Chapter 7
Blake
I just kissed Ethan Carter. And I’m not sure how I feel about that.
Replaying what just happened, a warmth I haven’t felt in a long time starts in my core, desire catching fire in a way it hasn’t since Danny. I’ve had a few casual flings since he died, but none of them made me feel like this, like I’m burning up from the inside out.
Cleaning up the spilled beer, thoughts racing: that kiss was something else, but I can’t afford to let my guard down, especially not with someone like Ethan, who I’ve known forever and is as emotionally unavailable as they come. Besides, I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t looking for a relationship.
Which means it’s probably a good thing he stopped us going any further than we did—even though it stung a little, and a big part of me wanted to keep going.
The memory of our kiss keeps playing in my mind, and I’m smiling despite the mess and my saturated clothes. The look on Ethan’s face when the beer started spraying everywhere was priceless. And the look when he unclasped my bra was even better.
He’s crazy hot, with the kind of body that belongs in a fireman’s calendar, chiseled features and those gray eyes that keep his emotions on lockdown. And while kissing him might have been stupid, tonight is going to be one of those memories that stay with me for a long time.
Just the thought of his mouth on my breasts, the heat and wet of him sucking, gentle teeth nipping, sends a shiver through me, and I’m turned on all over again, hugging my arms across my chest. Concentrate, Blake.
In truth, I’ve thought Ethan was hot for a long time, but we’ve been friends since I was twelve, ever since I moved to Harbor’s Edge when I was adopted, and we’ve never crossed that line before.
Even back then, Ethan Carter was the cool bad boy, always a little aloof, rarely letting people in. He went through a brief rebellious phase as a teenager, but he quickly focused on setting up his own business after school, and he’s pretty much on the straight and narrow, now.
Bad boy with a skateboard in one hand or local business owner, there’s always been something undeniably magnetic about him, as evidenced by the string of women that parade through his bed.
His words replay in my mind: You don’t understand. I want you. I want you more than you’ll ever know, wanted you for longer than you realize.
What the hell did he mean by that? I finish cleaning up the spilled beer, my mind still spinning from everything that happened tonight. I can’t let myself get swept up in this. There’s too much on my plate, too many responsibilities, and the last thing I need is to complicate my life with whatever that was just now with Ethan.
One last, stern reminder: don’t fall for Ethan Carter. Then I start locking up for the night. Once I’m outside, I pull out my cell, trying David’s number again. I’ve tried him a few times since he came to the bar asking for help, but it just rings out, only making me worry more.
A short time later, I’m home, pushing open the front door and stepping into the quiet darkness of the house. The white light from the streetlight outside filters through the curtains, casting faint shadows on the walls. I close the door gently behind me, not wanting to disturb Mom. She’s already asleep.
A quick shower and clean clothes, then I walk into the kitchen. There’s a note on the table in Mom’s neat handwriting: Blake, there’s food in the fridge. Hope you had a good day. Love, Mom.
I take the plate from the fridge and pop it into the microwave, the hum of the machine the only sound in the stillness. The house feels different now, quieter, emptier since Mama Charlotte left.
I lean against the counter, watching my food spin in the microwave, and think about how much has changed. Mom never used to go to bed this early. Now, she’s in bed before I even get home. It’s hard not to worry.
She’s trying to stay strong, but there’s sadness in her eyes, a weight she carries since Mama Charlotte admitted to cheating a few months ago, and everything fell apart. She left to figure things out , and I moved back home to keep an eye on Mom, even though she told me she was fine.
The microwave beeps, and I pull out the plate, the smell of homemade lasagna filling the kitchen. It’s a nice change from the usual burger and fries I eat at the bar before the kitchen closes. Sitting down at the table, the silence and darkness of the rest of the house presses in around me.
I take a bite of the lasagna, savoring the familiar flavors, but my mind drifts back to the Tavern. To Ethan. The kiss we shared, the look in his eyes, the way he made me feel—so alive that by comparison the previous day, maybe even the whole damned month, was like I was sleepwalking.
It’s impossible not to think about him, even with everything else going on. I’m going to have to go past Emmy’s house in the morning and debrief. It’s the only option if I want to stop obsessing.
Glancing at the empty chairs across from me, imagining Mom and Mama Charlotte sitting there. I miss the days when we were all together, before everything got so complicated. I miss the laughter, the late-night talks, the feeling of family. They gave me a second chance, offered me a home filled with love and security. But now, with Mama Charlotte gone, the foundation feels shaky, like everything could fall apart at any moment.
My eyes drift to the framed photo on the wall. It’s a picture of my two moms and me, smiling and happy, taken on a sunny day at the beach beneath the lighthouse. They saved my life in more ways than one, and it’s not an exaggeration to say I owe them everything.
And after what David told me, escaping Sylvia and avoiding that locked room on the top floor is just another thing to add to the list of why I’m so grateful. The memories of Sylvia’s house, her manipulative, narrowed eyes, and the oppressive feeling of just getting through every day—it all comes back to me, leaving me cold.
I haven’t thought about Sylvia for years, but David’s reappearance and his confession about what happened to him means those memories are crashing back harder than ever. Pushing the lasagna around my plate, my appetite fades as I think about my past.
It’s not just Sylvia and the other foster homes that come back to me. There’s my dad, too, and how much I still miss him. But the image I conjure of him is blurry, a distant memory of a man who couldn’t escape his demons.
After finishing my meal, I stand up and quietly wash the dishes, putting everything back in its place, glancing around the dimly lit kitchen one last time before getting ready for bed. I slip into my room and close the door, climbing into bed, pulling the blankets up to my chin. Sleep soon finds me, despite all the thoughts running through my mind.
My alarm drags me from sleep after what feels like only moments later, gritty eyes blinking open as the sun warms the air and brightens the strip of light coming in above my curtains. Stretching and getting out of bed, heading to the kitchen where Mom is already up and about.
Pausing in the doorway, I watch her for a few moments. She’s still an attractive woman, even in her sixties, with silver-streaks in her dark hair that she always keeps neatly styled. Her eyes are a warm brown, and today they seem brighter, more alive. She’s moving around the kitchen with an energy that’s comforting to see, making coffee and toasting bread.
“Morning, sweetie.”
“Morning, Mom.”
I grab a mug and pour myself some coffee, the rich aroma filling the room. We sit down at the table, and Mom passes me some toast. She’s wearing her favorite blue cardigan, the one that makes her eyes pop.
We share a quick breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs, the familiar routine grounding me. “How are you feeling today?” I ask, watching her closely.
Mom looks up from her plate, her smile returning. “Better, actually. I’ve been thinking about the oil spill, and I want to do my part. I’m going to volunteer today.”
Seeing her up and about, motivated to help, is a huge weight off my shoulders. “That’s great, Mom. Call Patrick. He’ll get you sorted with the volunteer groups. I’m working around the lighthouse today. Loads of people turned out to help and they put us all into different groups.”
She drains the last of her coffee. “How are things at the bar?”
“All good. Nothing you need to worry about.”
I glance at my watch—I need to get moving if I want to swing past Emmy’s place. “I’ve got to go, Mom, but I’m really glad you’re feeling better.” Standing, I give her a quick hug.
“Take care today.” She squeezes my hand.
As I head for the door, I pause. “I love you, Mom.”
Mom waves me off. “I love you, too. Go on, then. Have a good day, sweetie.”
Stepping outside, the morning air already warm under the summer sun. Taking a deep breath, I’m feeling a little lighter knowing Mom is doing better.
The lighthouse is within walking distance, but I want to catch up with Emmy, debrief about last night’s crazy turn of events, so I head for my car to save a little time. And after Emmy’s house, it’ll be straight into the thick of things with Ethan and the cleanup efforts.
I can’t decide if the flutter in my stomach means I’m dreading the thought of seeing him or if I’m excited.