Chapter Four #2
Ethan walked over and sat down on the lounger beside him. “I have nothing to compare it to, but I have to believe her fathers will be more understanding than the senator.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.” Zayne sat up and reached for Ethan’s hand, cradling it between his own. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“Really? I’m sitting here complaining about my parents when yours—”
“Zayne, it’s okay. You know I didn’t mean it like that. All I’m saying is that, I lost them before my teenage years, so I can’t really compare notes.”
“But we can.” Zayne gave a half-smile. “You were pretty rebellious when we met.”
“Not to anyone I actually cared about. Principal Morton doesn’t count, and your father sure as hell doesn’t. So, I’d call that more self-sustaining than rebellious. I had to be to survive.”
Zayne lowered his head and kissed their joined hands. “I really am sorry for what I said.”
“Stop it.” Ethan ran a hand over the back of his hair, and Zayne thought the moment so telling as to what kind of man he was—that even now, when he had brought up the painful memory of Ethan’s past, Ethan was the one comforting him.
It had always been that way, though. A natural-born caretaker, Ethan was the kind of person who craved someone to love, someone to share himself with and care for.
But for a long time after the loss of his parents, he’d disappeared into himself.
He’d built walls, avoided any kind of relationship, kept tight control over what little he could in his life—until Zayne had barged into it.
“What’s that smile about?”
“Am I smiling?” Zayne asked.
Ethan brushed his thumb over the corner of his lips. “You are.”
“Maybe I’m just thinking about your rebellious teenage years.”
“Funny, I don’t think they started until you showed up.”
Zayne let out a bark of laughter. “That’s probably true. What can I say, I’m a good influence.”
“You definitely had some kind of influence on me. Not sure I’d call it good, but it was exactly what I needed.”
Zayne leaned back on the lounger. “You were exactly what I needed, too. Straightened my ass out.”
Ethan arched a brow, making Zayne grin.
“Okay, maybe straightened isn’t the right word.”
“You think?”
“You know what I mean. If it wasn’t for you, God knows where I would’ve ended up.”
“Right here.” Ethan leaned over and placed a hand on either side of Zayne’s head. “This is where you belong, so no matter how or when it happened, you always would’ve ended up here.”
The sincerity in Ethan’s eyes made Zayne’s breath catch, as it always did. From the moment their connection had formed, it had been like that, and to this day, it never ceased to amaze him.
“You really believe that stuff, don’t you? That things happen for a reason?”
“I have to,” Ethan said, his lips tightening. “It’s the only way it all makes sense. Now, I’m going to go make dinner. Do you want a drink or anything?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Okay, I’ll call you down when it’s ready.”
As Ethan got to his feet, he tried to school his features, but he wasn’t quite quick enough, and Zayne caught a glimpse of the boy he used to know.
It was subtle but it was there, the sadness in his eyes. It took everything Zayne had not to run in after him. But if there was one thing he knew about Ethan, it was to give him space when he needed it.
After all, he always found his way back to where he belonged—and that was with Zayne.
* * *
ETHAN STEPPED INSIDE, and as the door shut behind him, he closed his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face.
Fuck. It wasn’t often that the past crept up on him, but when it did, it could level him faster than a one-two punch. He stood there for a second and took in several deep breaths, trying to squash the barrage of memories that had just flooded in.
Jesus, where the hell had that come from? Usually he had better control of himself, but as he’d sat there looking into the face of the one person who knew every crack in his polished facade, he knew he needed to get away.
It was either that or fall the fuck apart.
He let out a breath and, once he had himself somewhat in check, started down the stairs.
But instead of heading to the kitchen, he made a detour to the bedroom and into their en suite, where he turned on the faucet and splashed some water on his face.
He stood there for a second before toweling himself dry, and studied the man in the mirror. The ghost he lived with.
All this talk of parents, fathers—good or otherwise—had stirred up memories he usually kept locked away.
That part of his past was a place he’d rather not revisit.
But it was difficult to leave it there when the face staring back at him belonged to someone he only now remembered through photographs.
He closed his eyes and tried to shove aside the feelings threatening to incapacitate him, annoyed by his inability to banish them completely. For the longest time he’d struggled to forget, struggled to survive the carnage that had ripped away his childhood—but somehow, he’d managed.
His mind and body had understood that in order to navigate the destruction left behind, it needed to protect itself, needed to withdraw. It needed to be in control of the situation, even when he hadn’t known exactly what that situation was…
“So sad what happened…”
“Tragic.”
“How old is the boy?”
“Eight, poor thing.”
Soft voices filtered through the black void of Ethan’s subconscious as he stirred in the hard bed he lay on.
He was cold, the sheets draped over him paper thin, and the pillow under his head was flat as a board.
There was a weird smell in the air—like bleach and lemons—and as he tried to open his eyes, a bright light flickered off in the distance.
“Come on, Ethan.” The voice was much closer now, right by his ear. “It’s time to wake up.”
Wake up? He wasn’t asleep. He could hear everything she was saying, but when he went to tell her that, nothing came out.
“Little lamb is probably hiding in there. Can’t say I blame him. There’s not much to look forward to out here.”
A shiver skated up his spine as that light in the distance started to flicker. What was she talking about? What did they mean, “out here”? Where were his mom and dad?
He didn’t understand what was going on, and it was starting to scare him.
“Hard to believe it’s been a week now and no one’s come for him.”
“I know. It’s just heartbreaking. The doctors said the only thing wrong with him is the broken arm—other than that, he’s physically fine.”
“Except he won’t wake up.”
“Except that.”
Doctors? Why would he need a doctor?
He wanted to see his mom and dad. Where were they? Why wouldn’t these ladies go and get them?
But before he could try to ask, the voices faded until they disappeared completely, and that sliver of light that had been his one shining spot of hope vanished—and he was once again swallowed by the black void…
Ethan blinked and refocused on his surroundings—the sink, the tap, the towel in his hand. When he finally looked back at his reflection, he blew out a breath and squared his shoulders.
He’d come a long way from that scared little boy in the hospital bed, but he was still in there. He’d always be in there, wondering what his parents would think of him now.
Would they be proud? Would they be pleased with how his life had turned out?
He’d thought about that too many times to count. Introducing them to Zayne. Showing them that he’d somehow managed to survive the impossible and come out the other side of it to find happiness.
Now, here he was again, thinking of them, wishing they could meet this young woman who was as intriguing as she was beautiful and had him and Zayne tripping over their damn selves.
But these were conversations that would never happen.
Questions that would never be asked.
But what he wouldn’t give for one more conversation…