21. All Lost Words （Hattie）
ALL LOST WORDS (HATTIE)
B ang!
The rattling gunshot jerks me awake from my sleep on the sofa.
Another nap, seeing how I haven’t managed to squeeze in more than a few hours of shut-eye at a time ever since I came back to Portland.
Something always wakes me up.
Sometimes just the window or Ares getting up to stretch and slurp some water.
Sometimes it’s just that heavy feeling in my chest.
This time, it must be a storm.
I wrap the blanket around me as I sit up, groggy and disoriented.
For a second, I forget where I am. My brain expects to see my old apartment.
Instead of piles of books on cheap particleboard shelves, I see another sofa, just as large as this one, and a wall-mounted TV.
High ceilings with fine wooden accents.
A vase of flowers I had freshened up because it looks more cheerful.
Ethan’s house.
I don’t know why I came back here.
Everything was such a blur yesterday—or was it today?
I spent the whole flight stressing, and then the driver picked me up and brought me back here, so I stayed.
Ares needs company.
His wet nose nudges my hand and I stroke his long, warm ears.
“Hush, big boy,” I whisper. “Just a little thunder.”
But although rain pelts the house with a steady patter, there’s no sign of thunder or lightning.
I listen carefully until I hear footsteps instead.
Closer, closer, pinging my nerves with panic.
Crap, there’s a security system here, right?
I never gave it a second thought before settling on the sofa because I didn’t want to sleep in Ethan’s bed. No intruder should get in unless they know the code or disarm the system.
My heart crawls up my throat and adrenaline pounds fear through my veins.
My breath catches.
Soon, I’m fumbling with my phone, making sure I have 9-1-1 on lock just in case, when a silhouette appears in the doorway.
Lightning rips then, illuminating him in the flash.
My scream catches in my throat.
No stranger, though.
I’d recognize that figure anywhere.
All broad shoulders, bristling muscle, the way he holds his arms by his sides like he’s spoiling for a fight with a mountain lion any second.
“Ethan?” My voice is thick with sleep. “Is that you?”
He doesn’t say anything, just turns and heads down the hall.
Swallowing, I wrap the blanket around my shoulders and follow, aware that the temperature has dropped and I’m wearing nothing but skimpy pj’s.
He wasn’t supposed to be home tonight.
Weird scenarios start flashing through my mind.
He’s here to apologize—but that doesn’t make sense because he would have said something.
That means something’s wrong. But what?
There’s no other reason why he’d be back so soon.
Unless unexpected business came up with Blackthorn Holdings?
But that still doesn’t quite make sense. The Portland office is small. If there was a major issue, he’d probably hunker down in New York and fight it out.
I find him at the bar downstairs, tossing back a glass of bourbon and pouring himself another a second later.
He doesn’t look up when I stop a few feet away from him.
“Ethan?” I reach for the bottle, but he drags it back jealously. “What’s going on?”
“Go back to bed, Hattie. Everything’s fine.”
He can see I wasn’t in bed.
Surely, he knows I’m not sleeping well, and maybe I’m not in the mood to just go to bed and let things go.
“Not fine. You came home early and you’re drinking like a fish, so what is it?” I try to keep my voice calm.
Inside, I want to scream and shake him. I want him to go back to the man he was when we were together and before he ripped me to pieces at the French place.
He doesn’t answer.
He just pours himself a few more fingers and throws them back in one gulp.
Holy hell.
By my count, he’s on his third or maybe fourth drink in just as many minutes.
“I need some time alone. Leave,” he says.
“Only after you tell me what’s going on.”
Raw anger flares in his eyes, jolting me to the core because I’ve never seen this look before. Not even when we were fighting at the restaurant.
“Do you still have ears? I said leave me the fuck alone, Pages.” He enunciates every word, slowly and brutally.
“Don’t swear at me.” I try to snatch the bottle again and succeed at hauling it out of his limp grasp. “I’m not leaving you like this and I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what has you acting crazy.”
“You’re pushing your luck.”
“So tell me !”
His eyes are dark and dangerous, glazed from the alcohol flooding his system.
It’ll take a second before it hits his bloodstream full force, but I guess he’s feeling it already.
The old Hattie inside me shrinks at seeing him like this. But I’m not about to give up on him that easily, so I clutch the bottle to my chest.
“Don’t do this.” My voice shakes, but I refuse to let that stop me. “Don’t let your anger win.”
“Did your mom teach you that one? Sounds like her.” He snorts loudly.
“Don’t make this about my mom.”
“Then don’t lecture me.” His blue eyes sharpen. “What would you know about dealing with anything?”
“Working in a bookstore makes you pretty immune to giant assholes. And you’re being one right now.”
He grabs for the bottle, ripping it from my hands.
But we both fumble and it falls to the floor.
Although I know it’s impossible, it feels like time stops as I watch it fall, waiting for the inevitable mess.
Of course, it shatters.
Bourbon spills everywhere, splattering the floor.
A piece of glass grazes my toe and I jump back.
“Shit!”
He stares at the mess, bewildered, his brow furrowed and his mouth a flat, hard line.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
“We’ll clean it up,” I say.
“For fuck’s sake, Hattie, stop trying to fix everything. I’ve got it. Go back to bed or the couch or wherever the hell you’re sleeping.”
Definitely not in your bed , I think sourly.
Biting back the comment, I grab some towels from the bar and throw them on the floor as I start collecting shards of glass.
“It’s fine,” I say, though to him or myself I don’t know. “It’s fine. We’ll have this cleared up in no time.”
“You don’t listen. And you’ve got bare feet.” Ethan eyes me coldly as he picks me up and puts me on the counter, keeping my feet clear from the floor. “Stay and don’t move.”
Before I can protest, he’s bending down again, picking up the glass and depositing it in a small empty tin.
When he straightens up, we’re silent, staring at the paper towels soaking up the brown liquid.
My feet are damp. I think there’s a bruise or small cut blossoming on my foot.
It doesn’t feel a fraction as bad as my heart.
“Ethan,” I whisper. “I know we’ve had it rough lately. We’ve made mistakes, and—and I’m sure you’re hurting. But whatever it is, this isn’t healthy.”
He looks at me and laughs harshly as he pulls out another unopened bottle to resume his self-destruct sequence.
My heart sinks.
“Ethan…”
“Hattie, enough.” His hands shake as he pours himself another glass.
“I won’t. I need to know what’s going on. Why are you back? And why the hell are you trying to poison yourself?”
Lightning spears the sky and thunder rips a second later.
Ethan stays silent, his chest rising and falling like he’s just finished a long run.
“You won’t understand. You can’t,” he answers finally, as decisive as slamming a door in my face. Again. “You’ve always known who you are. A woman who gets to live with most of her drama confined to the fucking pages where it belongs.”
Until now , I want to say. Until you .
“I like the drama,” I whisper. “It’s boring if you only live a life where books have all the action.”
Ethan doesn’t seem to hear me, raking a hand through his hair in a desperate gesture that makes my stomach flip and my heart squeeze.
“I’m sorry. Sorry as hell I ever let that lying old goat inject more drama than you needed.”
What?
My heart pounds, slamming my ribs and sending tremors into my fingers. “What are you talking about? Who do you mean?”
He throws me a disdainful glance that tells me I should already know. “Who do you think?”
Leonidas.
I just don’t know how or why.
And the confusion, the sensation of everything turning upside down, sends this weird stabbing pain through me.
Leonidas was a good man—I think.
I bite back against the rush of denial.
Whatever happened, Ethan clearly feels betrayed.
He glares at me now, still angry I’m up in his business and keeping him from knocking himself out with booze even though he’s the one who put me on the counter.
The paper towels are almost soaked through.
“What did he do?” I ask softly. Thunder vibrates the room again.
Upstairs, Ares lets out a deep howl, calling to the storm because I know they don’t scare him that much.
For a second, Ethan laughs bitterly, shaking his head.
His eyes are the darkest circles I’ve ever seen.
“This is ridiculous. All of it. Go pack your shit,” he tells me.
It takes a second to sink in, and it cuts me to the bone.
We’re in the eye of the storm, I think, everything oddly quiet now except the soft rain and the sound of his voice.
“When you told me to leave… you meant leave-leave? Um, no. You don’t get to do this.” My voice quivers. “You don’t drag yourself in, get stinking drunk, and end it just like that.”
“Wait until the storm’s over, then. Whatever. I’ll be gone, if that’s easier.” His eyes are wild, almost glowing in the light. “Hattie, I’m fucking gone!”
His words punch a hole through me.
I shake my head, fighting back scalding tears even though they’re pushing into my nose. “You can’t. Your inheritance—”
“Fuck it all to hell! I don’t care anymore, woman.” He bares his teeth, breathing harshly. “That was a sick game Gramps played. One more game in a whole life of them. It’s over now. I don’t give a fuck whether I inherit his fortune or one wheat penny. I’m done. ”
For the first time tonight, I’m scared.
“What? No,” I say again, numbly, still shaking my head. “You don’t mean that. You can’t—”
“Don’t tell me what I mean—and don’t worry.” His voice gentles. “You still get your money and your little store. I’m not screwing anyone over. I’m not a complete asshole.”