of fresh coffee and cooking.
The mellow sound of John Mayer filters through the house from the speakers, and I find Ethan at the stove cooking breakfast.
He’s refused to let me cook once since we arrived, claiming he wants me to fully relax and not worry about a single thing. It’s just another thing to add to the never-ending list of reasons why he is a truly magnificent man.
I lean against the door and watch him. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts and his glasses, the muscles in his broad back rippling as he moves so effortlessly around the kitchen.
The reminder of how he picked me up as if I weighed nothing last night plays like an endless reel in my mind.
His hips sway slightly to the somber tune, and there’s something so attractive about a man who goes barefoot in his home.
His chocolate brown eyes light up when he spots me, his lips morphing into a wide smile. I know he doesn't smile often, but it seems to be a common occurrence around me.
My romantic heart can’t help but think I’m the reason.
It’s a dangerous thought.
I move toward him, but he meets me halfway, scooping me up in his big, strong arms and pressing his mouth to mine in a scorching kiss.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck. “You’re cooking me breakfast?”
“Always.” He kisses me again before letting me go, and pulls out a stool at the island for me to sit down on before moving to grab a cup and placing it under the coffee maker. “I like taking care of you.”
Butterflies flutter in my stomach at his earnest expression.
It’s been so long since someone took care of me.
Or, more like it’s been so long since I’ve allowed someone to take care of me.
Alex did when I had the flu last year. I was so sick, I couldn’t even get out of bed. I didn’t really have a choice.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, sliding the steaming cup of coffee across the counter.
“Good.” I smile, wrapping my hands around the cup. “I haven’t slept that well in a very long time.”
“I figured. You were out cold when I got up.” He smiles back. “You’re not sore, though?”
Leaning over, I squeeze his hand and shake my head once, smiling. “No, I’m okay, thank you.”
Seeming content with my answer, he nods once, then goes back to the stove. He cracks some eggs into a bowl and whisks, adding a small dash of milk and tossing them into a pan. I take a sip of my coffee, just watching him move.
“What are you making?”
“Breakfast burritos,” he says while shredding some cheese. “Sausage, scrambled eggs, tomato, avocado, and cheese.”
My stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly. Ethan looks over his shoulder with a grin. “Won’t be too long, don’t want you to get hangry on me now.”
I scoff and stick out my tongue. “I won’t, I’m not you.”
A few minutes later, he browns the tortillas and plates them up, sprinkling some chopped chives on top of the eggs, and I’m moaning around mouthfuls. “This is so good.”
“Yeah?”
I nod. “I could eat this every day.”
Ethan opens his mouth, then must think better of it and closes it again. He presses his lips together and smiles before taking another bite.
“Who taught you to cook? ”
“My mom.” He says between mouthfuls. “I wanted to be able to cook so she didn’t need to worry about it when she got home from work.”
There’s an ache in my chest at his admission. I don’t know what to say. I don’t think there’s anything I could say that would tell Ethan just how much my heart breaks for younger him.
“I borrowed some recipe books from the library, and the days when she worked until late, I would make sure she had something ready.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, willing the back of my eyes to stop burning. “I?—”
“It’s fine, J,” he says gruffly. “It’s in the past now, but I guess I like to take care of people, and what better way to care for them than through food.”
I smile, but the twitch in his jaw tells me he’s done with this conversation.
“Do we have anything planned today?” I ask, changing the subject.
He shakes his head. “No. I need to review some game tape. I…” He hesitates before continuing. “I need to start thinking about my future after I’m done playing, so I was wondering if you wanted to brainstorm with me.”
My eyes widen slightly. I know that’s been weighing on his mind. I don’t know what I can offer considering I don’t know anything about hockey, but my heart squeezes that he’s opening up slightly. “I would love to.”
After we both shower, we retreat to the living room. Ethan makes notes in his notebook as he watches his game footage while I’m trying to read one of the books he bought me in London. The second I sat down on the couch, he pulled my feet into his lap, and the whole thing feels very…domestic.
He has one hand on my foot, his thumb absently massaging the arch in a way that has me trying to stop myself from groaning. With his eyes fixed on the TV, he scribbles notes on his pad, then sometimes pauses the game to draw something on his pad before pressing play again.
It’s absolutely fascinating. The way his brows furrow in concentration. His lips slightly pursed. By the time he’s filled several pages of his notebook, the game has ended, and another one is about to begin, but he stops it.
“What made you get into baking?”
I glance up from my book to see Ethan looking at me. The TV is paused, his notebook balancing on the arm of the couch.
“My mom,” I answer, slipping my bookmark into the page.
“My earliest memories are of baking with her. We’d always make those box mix cupcakes or brownies for my dad, and when Alex was old enough, he would help out too.
Although he didn’t really help—he would just try and eat the mixture out of the bowl.
” I let out a small laugh, but there’s a heaviness in my heart.
I don’t really talk about them. I usually only look back when I’m on my own, and there’s no one to see the pain that still consumes me all these years later.
“Every Sunday we baked something my mom found in a magazine or a recipe book we borrowed from the library. It became like our thing, so when she passed away, I wanted to keep baking as a way to stay close to her. My grandma actually picked it up with me, knowing how important it was to me. We would do some baking while Alex and my grandpa watched hockey, and when I was old enough to understand the way the world worked, I knew I wanted to make a business out of it. I knew I wanted to carry that tradition into my everyday life somehow.”
“I know you were a child, but how old were you when they passed? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I don’t mind you asking at all. I was ten, Alex was seven.”
Ethan’s face drops, sadness whirling in his eyes. “Fuck, Jacob. I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head slightly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze to silently say thank you.
Glancing down at the book on my lap, I take a deep breath and recall one of the darkest days of my life.
“Me and Alex were staying at my grandparents’ house as my parents had gone away for the weekend to celebrate their twelve-year wedding anniversary.
My mom was so excited. She picked out this lakefront cabin that had a hot tub out on the deck, and I helped her make an anniversary cake that she was going to surprise my dad with.
It was his favorite, red velvet. But on their way home, they were hit by a drunk driver.
” My voice cracks, tears welling in my eyes.
“I remember the day the police came to the door like it was yesterday. My grandma told us to go to our rooms and not come out until she came to get us. Alex was too young to understand what was going on. He started doing this puzzle on my bedroom floor while I peered out the window.”
Ethan leans over, taking my hand in his. He gently caresses the inside of my wrist with his thumb, his other hand resting on my knee.
I wipe my eyes with the heel of my palm and sniff .
“When I came out of that room, it felt like time stood still but like I had aged a few years at the same time. I knew something bad had happened because I’d never seen my grandparents cry before.
They explained that my parents had been in an accident, and they wouldn’t be coming home.
” A choked sob escapes. I quickly hide my face in my free hand as tears begin to fall down my cheeks.
“Alex asked if they’d gone to heaven, and it was that moment I knew I had to be strong for him. I had to put my own grief aside because he needed me more than ever.”
Just like last night, Ethan scoops me up into his lap like I’m as light as a feather. He wraps his arms around me, holding me tight as I let my emotions run free.
Society tells you that after a certain time, you’re supposed to “get over it” and move on, even though you’re still numb inside.
But grief is a tangible thing. It ebbs and flows like an active current.
At different speeds at different times. Sometimes the wave is small and shallow, a gentle reminder it’s there, but then it grows and becomes huge.
It’ll pull you under, leaving you struggling to breathe because the pain is so intense.
Making you feel like your heart is being pulled from your chest.