Chapter 14
Ethan
The steady beep of my alarm pulls me from sleep, the room still shrouded in pre-dawn darkness. Stretching out, arching my back a little; my king-sized bed feels too big, too empty.
It’s hard to believe it was only a few days ago that Blake was here, the perfect smooth of her naked body right where I’m lying. My morning erection throbs as I reach over to silence the alarm.
Bandit lets out a quiet woof, raising his head from his cushioned bed in the corner.
“Alright, buddy, I’m up.” I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand up with a stretch.
Bandit’s tail thumps against the floor as he waits by the bedroom door, ears perked and eyes alert. I follow him to the back door, opening the bifolds and letting him out into the already warm morning air. As he trots around the grass, sniffing and doing his business, I take a moment to enjoy the early dawn, the world still and quiet, while getting a few minutes of low morning light to help set my circadian rhythm.
Once Bandit finishes, he bounds back inside. I pour kibble into his bowl, watching as he eagerly digs in. The sight of his gray muzzle makes me feel a little wistful. He’s getting older, but still has that spark that made me fall in love with him when he was just a puppy.
I remember the day I picked him up from the pound like it was yesterday. He’d been given up by his first family because he was too much to handle. I knew from the moment I saw him, bouncing around in his kennel with those big, hopeful eyes, that he was worth taking a chance on. “Most good things in life require work, huh, bud?”
He glances up from his food bowl, holding my gaze for a moment before getting back to eating.
It took a lot of patience and effort to train him, to make sure he had enough stimulation to keep him happy. We jogged down to the boardwalk morning and night, played games of fetch, and worked on every trick in the book.
There were days when I wondered if he’d ever calm down and stop chewing anything and everything left on the ground. But he did, eventually. And it was worth every lost shoe along the way. Now he’s just about the best company I could ask for. The goodest of all good boys.
“Ready for another day of clean-up, buddy?”
Bandit looks up at me again, lifts his head, and woofs.
“But first, workout and breakfast.”
I walk to my home gym, Bandit following behind and settling down with one of his favorite chew toys. It’s a ritual, this early morning workout, a way to clear my head and prepare for the day ahead.
Skipping for a few minutes to warm up, before starting with a series of stretches, enjoying the satisfying pull of my muscles as I work out the kinks and tight spots. The movements are second nature by now, each stretch and bend a part of the strict routine I’ve developed over the years.
Moving to the pull-up bar, I grip the cool metal overhead with both hands and start my reps, the burn in my arms and shoulders sending first pain, then the soothe of endorphins. The rhythm of the exercise centers me, each pull-up a reminder of my own strength and discipline. But even as I focus on my form, my mind drifts to Blake and everything that happened the other night.
Putting aside how fucking hot it was to see her come undone on my bed, seeing her open up, hearing her talk about her time in foster care, hit me harder than I expected. I just wish she hadn’t closed herself off ever since it happened, acting like none of it happened and we’re just friends at the oil spill clean up.
Gritting my teeth, pulling myself up, muscles straining, I picture the look in her eyes when she talked about her foster mother, Sylvia. That guy, David, sounds like he’s been through hell and back, and I do feel sorry for him. But there’s worry there too, a gnawing concern that won’t let go.
I drop from the bar, breathing hard, and move to the bench press. As I set the weights, pick up the bar, and lie back, Blake’s impossibly beautiful face fills my mind. Her strength, her vulnerability, it’s all tangled up together.
I push the bar up, the strain right across the band of muscles in my chest, but my thoughts are on her. David’s presence in her life is a wild card, and despite her telling me she can handle this, I need to stay close, keep an eye on her in case this dude comes back.
Because if something happened to her... I push harder, the weights moving smoothly overhead, molars grinding together. If something happened to Blake, I’d never forgive myself. I’m the only one who knows about David right now, the only one who can step in if things get out of hand.
But it’s more than that.
I set the bar back in place and sit up, wiping the sweat from my forehead. The truth is, I’ve fallen harder and faster for her than I thought was possible. It’s not just about protecting her; it’s about being there for her, showing her she doesn’t have to face this alone.
Standing, moving to the next set of exercises, determination settles like a steel plate in my chest. Blake needs someone she can rely on, someone who won’t let her down. Even if she can’t see that herself.
After finishing my workout, I head to the kitchen and make a quick protein smoothie, throwing in some spinach and berries for good measure. As the blender roars to life, my eyes drift to my vape sitting on the counter.
I think about Blake’s words from the other day, the concern in her eyes when she mentioned me smoking. Maybe it’s time to quit. But old habits die hard. With a sigh, I shove the vape into my pocket, then check my emails on my cell.
There’s an update from the mayor, and I skim through it. The damage from the oil spill is worse than we thought, spreading further along the shoreline and wreaking havoc on the local wildlife and ecosystem. The Coast Guard is stepping up their efforts with more booms, skimmers, and surveillance, but it’s clear we’ve got a long road ahead.
The mayor’s email notes that the cleanup operations are ramping up, and she makes special mention of the Valiant Hearts, noting that we need more volunteers and donations. Despite the grim news, there’s a determination in her words, a sense that together, we can tackle this disaster head-on.
I set my cell down. Today’s our last day on the beach before we switch to operating the skimmers. Patrick came up with the idea of rotating the groups to keep everyone energized, and I have to admit, it’s a smart move. Keeps the work fresh, gives everyone a change of pace.
I whistle for Bandit, who bounds over, tail wagging. “Ready to hit the beach, boy?” I ruffle his ears. He barks in response, as if understanding every word.
The morning air is starting to hint at the heat to come as we step outside, the sun fully over the horizon, the sky coming alive with vivid streaks of orange and pink. Bandit jumps into the truck, settling into his usual spot with his head hanging out the window.
We head off through town, people just waking up, and pull into the beach parking lot, the familiar scent of saltwater and the sound of waves crashing greeting us. I set up the equipment in the long shadow cast by the lighthouse, and look over everything, making sure we’re ready and organized for the day ahead, before checking on the booms we placed yesterday to stop the oil spreading further.
The volunteers start trickling in not long after I’ve got everything ready. Tom’s the first, lugging bags of croissants from his bakery like usual. Joy follows soon after, pulling up in her car packed with other volunteers. I wave them over, directing them to where everything is set up.
Then Blake shows up. She’s carrying large bottles of freshly squeezed juice, her red hair catching the sunlight in a way that makes her look almost ethereal. A Greek goddess. Her smile is a burst of sunshine, full of enthusiasm as she greets everyone with her infectious energy.
Watching her for a moment, struck by how beautiful she looks. It’s more than just her face, her body; it’s the way she carries herself, the strength and warmth she so freely shares with everyone.
She catches my eye. So far she’s made no mention of what happened in my bedroom, or David showing up at the bar, and I’m not sure how to bring either subject up. I’ve never felt so far out of my depth with a woman. Ever.
She’s setting the juice up on the table and no one else is close by. Taking the opportunity, I head over to stand beside her, forcing myself not to stare like an idiot.
“Morning, you look so beautiful today.” My voice is rough in my throat, but the words are sincere. I couldn’t give Blake a line, even if I wanted to.
She laughs, mouth open, lips pink with something that smells of cherries. “Thanks.” She indicates to the bottles. “I brought juice for everyone. Thought we could use some extra energy today.”
“Good thinking. We’re going to need it. Looks like it’s going to be a hot one.” I hold her gaze, willing myself to say something more meaningful, but then the moment passes.
Blake pulls out some cups made from recycled paper and we share out the croissants and juice, her sunny expression eliciting plenty of grins in return. She’s a natural at pulling people together and getting them motivated, even though the work is grueling.
We spend the next few hours picking up tar balls, shoveling contaminated sand, and helping the affected wildlife. The once pristine beach is still a battlefield against the encroaching oil, and the physical effort is intense, muscles burning and sweat pouring down our faces.
But no matter what I’m doing, I’m watching Blake or aware of where she is. She’s tireless, never loses her smile, her words of encouragement keeping everyone’s morale up.
Just being near her makes me more self aware, more grounded and present, than I have felt in a long time.
I just need to figure out how to shift things out of the friend zone.