20. CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 20
ARI
I ’m barely out the door when he comes up behind me, passing the server who’s heading back inside. “Ari! Wait!”
I lean on the crutches, pull my phone out of my purse, and open the Uber app. “Yep, that’s my name.”
Ethan’s standing to my side, holding his helmet in one hand, facing me, but I refuse to look at him. The busy street is crowded with pubs and restaurants and bodegas, and people are walking by, crossing the street, mingling. “What happened? I mean, obviously your legs aren’t broken, right?”
“Nope,” I say, using the word itself as punctuation.
“Ari, talk to me. What the hell is going on? What happened to you?” He reaches out to touch my arm, but I pull away.
“I had an accident. A back injury. I’m recovering from it. I’ll be fine.”
Ethan looks me up and down. “You’re making it sound like no big deal, but it looks pretty freaking serious.” I remain silent, so he asks, “Was it Axel?”
I snap my head in his direction. “What? No! Shit, I should have thought you may think that. It was a car accident.” I decide to just tell him the truth—or part of it, at least. “I was hit by a truck.”
Ethan takes a step back as a gasp escapes his lips. “You were hit by a truck?” I nod. “In the street? Like, as a person?” I turn my head toward him and lift my eyebrows in question. “I mean, your body was hit? You were in the road and a truck, what? Ran you over?”
I smush my lips to the side and look up, like I’m thinking about it. “Yeah,” I say with a nod. “That’s pretty much how it went.”
He looks me up and down again, assessing the damage. “How the fuck did that even happen?” He’s pale. I feel a little bad for him. It’s a lot to take in.
“I was running and not paying attention and I just ran right out into the street and BAM—truck, meet Ari.” Ethan is left staring at me. Even paler now.
A horn beeps and a car pulls up with the Uber sign in the window. “That’s my ride.” I take a wobbly step with my crutches toward it.
“No, screw that. I’ll take you home. We are so not done with this conversation.”
I roll my head to the side and look at him from under my eyebrows, then nod toward the helmet in his hand. “I assume you have that because you drive a motorcycle?” He looks at me and shrugs. “Of course you do … Look, I can’t exactly ride in this condition, so, I’ll just see you around.”
“I’ll follow you,” he blurts out. “Actually, why don’t you follow me back to my house? I can drive you home in the Jeep later.”
My protest is halted by my phone vibrating. Leaning my forearms on the crutches and pulling out my phone, a text from Sophie lights up the screen.
So … how’s it going???
My response is quick.
You are a dead woman
I see a bunch of emojis come through as I slide the phone back into my purse. “That was Sophie.”
“The friend?”
“Yes. She’s my former foster sister.” My vibrating phone snags my attention again. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Who is it now?”
“Fonz.”
“Fonz? How come he isn’t texting me? How come no one is worried about me being murdered?” Ethan looks over my shoulder as I open the text. “What’s he saying?”
Don’t be upset
“How come he’s not worried if I’m upset?” Ethan mumbles beside me.
I slide the phone back into my purse and start to wobble toward the Uber that’s been patiently waiting. Ethan steps up and gingerly takes my elbow, guiding me toward the car. “Look, either you follow me to my house, or I ride with you to yours. We’ve got a lot to unpack and it’s not waiting a day longer.” He opens the car door for me. “What’s it going to be?”
“Fine.”
“Good.” Ethan helps me into the car and passes me the crutches, then leans in and addresses the driver. “Just follow me, OK?”
Watching Ethan ride his motorcycle in front of us is mind-boggling. How the hell did he get so big? Seeing the denim shirt stretched tight over his massive shoulders, how it doesn’t just rip down the center is beyond me. When he makes a turn, I get a view of his side—his bent leg in fitted black jeans tucked into an Army boot, hugging the bike. After we arrive at a white ranch-style house and the Uber driver departs, Ethan helps me enter through the garage.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he says with arms spread wide before reaching down to unlace and discard his boots. “This”—he waves a hand around the room we’re in—“is obviously the kitchen. I recently had it renovated.”
I look around at the hunter green lower cabinets and white upper ones. White and gray swirled marble stretches across the countertops, while butcher block tops the island of cabinets that sits in the middle of the kitchen.
I follow him into a little formal dining area that opens up to the living room, taking in the square, natural wood colored table, which is surrounded by white walls with wainscoting on the lower half, giving it just a touch of character.
The living room has a big gray sectional couch resting under a window that looks out over the front lawn. Across from it is possibly the largest television I have ever seen. Looking over to Ethan, I hike one eyebrow up … way up.
He grins. “It’s a bachelor pad. I have to have a big TV.”
“Speaking of bachelors,” I look around. “Where’s Fonz?”
“He and his dad have poker night with a few of the guys they work with a couple nights a month. He won’t be back till late. Or he may even stay at his parents’ tonight.”
Ethan points over his shoulder toward a short hallway. “The bathroom and bedrooms are down the hall, FYI, but why don’t we just sit?” He gives me a nudge toward the couch. My pride takes a hit because he must be able to tell my legs are tired, but I take the out.
Making my way over to the corner of the couch where the chaise lounge makes an L, I flop down and toe out of my flats, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud. One at a time, I pull each leg up so they’re bent at the knee, my feet flat on the cushion in front of me.
“What can I get you to drink?” Ethan asks as he walks backward toward the kitchen. “Beer? Wine? I think I might have some rum if you want to mix it up?”
“Just water.”
He disappears and comes back a few seconds later, tossing me a water bottle as he walks around the coffee table and sits next to me. “You only got a seltzer at the restaurant.” He cracks open the beer in his hand. “You don’t drink?”
I shake my head and pick at the label on the bottle. “Nope. Never had a sip.”
“Really?” He draws his head back in surprise and raises his eyebrows.
“Yep.”
“So, you just don’t feel like it?”
“Well, my therapist”—I scrunch up my nose at the word—“says children of alcoholics often go one way or the other. Either they inherit the same addictive, self-medicating behavior, or they never touch the stuff. I was adopted, so I don’t know what’s in my genes. But seeing how alcohol made Axel act like a rabid dog every time he had a drink, I’ve never really been interested in trying it myself. Or being around too many people who drink to inebriation. Which I know is a bit of a joke because I worked at the bar for all that time. And I hung out with Sean, who had alcohol coming out of his pores.”
“Yeah …” Ethan begins hesitantly, leaning forward and placing the beer on the coffee table, pushing it out of reach. “What was that all about, with Sean?” He leans back into the couch and drapes one arm along the back of it, resting his hand close to my head.
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I saw photos of you all from time to time. Some that Fonz posted or whatnot. So, I knew you guys were hanging out, or dating, or whatever.” He gives me the side-eye.
“Ugh. I dunno. Call it circling the drain? Poor self-esteem? Glutton for punishment?” I cringe. “Either way, it was a disaster.”
“ Was ,” Ethan repeats my word. “So, I hope that means you’re not with him anymore.”
“No. I haven’t seen him since, well, since the night of the accident.”
Ethan’s eyes shoot to mine. “Did he have something to do with it?”
I squint as I think how to answer that question. “Not really, I guess.”
“What does that mean?”
I push my hands into the cushion at my hips, lifting myself a little so I can start to slide my legs down in front of me. Ethan immediately leans over and grabs me by the calves and swivels me, pulling my legs straight and placing them in his lap.
“Thanks.” I feel my cheeks flush. After all this time, Ethan’s touch is still so familiar, and intoxicating, and that makes this all so surreal. “That night he came over and we had a fight, and I ended up running—shocker, I know.”
Ethan squeezes my calves over my skinny jeans. He doesn’t look at me as he asks, “What kind of fight?”
My heart stops. I know what he’s asking, and as much as I want to be honest with him, I want to spare us both the heartache. “Just an argument over him being late to pick me up. He wanted to stay and hang out and I told him that if he was staying then I was leaving. So, I went for a run and was in my head and, well, the rest you now know.”
Ethan doesn’t say anything.
“What about you? I saw a picture of you with a cute brunette several years back who Fonz said you were crazy about. And then he said you went through a bunch of women after that. The poor things.”
Ethan forces out a laugh. “Yeah, Fonz was definitely embellishing. I was with Jules for a few years, but she cheated on me. Anyone else after that was just convenient.” When I say nothing, Ethan turns his head. “Why are you staring at me?”
“Who on this fucking earth would cheat on you?!” I shriek.
He blinks. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘fuck’ before.”
“Well, I’m going to say it again for emphasis. Why the fuck would she cheat on you, Ethan?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “I guess you would have to ask her that.”
“Seriously, what an asshole she is.”
“Thank you,” he says with a head bow. “I’m touched. Really.”
“What a bitch.”
“I think so, too.”
We sit in comfortable silence for another minute. “Hey, where did your parents end up moving to?”
Ethan leans his head back against the couch as he continues kneading my legs. “Just out past Brighton.”
“They still there?”
“No. Mom lives on the outskirts of the city now. She and Dad divorced not long after the move. And then Dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer, and he passed about a year ago.”
My hand flies to my mouth. “No way! Ethan, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Thanks.” He takes my hand in his and brings it down to his lap where he keeps hold of it.
“I wonder why Fonz didn’t tell me about that.”
“I told him not to.”
My eyes lock with Ethan’s. His head is still leaned back against the couch but lolled to the side, toward me. “Why?” I frown at him.
“I was trying to leave you alone.”
We’re quiet for a moment.
“Hey, can you feel this?” He gives my legs a squeeze.
“Yes.” I fold my arms over my chest as I begin the explanation I’ve given many times before. “I had a spinal cord injury that left me temporarily paralyzed, which in turn weakened my leg muscles from not being used for so long. I now have full feeling in my legs, although I never did lose the sense of touch. But now I can feel muscle pain and joint sensation—everything. I just have to build the muscle strength back up in my legs, as well as my core and back. It’s obviously more complicated than that, but that’s the gist of it.”
“Wow.” Ethan lets out a heavy breath. “That’s so wild. I still can’t believe that happened to you. What about the person who hit you? Did they get arrested?”
“No.” Ethan’s hands squeeze my legs and release. “It wasn’t his fault. I wasn’t paying attention. And he wasn’t drinking or speeding or anything.”
“Crazy. And I cannot believe Fonz didn’t tell me. I would have absolutely come to you, Ari. I would have been there every day.” He brings a hand up and runs his knuckles over my jaw.
“I know. That’s why I asked Fonz not to tell you.”
He tilts his head and gives me sad eyes. “Why?”
Oh, let’s see … Because I hold you back. Because I’ve only ever been an obligation for you. Because it’s not your responsibility to always put me back together.
“Honestly?”
“Honesty would be nice.”
“You want the truth?”
He nods.
I give him a slow smile and say, “You can’t handle the truth.” Then snap my fingers and point at him, giving him wide eyes.
He stares at me, biting his lip. “I know it.” He starts snapping his fingers, and closes his eyes. “I can picture Jack Nicholson sitting in the courtroom … It’s got the chick from G.I. Jane … Shit! I can’t think of the movie title …”
I start counting down, my hand splayed out in front of me, ticking down the digits. “Five, four—”
“Gah, it’s on the tip of my tongue!”
“Three, two—”
“Tom Cruise is in it!”
“BEEP!” I shout obnoxiously and shake my closed fist in Ethan’s face. “ A Few Good Men .”
“ A Few Good Men ! I knew it! I should get half credit. I knew all the actors.”
“Nope.” I laugh as he tickles my feet. “That’s not how the game works and you know it.”
He keeps up his tickling assault as I squirm on his lap. “You should have never told me you can still feel these feet, Red.”
I try to pull away as I shriek, “Ethan, stop! Uncle. I said uncle!” I fold over and try to pry his hands off my feet.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he says, angling my body toward him and settling my head on his lap. I awkwardly—and slowly—shuffle my legs out the other way.
He leans over me and grabs some remotes off the coffee table, then kicks his feet up onto it, keeping my head in his lap. Using one hand to turn on the TV and start flipping through streaming services, he runs his other through my hair.
“Your hair is still really soft,” he mumbles as he flips through movie options, and I enjoy the feel of his fingertips against my scalp. “Why on earth did we stay apart for so long?”
Before I can say anything, he pumps his fist holding the remote in the air. “Aha! OK, we are brushing up on our movie trivia because I will never be schooled again.”
I open my eyes to see the beginning credits of A Few Good Men light up the screen and let out a laugh.
“Go ahead and try, buddy,” I say sleepily. “Go ahead and try.”