22. Ethan
22
ETHAN
“YOU BELONG TO ME”
Mornings at the house are usually calm. Except for when we’re chattering away, there’s a kind of quiet when even the creak of the floorboards feels like it’s been waiting all night for an audience. I’m used to that. Today, though, the quiet is more unsettling—like the eerie calm before a storm. Stepping into the living room, the emptiness hits hard, the silence hanging heavy in the air.
Holly isn’t here.
For a second, the thought that she might have left early doesn’t sit well. Missing the sound of her humming while she moves around, the way her presence makes the house feel less like a building and more like a home , gnaws at something deep. There’s a distinct lack of Holly-ness in the house, and it’s unnerving.
But reaching out to her? No, not today. Reaching out to Holly has crossed my mind, about fifty times overnight. I picked up my phone about fifteen times amid tossing and turning, but something stopped my thumb from hitting send each time—the lingering thought of Jake—freaking Jake Roland and Holly going to meet him.
While the rational side of my brain says it’s nothing, the other side, the one that’s been gnawing at me since yesterday, keeps whispering stuff. Stuff like, “Why is she willingly going to see her ex who hurt her that much?” and “What if she still has feelings for him?”
Yesterday’s awkwardness still clings like the bitter edge of winter wind, with the heavy weight of my pride. There’s no sense in looking too eager, too needy. That never ends well. And besides, there’s practice to deal with.
Still, the meeting with Jake nags at the back of my mind like a mosquito that won’t stop buzzing. Why would she even entertain him? Is there unfinished business between them? Maybe Holly still has feelings for him, or worse—maybe Jake has something she’s missing in me.
The thought is almost laughable, almost, if it wasn’t sinking like a stone in my chest. Whatever. She can handle herself. No need to spiral. Grabbing my gear, it's straight to practice. Maybe someone slapping a puck into my face will knock some sense into this stupid head.
Practice doesn’t start any better. The rink’s colder than usual, biting through layers and straight to bone. The noise of skates cutting into ice fills the air, punctuated by the thud of pucks hitting the boards. But there’s no focus. Today, the ice feels less like a second home and more like quicksand.
Coach Andrew’s barking orders, but his voice barely registers. Each play feels slower than the last, every pass coming late, every shot a little off. The stick feels foreign, unwieldy, like it belongs to someone else entirely.
“Carter, wake up !” Coach’s voice cuts through the fog like a slap. “You’re skating like you’re wearing snowshoes out there!”
The puck shoots toward me—fast, low—but my response is sluggish. Instead of sending it flying down the ice, it ricochets off the stick with a clumsy slap, bouncing toward the boards.
Ryan’s there, of course, sharp and quick. He’s always picking up the slack, and right now, and I’m leaving more than enough of it. Ryan glides past, shooting a look, one eyebrow raised.
“What the hell, man?”
But there’s no answer. Just a grunt of frustration and another fumbled play. The other guys don’t say much, but it’s clear in their sidelong glances that everyone’s noticed. Ethan Carter is off his game—thank God they don’t know it’s because of some slick actor with a fake smile, and made-for-TV charisma.
I’ve never had to worry about any woman being loyal to me because my relationships were all short-term, no strings attached until now. I believed Holly was different and things could be real between us, but now doubts bubble up. Maybe actor types are just better suited for women like Holly? He’s Hollywood, a walking Instagram filter, unlike a hockey player who’s more comfortable on ice than under spotlights—she’s an event planner after all.
The gray-edged jealousy is making everything worse.
In the locker room, the atmosphere’s lighter, buzzing with the usual post-practice chatter. Guys laugh, towel-whip each other, the mood as loose as it gets. Parked on the bench, staring down at my skates like they hold all the answers to the universe, it doesn’t take long before I hear my friend’s heavy sigh.
Ryan drops down next to me, pulling off his gloves with a dramatic flourish. “Alright, spill. What’s eating you?”
The silence stretches for a beat too long before I can manage a mutter, “You ever ... you ever feel like you’re not good enough for someone?”
“Is this about you?”
“Hypothetically.”
Ryan’s brow furrows, confusion playing across his face. “You’re worried if you’re good enough? Dude, you’re literally Blizzards star athlete. People chant your name in packed arenas.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” My hand rubs the back of my neck, as I stare at the wall like it’s personally offended me. “I mean ... compared to someone else. Someone like Jake.”
Ryan blinks, clearly trying to process this unexpected shift in conversation. “Jake Roland? That Hollywood pretty boy? Why are we talking about him?”
The question hangs there for a moment, heavier than expected. “Just answer the question, man. Who do you think—who’s more appealing? Him or me?”
Ryan squints like I’ve grown a second head. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Dead serious.”
Ryan hesitates, clearly uncomfortable. “Okay, uh ... I mean, Jake’s got that whole ‘I’m-an-actor-I-sell-my-face-for-a-living’ thing going on, and some women are into that, I guess. But you? You’re ... you know, you .” He gestures vaguely, as if that explains everything.
My frown deepens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ryan scratches the back of his head, looking more awkward by the second. I know he’s wondering why he’s even bothering to put up with this. “Look, man, you’re intense. Brooding. But that’s part of the appeal. You’re real. You’re not out there posing for cameras or pretending to be someone you’re not. Some women like that. Women who don’t want the shiny, fake stuff.”
The words sink in slowly, but they don’t bring much comfort. “So, you’re saying it’s just a matter of taste?”
Ryan shrugs. “Pretty much. Besides, you can’t compare yourself to guys like Jake. He’s got his lane, you’ve got yours. But—” he pauses, voice softening, “what are we talking about here?”
“Holly went to see Jake yesterday. He’s her ex.”
Ryan’s eye twitches. “And you’re jealous because you’ve got something for her?”
“I never said that.” I shift in my seat.
He chuckles. “If we’re talking about Holly going to see her ex, then it’s not about who’s more appealing. It’s about trust.”
There’s a weight to Ryan’s words, the kind that cuts through the noise in my head. Trust. The one thing I’ve not been giving Holly. Instead, the jealousy’s been gnawing, turning everything into a competition no one signed up for.
Staying silent for a while, chewing on my friend’s advice gives me some perspective, and then, finally, I nod. “Yeah. You’re right.”
Ryan grins, patting me on the shoulder. “Of course, I’m right. I’m always right.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” A hint of a smile spreads across my lips. “Thanks, man.”
“Anytime,” Ryan says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Now, go apologize to the woman who’s got you twisted up like this. The appeal of silent, brooding mystery men wears off after time. Women also like honesty. Trust me.”
With that, Ryan saunters off, leaving me standing in the locker room, the gears in my head turning. There’s a decision that needs making, and the only way to fix this mess is to swallow my damn pride and just talk to Holly.
By the time the front door clicks shut behind me, the tension’s still there, coiled tight in my chest. But it’s quieter now. Manageable.
The house is warm, filled with that familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla candles Holly loves to light up every time the temperature drops below 50. It’s comforting, in a way I’m not sure I’ll ever fully understand, but I’m learning to accept it.
The sound of her soft footsteps draws me toward the living room, and there she is—curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, a book in her hands. Her expression softens when she sees me, but there’s something there, too. Caution. Probably mirroring the same tension in me.
Clearing my throat, I stand awkwardly for a moment. This isn’t my strong suit. Apologizing. Talking. I’m way better at using actions—on the ice, in the gym—but here, now, words feel like the only way forward.
“Holly,” I start slowly, taking a step closer. “We need to talk.”
Her eyes lift to meet mine, soft but wary. “Yeah. We do.”
The weight shifts in my chest, making room for something else. Guilt, maybe. Regret.
“I’ve been ... off,” I say with my best sheepish face on, hands sliding into pockets. “And it’s unfair to you. And it’s about Jake.”
Her brow furrows, confusion flickering in her eyes. “I know it’s about Jake.”
My jaw tightens, the words harder to say out loud than I initially thought. “I don’t like the idea of you meeting him. It got in my head, and I didn’t handle it well.”
Holly sits up straighter, her book forgotten on the couch. “You think I’m still interested in Jake?”
“It’s not that I think you are.” It’s hard trying to find the right words. “It’s more that ... I don’t know. I guess I’m used to being the guy women want for one thing. Jake ... he’s different.”
Holly stares at me, eyes widening as realization dawns. “Ethan, you’re jealous ?”
My lips press into a thin line, and the little nod of acquiescence is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
For a second, the room is silent, the tension hanging like a weight over us. But then, Holly’s lips curve into a smile, a small, amused sound escaping her.
“Ethan Carter, professional hockey star, brooding and mysterious ... is jealous of a guy like Jake?” Her voice is soft, but there’s warmth in it, the kind that wraps around me, loosening the tightness in my chest.
“Don’t rub it in.”
She laughs—a real, bright laugh—and suddenly, the world feels lighter. She stands, crossing the room toward me, and before I can react, her arms wrap around me, pulling me into a hug.
“I don’t want Jake, Ethan. I want you ,” she murmurs against my chest, the words grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed. “There’s no competition.”
The tension eases. The world stops feeling like it’s closing in. And in that moment, everything clicks into place.
Arms wrapping around her, pulling her closer, I bury my face in her neck, the familiar scent of her hair filling my senses. “I’m sorry,” my voice comes out rough. “For being a jerk.”
Holly pulls back slightly, our eyes locking, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Well, you made me worry all through the night. But apology accepted.”
We stand there for a beat longer, just holding each other, the world outside fading into nothing. The apology, the tension, all of it melts away, leaving only us.
But then, because Holly can’t help herself, and I barely can myself , she leans up on her toes, her lips brushing against mine in a way that sends a spark of electricity down my spine. “Now, shut up and kiss me.”
Don’t need to be told twice . My lips crash into hers, all the frustration and jealousy from the past few days dissolving into something else—something intense and undeniable. The kiss deepens, hands gripping each other as if we might never let go.
Holly’s fingers trail up my neck, into my hair, and my brain short-circuits for a second, lost in the feeling of her so close, so warm, so right .
When we finally pull apart, breathless, Holly’s eyes are bright, mischief twinkling in their depths. “So, you good now?”
I put my hand on the wall and lean closer to her face. “I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
Leaning even closer, my lips lightly graze under her ear, and she shivers with the contact. “You see, Jake wants something that’s mine, and I won’t let him have it.”
She glares, a little smile playing on her lips. “You think I’m yours?”
“Yes,” I pull her closer. “Your body,” my hands run down her waist and under her dress, “tells me you’re mine.”
Holly closes her eyes, letting out a groan as my fingers press against the damp spot between her legs. “You’re right.”
“I know I am,” I mumble into her neck and she lets out a little laugh, wrapping her arms around my neck. Pushing her against the wall. I lean in to kiss her again, pressing my crotch into her.
“Oh, god,” she tilts her head to the side, exposing a long, graceful, irresistible neckline that I immediately attack with my lips, nibbling collarbone to shoulder.
I reach across her back, slowly pulling down the zipper of her dress, kissing along exposed skin as the dress’s neckline falls down her shoulders. The sight of her white lace strapless bra, pushing up full cleavage, nearly makes me come right then. One hand goes to unfasten the clasp while my mouth descends on one nipple as soon as the lace falls away.
“Ethaaaan,” her knees buckle as she moans.
My free arm circles around her waist, lifting her as she wraps her legs around me. I bite softly down on the nipple and her hands grip my hair roughly, pulling me closer as she moans.
I love the sound of her desire. It makes me want to feel her naked skin against mine, bury my cock inside her heat, and pump into her again and again until we’re both lost in our desire. There are too many clothes in the way of what I want right now, so I reach for the tails of my shirt. She joins in, frantically tugging my shirt over my head.
As soon as my chest is bare, she runs a hand over my body, her eyes meeting mine, sending a wave of need boiling inside me.
“Come.”
With that single word, she pulls me toward the couch, waiting in the center of the room. Setting her down on the couch, my hands skim across her breasts, down her abdomen, pulling down her dress the rest of the way to reveal her thighs and the wet panties.
“Ready for me?” My fingers slip under her panties into a wet patch of heat. She hisses as I push inside. “Yes, you are.”
She groans and pushes her hips toward me. “Ethan . . . I want to feel you inside me.”
I undo my pants with speed and push them down my hips, climbing over her. This raw and primal need I have for Holly is wild and uncontrollable and I have never felt this way with anyone until now, and I know I will never feel it with anyone else.
Yanking down her panties and tossing them to the floor, I circle an arm around her waist to lift it for me as I slide into her. A low growl escapes my lips as I push in deep. Holly breathes in strangled sounds, gasping, her fingers gripping the couch’s arm as I move as fast and hard as I can.
She whimpers and moans, begging for more. The sound of our skin slapping punctuates our heavy breaths. I keep up the pace, thrusting in and out of her, looking into the pools of her eyes that melt my walls of control. Here and now, I can see that only the two of us exist in this vortex. I want her to remember this moment forever. To picture this moment whenever she closes her eyes, to touch herself whenever I cross her mind, remembering what I make her feel. One hand grabs her breast, cupping it and pinching her nipple.
“Oh my god,” she moans, her eyes falling closed, then open again.
I lift one of her knees with the other hand, opening her up wider for deeper thrusts. Her heat grips me so hard that my head falls onto her shoulder and I groan into her neck. “You break me, Holly. In ways that no one else can.”
She responds with a moan, pushing her hips to me, grinding hard as my orgasm rushes closer. It feels like I’m being consumed—every one of my cells on fire for this feeling I’m addicted to. Pushing in faster and faster, I aim for the climax I can already see in her eyes.
She lets out a loud moan, and I cover her mouth with mine to muffle the cry of her orgasm. Her body tensing and tightening around me sends me over the edge. I move faster, harder, sending her breasts jiggling as my climax rips through me. A couple more deep, hard thrusts and I spill into her and collapse in her arms.
“You belong to me, too, Ethan.”
She circles an arm around me, and we lay there quietly for a moment, trying to catch our breaths.