6. Ethan
6
Ethan
E than slammed his fist into the steering wheel, the vibration rattling his truck. He had seen the horrors of war and the worst of humanity. He’d saved his men from certain death in Afghanistan, even with a bullet lodged in his arm. But the sight of Kara after all these years? That sent him running like a coward.
She was right there.
Hero nudged Ethan’s arm with his nose.
Ethan’s throat tightened, but he reached over and scratched Hero behind the ears. “I’m all right, buddy.”
Rubbing his throbbing temples, Ethan dragged himself out of the truck, and Hero followed him up the creaking porch steps of his dad’s house. When he opened the front door, Hero sauntered in, nails clicking on the floor. Ethan followed, his muscle memory leading him through the dim house to the kitchen. He sat at the same table where he used to eat cereal before school and TV dinners alone at night.
Hero whined softly at his feet as Ethan’s stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since leaving Virginia this morning. A TV dinner would feel like a feast right about now.
Guess some things never change.
He stood, then walked to the freezer. A blast of cold air hit his face as he yanked it open.
No luck.
The fridge wasn’t any better. His eyes spotted the same jar of pickles from earlier. He reached for it and checked the label, then shook his head—expired.
I’ll get food in the morning.
As he was about to close the door, he paused.
Wait—No beer?
His dad always packed the fridge with beer. Drank a six-pack every night. Maybe even finished the last one right before he ...
Sighing, Ethan shut the fridge and looked at Hero, who began lapping water from the pot he’d set to catch the leaky ceiling’s drips.
“Hero, no.” He gently tugged the dog away from the pot, wincing as water sloshed over the rim. After dumping it into the sink, he placed the pot back on the counter. “Stay put, all right? Got your stuff in the truck.”
He headed to the truck and grabbed Hero’s bag of supplies along with his own. Back inside, he dropped his bags by the door and unpacked Hero’s supplies on the kitchen counter.
The dog watched him, tail swishing.
“You’re the lucky one,” Ethan said as he filled Hero’s food bowl and set it down. “You get dinner tonight.”
Hero immediately dug into his food, while Ethan filled a water bowl and placed it beside the food.
Ethan then opened a cupboard, searching for a clean glass. He found one, sort of. A film of dust coated its surface. With a sigh, he ran it under the tap, wiping it clean with his thumb before filling it with water. He was about to take a sip when—
Right, meds.
He placed the glass on the table and walked into the living room, which was dark and filled with the shadowy shapes of furniture he once knew well. Unzipping the side pocket of his bag, he fished out the familiar orange bottle, its rattle a reminder of the battles he still fought.
Back in the kitchen, he shook a pill into his palm and swallowed it dry only to wash it down with a gulp of water. The routine was so ingrained now, he barely thought about it anymore. But tonight, in this house full of memories, the act felt heavier somehow.
As he set the glass down, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and set it on the table, pressing speaker when he saw the voicemail.
“Mr. Bennett, Steve Clark here—your father’s attorney.” The voice crackled through the speaker. “Look, I hate to do this over voicemail, but we’ve hit a snag. Seems we’re missing your father’s house deed.”
Ethan froze.
What’s he talking about?
He’d spoken with Mr. Clark’s office just last week. Everything should’ve been handled by now.
“I realize this complicates your plans to sell—no deed, no sale. You’ll need to check if your father stored it somewhere at home. If we can’t locate it, we’ll have to go through probate, the county recorder’s office, and so on. Best case, we’re looking at six to twelve months. Worst case? One to two years if the process drags.”
Ethan’s thoughts spiraled as the voicemail continued.
“Our office will be staying open later until about four tomorrow if you find anything. Call me when you can, and we’ll figure this out.”
The lawyer’s voice faded, replaced by a resounding BEEP!
His father had never been the organized type, but the deed to the house? That was another level of carelessness.
Hero trotted over, pressing his head against Ethan’s leg, and Ethan absentmindedly patted him.
It’s gotta be here somewhere.
Leaning back against the sink, Ethan scanned the cluttered kitchen—dust clinging to shelves, drawers crammed with junk, and a pile of unopened mail spilling from a wicker basket. He rifled through the mail—no deed, just old bills and junk from the past year. He tossed them back into the basket, then sat back down and buried his face in his hands.
Ethan figured he’d come down from Virginia, tie things up with the house, and be done in a few days—maybe a week, tops. But who knew how long it’d take to find that deed?
He didn’t want to be here.
Kara’s face flashed in his mind.
His chest tightened, breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts at the thought of seeing her again.
He wasn’t ready to face her.
Not after the way he left all those years ago. She probably hated him. She’d likely moved on by now, too.
He shook the thought away.
The deed. That’s what he needed to focus on.
But not tonight.
As he stood, drinking the last of his water, he realized the house had gone eerily quiet.
“Hero.” His voice echoed through the empty house. “Where’d you go, boy?”
He scanned the kitchen, then went into the hall.
Ethan searched the living room and den, but Hero was nowhere in sight. His pulse quickened as he checked the bedrooms and bathroom.
“Hero? Hero!”
He rushed down the hall and back to the kitchen.
Catching his breath, Ethan’s gaze landed on the back door.
He blinked, rubbing his eyes as a small flap swayed at the base of the door. He crouched down, tracing its worn rubber edges—a doggy door. That hadn’t been there when he lived here.
Standing, he turned the back door’s rusty lock and pushed it open. Near it, he flipped the switch, and the porch light flickered on, casting a pale yellow glow over the yard. He let out a sigh as he saw Hero standing in the middle, sniffing at a patch of grass.
As he stepped out onto the small porch and climbed down the back steps, his eyes darted to the chain-link fence encircling the yard. That hadn’t been there either.
A doggy door and a fenced yard ...
Since when did he have a dog?
Ethan’s mind drifted to when he was ten, standing in front of his dad, holding the stray he’d found wandering the baseball field. “Please, Dad. He needs a home. I named him Wrigley.”
His dad’s bloodshot eyes had narrowed, hand gripping a half-empty bottle. “We can’t take care of no stupid dog. Ain’t got no means of feeding it,” he’d slurred, forcing Ethan to turn the animal away.
The memory dissolved.
Ethan whistled. “Hero!”
He clapped his hands, and Hero came bounding toward him.
“Good boy,” Ethan said, guiding Hero back inside. He knelt beside Hero, threading his fingers through the soft fur.
Hero licked his face, and for the first time all day, Ethan let himself smile. Hero didn’t care about lost deeds or complicated pasts—he just wanted to be there, to offer comfort in his own quiet way.
“I know this isn’t home, boy,” he whispered. “But we won’t be here long.”