2. Ethan
2
Ethan
E than Bennett wished he were anywhere but here.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as rain battered the old house’s metal roof, its sound echoing through the overgrown yard. Ethan’s shoulders hunched as his thin shirt clung to his skin like a clammy second layer. Rivulets of water ran down his back as he hustled over to the passenger side of his blue Chevy and opened it.
“Hero. Come on, boy. Let’s go.”
The Australian Shepherd leaped from the truck with fluid grace, making a small splash in the puddle that had gathered around the vehicle. He barked, then sidled up to Ethan’s leg. Reaching down, Ethan stroked Hero’s drenched blue-merle-and-white coat, feeling warmth seep through the already soaked fur. The dog shook off the rain, droplets spraying into the air before disappearing into the waterlogged soil beneath them. Hero’s peculiar gaze—one eye a sky blue, the other a warm brown—met Ethan’s with an almost human-like questioning, as if silently chiding his master for forgetting a jacket.
Ethan smiled, then strained to see through the gray sheets of rain toward the house. As his eyes traced the contours of 237 Willow Creek Road, more than two decades seemed to dissolve like mist, leaving him feeling like that same uncertain teenager who had fled this town so long ago.
The peeling paint.
The crooked mailbox.
Vines choking the porch railing.
It looked exactly as he remembered—a ramshackle, dingy old mess—and now that his father was gone, it was his problem.
Great.
Ethan steeled himself and trudged toward the house. With each step, mud oozed around his boots, while Hero’s paws left a trail of glistening prints. The porch groaned as they climbed the rotting steps, old wood bowing under their combined weight. Reaching the door, the key scraped against rust as Ethan jammed it into the lock, twisting and jiggling until it finally gave way with a click.
The door opened with a push.
“Here we go,” Ethan muttered, giving Hero a quick pat.
The moment Ethan crossed the threshold, a wave of stale air hit him, carrying the unmistakable scent of mildew. Hero padded in behind him, sniffing cautiously, before settling onto a threadbare rug a few feet away. Ethan’s nose wrinkled involuntarily as he scanned the living room, eyes drifting over the ancient television set, then to a bookshelf cluttered with old mystery novels and mismatched knick-knacks. The couch, worn and torn at the seams, sagged under its faded upholstery, revealing patches of yellowed foam beneath.
Absolutely nothing had changed.
Ethan moved through the living room into the kitchen, dropping his keys and phone on the counter as he used to when he lived here. He walked over to the fridge and opened it, unsure of what he’d find. It was mostly bare, with a few half-empty bottles of water on the middle shelf and an old jar of pickles in the door. He closed it and turned around, taking in the peeling wallpaper next to the stove.
A soft, persistent drip broke the silence. Ethan’s eyes followed the sound to a small, dark stain spreading across the ceiling. A droplet swelled at the center of the patch before it released and splashed onto the floor. Another drop fell, then another.
Ethan grunted and grabbed an old pot from the cabinet below. The drip turned into a hollow plink . Each drop hitting the bottom of the pot filled the air, steady as a heartbeat.
Hero’s ears perked, and he trotted over to investigate, nose twitching as he sniffed at the pot. Ethan absentmindedly scratched the dog’s head.
The house felt heavier than it used to—like it had absorbed years of neglect along with the memories. He wiped his hands on his jeans and stepped into the hallway, heading toward a familiar wall.
Dust motes floated in the dim light as his gaze landed on a row of old photographs. The cheap plastic frames lined up like a visual timeline, each one a window into the boy he used to be. First grade, gap-toothed and hopeful. Fifth grade, gangly and bright-eyed. Seventh, awkward but determined. Tenth, a hint of the man emerging. And then the last—his senior portrait. That one wasn’t even framed, just pinned up with a thumbtack.
His calloused fingers skimmed the edge of the crinkled, sepia-toned school portrait.
A cold nose nudged his hand, startling him from his reverie. Hero gazed up at him, tail wagging.
Ethan smiled, rubbing the dog’s snout. “Yeah, boy. That was a lifetime ago.”
He had been so sure of everything back then, his carefree grin radiating from the pictures. Before the military, before he had known the heartache that time could never mend.
Ethan let out a breath and approached the first door on the left—his old bedroom. He reached out and turned the knob ...
Everything was still there—his bed, his desk, his dresser, and even the baseball posters of the Chicago Cubs he’d hung on the walls. The room remained untouched, right down to the rumpled sheets on the bed.
Ethan paused before stepping onto the worn floorboards, crossing the room. He stopped in front of the dresser, where a thin layer of dust coated everything. With a hand, he wiped across the top, clearing away the layer that had settled over the years. Among the forgotten items, he found his old class ring and a Ryne Sandberg baseball card.
As he continued to examine the dresser’s surface, his eyes traveled to a black frame, tilted face-down. He righted it, revealing a photo that hit him like a punch to the gut—him and his dad, both grinning in the stands at Wrigley Field.
Ethan’s throat tightened. His father had never cared for baseball, but for one day, he’d pushed aside the bottle and taken Ethan to the game. It was a rare glimpse of the man his father could have been, a fleeting moment when everything had felt right.
Setting the frame back with a soft clink, Ethan’s attention shifted to his old nightstand. There, beside a baseball-shaped lamp, sat his Polaroid camera. He lifted the camera, its familiar weight settling in his palms. As he turned it over, his mind drifted to the last time he used it.
All at once, it was as if she were right there beside him—Kara’s smiling face pressed against his chest, her soft hair tickling his chin, carrying the faint scent of jasmine. The waves crashing on the beach. The warmth of their last kiss—and the promise he had made to call her.
He closed his eyes, remembering how the next day—everything had happened so fast—he enlisted in the army, and before he knew it, he was gone.
He didn’t even tell her goodbye.
Across oceans and years, no matter how far he ran, that summer with Kara wasn’t something he could just leave behind. It was part of him, something he carried everywhere.
Ethan swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and loosened his grip on the camera—and the memory—trying to push away the painful truth he never wanted to face: Sometimes the greatest acts of love are the ones that break our hearts, but we do them anyway.
After setting the camera back on the dresser, his attention shifted to the mirror hanging above, meeting the gaze of a forty-year-old man shaped by choices made and words left unsaid.
The stranger in the mirror blinked back at Ethan—familiar blue eyes now framed by crow’s feet and tousled blonde hair streaked with silver. His gaze fell to the tattoos on his arm, each inked line a chapter of the life he’d lived since leaving this house—one dedicated to his fallen Rangers, which concealed a scar, and the other of Hero’s paw prints.
Turning away from the mirror, Ethan left his bedroom and strode down the hall, peeking into the bathroom to survey the damage there. Surprisingly, it was relatively well-kept and free of clutter. His father may have been a fall-down drunk, but at least he wasn’t a hoarder. A small win, Ethan supposed.
With a mix of dread and curiosity, he continued his tour to his father’s bedroom.
The door was cracked.
He pushed it open and stepped inside with Hero.
At first glance, the room looked as Ethan remembered. When his vision adjusted to the dimness, he noticed new items on the walls. Nearing it, Ethan’s breath hitched.
There, in a simple frame, hung his portrait—a younger version of himself, jaw set, eyes forward, and the crisp lines of his Army Service Uniform. Beside it, a newsprint screamed a headline he’d long tried to forget: Hadley Cove Hero Awarded Silver Star .
Pride, pain, and confusion warred within him as he stood, rooted to the spot.
Since leaving Hadley Cove twenty-two years ago, Ethan had changed his number and never called or returned—even after retiring from the military and settling in Virginia.
Not once.
After what his dad had done, who could blame him?
CRASH!
Ethan’s head snapped up.
What was that?
He rushed to the window, cupping his hands around his eyes, hoping to see past the thick grime and dirt.
The only thing visible was the rain.
“Hero, with me,” Ethan called out, hurrying down the hall until he reached the front door. He threw it open with one swift motion and rushed onto the porch.
Ethan descended from the porch, each footfall producing a wet, sucking sound from the saturated earth, Hero’s soft paws pattering after him. Rain pelting them as Ethan shielded his eyes, squinting past his truck through the downpour.
At the edge of the road, his heart plummeted.
Stepping forward, he was transported to another time, another place ...
In an instant, the dreary rain vanished, giving way to a blinding, scorching light that seared Ethan’s retinas. Coarse sand ground beneath his boots with each step. The humid air reeked of smoke, diesel fuel, and burned rubber.
Twisted hunks of metal littered the road before him, barely recognizable as a Humvee. Flames licked at the shredded tires, black smoke billowed into the sky. Ethan’s mouth went dry as a strangled gasp clawed its way up his throat, erupting into a primal scream that shattered the surrounding air.“Carter. Ramirez. Davis. No, no!”
His combat boots felt like lead weights as he forced himself to move closer. The heat rolled off the burning wreckage in suffocating waves. Sweat trickled down his back beneath heavy Kevlar. His rifle hung like an anvil in his hands.
BARK! BARK! BARK!
Ethan blinked, and the arid landscape receded, bringing the rain-soaked road back into focus. Hero released another bark, dispelling the lingering wisps of the memory.
Reality hit him with full force as red brake lights pierced through the storm, flashing like a beacon in the distance. He wasn’t in Afghanistan; he was in Hadley Cove, and his body moved before his mind could catch up, legs pumping, Hero a gray blur at his side.
The air grew thick with the stench of gasoline and rain, an acrid cocktail that burned his lungs with each ragged breath.
This was far worse than he’d imagined.
Glass and metal shards were strewn across the road like shrapnel.
As he drew closer, his stomach dropped.
The twisted car came into view, crumpled against a large oak tree.
Hero bolted ahead, a streak of blue merle and white against the slick asphalt. The dog circled the wreckage, his frantic barks cutting through the storm’s roar.
Heart pounding, Ethan surged forward, reaching for the driver’s side door. He yanked it.
Stuck.
He tried again, this time with both hands.
The door wouldn’t budge.
A string of curses hissed under his breath.
Ethan swiped the foggy window clear and pressed his forehead against the cool glass. The deflated airbag draped over the steering wheel like a discarded parachute, partially obscuring the driver’s face, but not completely. Through the makeshift veil, he could see a young woman with her head lolling against the seat.
“Hey!” Ethan pounded on the window, hard enough to make his knuckles throb. “Can you hear me? Say something!”
No response.
Hero’s barks turned into a whine before his ears pricked forward, head tilted as if he were trying to understand.
Ethan’s heart slammed against his ribs as he shoved a hand into his pocket, fingers grasping for his phone.
Empty.
He checked his other pocket.
Still nothing.
Spinning around, he bit his lip and shot a desperate look in the direction of the house.
There it was, clear as day in his mind—his phone, lying useless on the kitchen counter—might as well be in another galaxy.
His gaze darted between the unconscious woman and the distant house.
He needed to call for help, but he couldn’t just leave her here ...