18. All The Heat （Ethan） #2
“And let you bring Hattie around here without being relentlessly teased? Never.” She takes the glass of white wine I reluctantly pass over and holds it up in a salute.
If I’m drinking with her on my ass, I’m not doing it alone, and I don’t care whether she wants it or not.
“Should’ve known you’d be a brat about it,” I mutter, taking a long pull.
“It’s what I do. But I’ve legit never seen you so whipped.”
“I’m not whipped, Margot. Shut it.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Right. Because you’d totally go bookstore crawling with any girl.”
She laughs.
“In case you missed it, I’m not about to marry just any girl.”
“Oh, right,” she says, touching her chin with one finger as she pretends to think. “This fake marriage. Except I know you’re screwing.”
I wince.
Damn.
I knew Hattie would probably tell her sooner or later—this is a big deal and Margot’s her best friend. But that doesn’t mean I like my dumb sister knowing.
“Whatever we do, that’s between us.” I tilt my glass, pointing at her. “Keep the hell out of it.”
She smirks.
“Hey, it’s not like I’m planning to ruin your fun. I’m just saying… I noticed you like hanging out with her more than you ever liked bumming around with your old girlfriends back in the old days.”
My thoughts jump to Taylor, though she wasn’t even my girlfriend, and I definitely wasn’t into her. Margot probably never even knew we hooked up.
“Why are you bringing up my girlfriends from eons ago? You that bored?” I take a long swig of my drink and clink the glass down. “I’m not sixteen anymore.”
“Does Hattie know?”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Margot toys with the swirls of the wineglass as she looks at me, watching my reaction.
“You haven’t been treating her like one of your old summer flings, have you?
Something’s gotten into her and I’m a little worried.
Just be nice. I don’t care if you’re hooking up, but if you mess with her head, I’ll be pissed. ”
She raises a little fist and shakes it for emphasis.
“Nice?” I frown. “She seemed fine today.”
“Yeah, well… what did you say to her?”
“What has she said to you?”
“Nothing specific. But she was asking about your old manwhore habits.”
What the fuck?
“Manwhore, huh?” I sharpen my glare. “Not very feminist of you, Margot.”
“Meh, maybe. But she wanted to know about your dating past, so I figure something you said got under her skin.”
My fingers clench the glass and I suck in a sharp breath, anger lashing through my blood, stealing my voice.
I don’t like what I’m hearing.
She’s been prodding Margot for breadcrumbs about my past? After I told her my darkest secret in confidence?
My silence is too loud and Margot zeroes in.
“What, she can’t know what a gross player you are?”
“She knows,” I clip.
And she knows about Taylor, too.
I try to beat back the fear that Hattie told Margot.
Only, if she knew, she wouldn’t be mocking me right now.
Hattie didn’t.
She fucking wouldn’t.
Even so, the idea that she’d come sniffing around for more about those times leaves me unsettled.
This isn’t what I expected.
Hattie didn’t think twice before running off to her best friend and telling her we’ve been hooking up.
“I thought you were just being your normal asshole self,” Margot continues. “But after seeing you today and hearing about the books, I know that’s not the problem. You like her.”
My blood cools, but my fingers are still clenched around the glass too tightly.
Calm the hell down. You’re reading too much into it.
Hattie didn’t tell Margot anything about that summer. She wouldn’t when she knows what a massive deal it was.
Fuck.
“She mentioned the letter,” Margot says. Panic slams through my bones until I realize this isn’t about Taylor. “The weird old letter you found in our pirate ship?”
Shit. I’d almost forgotten.
“Come on, you’re old enough to know it’s not a pirate ship, Margot.” I take a moment to find some of that steely calm I’m famous for.
No one does coldhearted like Ethan Blackthorn.
“I don’t care about the ship. That’s not the point,” she says impatiently. “What about the letter? What did it say?”
“Gramps wrote it to Mom,” I tell her. “But it didn’t make much sense.”
“What did it say?”
“Don’t know exactly. I’ll have to look again.” I frown, trying to remember.
At the time, it was odd, but I’d just tucked it away and forgotten about it. There were more important things to deal with.
Like fucking Hattie boneless, for one.
She’s slid into my life and restructured my priorities too seamlessly.
“It seemed conflicted. Gramps feeling like he did something to drive her away,” I say eventually. “I don’t know what happened, but he sounded guilty as hell.”
“Guilty? Weird.” She paces the room, then grabs a bottle of water from the beverage fridge under the bar. “But is everything okay, Ethan? You and Hattie aren’t fighting, are you?”
Before I can tell her to fuck off for the hundredth time, Margot looks past me.
“Hey, Mom,” she says. “Come tell us about leaving Portland. Did Gramps used to write you a lot?”
“Why do you ask?” Mom stops halfway toward us, her mouth pressed in a thin line. “What are you talking about, Margot?”
“We found a letter,” I say.
Her face turns the shade of lumpy oatmeal.
“Letter? What letter?” Her voice is urgent, nearly a shriek, and she puts the water on the side with so much force, the bang makes Margot jump. “What letter are you talking about?”
I exchange a glance with Margot, but there’s uncertainty written on her face.
This isn’t the mother we know.
Usually, she’s laid-back, happy to let the world revolve around her as long as she’s comfortable in it.
Not now. There’s something wild in her eyes as she jabs a finger at me.
“Ethan, what letter?”
“One Gramps wrote you years ago?” I shake my head. “It turned up stuffed in the old pirate ship. Had an envelope with it, like you read it and sent it back to him.”
“Oh, Jesus!” Mom almost sobs the word. “Why can nothing with my father just stay buried? Do we have to jettison his ashes into the sun, too?”
“Mom—” Margot starts.
“Didn’t he do enough when he drove Ethan away and almost got him killed overseas?” Mom demands, angrily twisting her water bottle in her hand, fury vibrating through her. “Does he have to ruin this too? We’ve only just gotten you back!”
I keep staring long after she storms away, bewildered.
Goddammit, what is wrong with this family?
Margot chews her bottom lip, her expression pensive.
“Okay, now we have to know. Whatever this is, it’s big.”
I almost don’t care.
The secrets, the constant tensions, the boiling grudges, it gets tiresome.
Even here, it’s like the walls are drenched with them. Gramps might be dead and gone, but his ghost isn’t.
I catch Margot’s arm as she starts to leave the room.
“Hey!” She smacks my hand like a kitten.
“Hold up. Don’t push her. You won’t get anything useful out of Mom right now.”
“Ethan, I’m not stupid. I know,” she says scornfully, wrenching her arm free. “I’m not going to ask her again. No one wants another meltdown. I’ll try Dad later.”
The last of my drink hits the back of my throat, so potent I almost gag.
What the fuck ever.
If Margot wants answers to glaring mysteries that might be better off buried, she can knock herself out.