Chapter 13 #2
“You don’t have to say anything,” Ethan said softly. “I just wanted you to know. This, having you here, having the kids here, it matters to me. You matter to me.”
“You matter to me, too,” Lydia whispered. “More than I should probably admit. More than is smart, considering everything.”
“Tell me,” Ethan said. “About Tom. About why you’re really here. I know there’s more to the story than what you told the sheriff.”
Lydia’s first instinct was to deflect, to minimize, to make it sound less ugly than it had been. But Ethan had just shared his deepest pain with her. He deserved the truth.
“Tom wasn’t always—” She stopped, started again.
“When I met him, he was charming. Stable. He had a good job in construction, made decent money. We got married when I was twenty-three and pregnant with Eli.” She picked at a loose thread on her jeans, unable to meet Ethan’s eyes.
“I thought we were building something. A family. A life.”
“What changed?” Ethan asked gently.
“He got laid off when Eli was about six. Construction work dried up, and Tom took it hard. Started drinking to cope. Just beer at first, nothing that seemed like a problem. But then it got worse. Whiskey. Vodka. Drinking during the day. Coming home drunk.” Lydia’s throat tightened.
“I tried to be supportive. Tried to help him find work, tried to get him to talk to someone. But he just drank more.”
Ethan’s hand found hers, squeezing gently.
“Then he got a DUI,” Lydia continued. “Got pulled over with Rosie in the car seat. She was only four. Four years old, and her father was driving drunk with her in the car.” Her voice shook with remembered terror.
“When the cops called me, I thought … I kept thinking about what could have happened. If he’d crashed.
If he’d killed someone. If he’d killed our baby. ”
“Holy hell,” Ethan breathed.
“I tried to get him into counseling. Begged him to get help, to talk to someone about what was going on. But he refused. Said he didn’t have a problem, that I was overreacting, that he had it under control.
” Lydia laughed bitterly. “A month later, he got another DUI. This time alone, thankfully. But that was it. I couldn’t …
I couldn’t … risk my children’s safety anymore. So I filed for divorce.”
“You did the right thing,” Ethan said firmly.
“I got sole custody based on the DUIs. Tried to keep Tom involved for the kids’ sake. Supervised visits, phone calls, that kind of thing. But he kept showing up drunk. Kept promising he’d quit and then not following through. Finally, I had to refuse his visits entirely. It wasn’t safe.”
Lydia took a shaky breath, the memories washing over her in waves. Tom’s bloodshot eyes. The smell of alcohol that clung to him like cologne. The way Eli had started flinching when his father raised his voice.
“He didn’t take it well,” she said quietly.
“Started coming around drunk, banging on the door at all hours. Yelling at me in the parking lot. Following me to the grocery store. I had to get restraining orders, but he’d just wait until they expired and start again.
The police couldn’t do anything unless he actually violated the order, and he was always careful to stay just on the right side of legal. ”
“That must have been terrifying,” Ethan said.
“It was. The kids were scared all the time. Eli stopped sleeping through the night. Rosie was having trouble learning. And I just felt—” Lydia stopped to exhale sharply “so powerless. Like I couldn’t protect them from their own father.”
Ethan pulled her closer, and Lydia let herself lean into his warmth, into his solid, steady presence.
“Then my great-aunt died and left me the farmhouse here in Willow Glen,” she said.
“She’d been in assisted living in Ohio to be near family, and I visited her regularly, but it was an unexpected gift.
It wasn’t much. Old house, needed work, but it came with a little bit of money to help us start over, and a paid-up insurance policy.
And my lease was up for renewal right around the same time, so I took it as a sign.
Packed up a trailer and the kids in the middle of the night and moved here without telling Tom where we were going. ”
“But he found you anyway,” Ethan said, his jaw tight.
“I don’t know how. I was so careful. Didn’t tell anyone except my mother, who's in Florida for the winter, and she would never—” Lydia shook her head.
“But somehow he tracked us here. Set the fire. Tried to—” She couldn’t finish.
Couldn’t say out loud that Tom had tried to kill them, that he’d knocked her unconscious and left them all to burn. “It had to be him.”
“Hey.” Ethan cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “You’re safe now. You and the kids. I won’t let him hurt you again.”
“You can’t promise that,” Lydia whispered. “He’s out there somewhere, and we don’t know where, and he’s already proven he’s willing to?—”
“I know,” Ethan interrupted. “I know I can’t promise you’ll be perfectly safe. But I can promise I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. And that I won’t give up. And that you don’t have to face this alone anymore.”
The tears came then, hot and fast, and Lydia let them fall. Let herself cry for the fear and the exhaustion and the sheer relief of having someone on her side. Ethan held her through it, murmuring soft reassurances, his hand stroking her hair.
When she finally pulled back, wiping at her eyes, she felt raw but lighter. Like sharing the burden had made it easier to carry.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was a lot to dump on you.”
“Don’t apologize.” Ethan’s thumb wiped away a stray tear from her cheek. “You’ve been through hell. You’re allowed to fall apart sometimes.”
“You barely drink,” Lydia said suddenly, remembering what he’d said earlier. “Because of your job … and Sarah.”
“Yeah. I need to be clearheaded. Ready to respond if there’s a call.” Ethan’s expression was understanding. “But I’ve also seen what alcohol does to people. Saw it a lot with soldiers coming back from Kandahar. The bottle becomes a crutch, and then it becomes a prison. It’s no way to live.”
The simple statement, delivered as fact and without judgment, made something in Lydia’s chest loosen.
Tom had always made her feel like she was overreacting about his drinking.
Like she was being controlling or unreasonable or nagging.
But Ethan understood. Understood why it mattered, why it was worth leaving over.
“That means a lot to me,” she said softly. “More than you probably realize.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the Christmas lights casting their gentle glow, the snow falling steadily outside. Lydia was acutely aware of how close they were sitting, of Ethan’s hand still resting on her knee, of the way his eyes kept dropping to her mouth.
“Lydia,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I need to know … are you okay with this? With me?”
She knew what he was asking. Not just about the physical proximity, but about everything that was building between them. The attraction, the feelings, the dangerous, beautiful possibility of something more.
“I’m more than okay with it,” she whispered.
“I’m just … I feel like I’m taking advantage.
You’ve been so generous, letting us stay here, taking care of us.
And now I’m—” She gestured helplessly between them.
“feeling things I probably shouldn’t feel.
The situation makes it hard to sort through what is happening. ”
“You’re not taking advantage,” Ethan said firmly.
He shifted closer, his hand coming up to cup her face, his palms slightly rough against her face.
“I want this. Want you. Have wanted you since … probably since that first morning when you made breakfast and wore my shirt and looked more at home in my kitchen than I’ve felt in three years. ”
Lydia’s breath caught. “Ethan?—”
He kissed her.
Not desperate like before, when Tom’s phone call had sent them both into panic. This kiss was slow, deliberate, a question and an answer all at once. His lips were soft against hers, tasting of chocolate and cinnamon, and Lydia felt herself melting into him.