Chapter 9 #2
She’s happy where she is now, Michael’s voice echoed in his memory. She wants you to know it’s okay.
Ethan wasn’t sure he believed in angels or divine permission or any of it, but he wanted to. If it meant another taste of the joy he had once shared with Sarah, he wanted to.
The drive back to his house was slower than the drive out, ice already forming on the roads as the temperature plummeted. By the time Ethan pulled into the driveway, full dark had fallen and the windows of his house glowed warm and golden against the November night.
Home. It looked like home. Despite his internal back and forth, he was truly excited to spend Thanksgiving with Lydia and the kids.
He climbed out of the truck, grocery bag of extra items he’d picked up at the hardware store in hand, and headed for the door.
“The car’s running,” he called out as he stepped inside, already smiling. “I’ll take you in tomorrow to collect it after?—“
He stopped.
Lydia was standing in the middle of the kitchen, shaking so hard her teeth were chattering. Her face was ashen, her eyes huge and dark. His old landline that he kept for cell outages was lying on the floor by her feet, the receiver off the hook.
“Lydia?” Ethan crossed the kitchen in two strides, his heart slamming against his ribs. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t seem to speak. Just stood there shaking, her arms wrapped around herself, tears streaming down her face in silent tracks.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Ethan didn’t think, just acted, sweeping her into his arms, pulling her against his chest, one hand cupping her face while his thumbs brushed away the tears. “You’re safe. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
“He—” Lydia stopped, drawing a deep breath. “He called. He … Tom … he knows where I am. He said—” She dissolved into shaking again.
Ethan held her tighter.
“Breathe,” he murmured, his lips against her hair. “Just breathe. I’m here. You’re safe.”
Normally, he would have already been thinking tactically.
He would’ve already been checking the caller ID on the phone and calling the sheriff.
But he was holding Lydia in his arms and she felt so small, so fragile and terrified.
Rage burned within him at Tom Redding for putting that fear in her eyes.
“What did he say?” Ethan forced himself to ask, even though part of him didn’t want to know.
Lydia’s fingers clutched at his shirt. “He said—’You think he can keep you safe, Lydie?
’” The way she said it, in a breathy whisper, made Ethan’s blood run cold.
That was Tom’s voice. His words. Hearing them in Lydia’s terrified echo made Ethan want to drive to Ohio and make the bastard regret ever laying eyes on her, but he wasn’t in Ohio, was he?
Tom was somewhere close by if he had tracked down Ethan’s house and number.
“He can’t get to you here.” Ethan meant it with every fiber of his being. “I won’t let him. Do you hear me? I won’t let him hurt you or the kids. Ever.”
Lydia tilted her face up, and Ethan’s breath caught. Her eyes were wild, desperate, dark with panic and the same aching want that had been tearing him apart for days.
She kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle or tentative. It was desperate and demanding, fierce in its intensity. Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him down, and her lips were soft and urgent against his.
Every rational thought in Ethan’s head screamed at him to stop.
This was wrong. She was vulnerable and apprehensive and he was taking advantage of her fear.
He should pull away, put distance between them, be the responsible adult who didn’t accost traumatized women in his kitchen.
She was scared and seeking comfort and this wasn’t real, just a reaction to intimidation, to feeling cornered and helpless.
His body wasn’t listening to his brain. His arms tightened around her of their own accord, one hand sliding into her hair which was as soft as he’d imagined, and he kissed her back a man reaching the end of a long war and finding one good thing still waiting for him.
Nothing was going to make him let go, not even the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his commanding officer telling him this was a bad idea.
She tasted like hot cocoa and salt from her tears, and when she made a small sound in the back of her throat, Ethan felt it all the way to his bones.
His thumb traced the line of her jaw, tilted her face up so he could deepen the kiss, and for a moment the world narrowed to just this.
The softness of her lips, the warmth of her body pressed against his, the way her fingers tangled in his hair like she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go.
She kissed like she’d been wanting this as much as he had while lying awake at night wondering what it would be like.
Heat that had nothing to do with the kitchen’s warmth coursed through him.
He should stop. This was Lydia.
She was living in his house, dependent on his help, still reeling from her ex-husband’s attempt to murder her.
This was wrong on so many levels that Ethan couldn’t even count them all, but Lydia was kissing him, and Ethan had spent three years in emotional purgatory, three years of going through the motions of existing, and this felt like coming back to life.
Like every nerve ending in his body had been dormant and was suddenly startled awake.
His other hand found the small of her back, pulling her closer, and Lydia melted against him with a sound that made his heart stutter.
She fit perfectly in his arms, and for one wild moment Ethan let himself believe that this could be his life.
Coming home to Lydia in his kitchen, kissing her like the world had stopped spinning, having the right to touch her and hold her.
She pulled away, and reality slammed into him.
Ethan tried to remember how to think.
The phone lay silent on the floor. The house was quiet except for their ragged breathing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Ethan registered that they’d just crossed a line there was no coming back from.
“I’m sorry,” Lydia whispered, but she didn’t pull away. “I shouldn’t have … you were just … I needed?—”
“Don’t,” Ethan said, his voice rough. “Don’t apologize.”
He should be the one apologizing. He was her host and protector and he’d just violated every professional and ethical boundary by kissing her back, but his hands were still in her hair, and her fingers were still fisted in his shirt.
He couldn’t make himself let go.
“Mommy! Mr. Cole! I’m hungry!” Rosie’s voice rang out from the living room, followed by the thunder of small feet running toward the kitchen.
Ethan and Lydia sprang apart like they’d been electrocuted. Lydia’s face flushed scarlet, her hand flying to her lips, and Ethan took several steps back, running a hand through his hair and trying to look like he hadn’t just been making out with Rosie’s mother.
Rosie burst into the kitchen, blonde curls bouncing, completely oblivious to the charged atmosphere. “Can we have dinner now? Eli says we have to wait for you but I’m really, really hungry.”
“Yes, baby,” Lydia managed, her voice shaky. “Give me just a minute, okay? Go wash your hands.”
“Okay!” Rosie bounced out as quickly as she’d arrived.
The silence she left behind was deafening.
Ethan bent down and picked up the phone receiver, checked the caller ID.
Number blocked. Of course it was. He replaced it in the cradle, his mind already working through logistics.
They’d need to report this to Sheriff Wyatt.
Get a trace put on the line. Maybe get Lydia a restraining order that actually had some teeth.
First, they needed to talk about what had just happened.
“Lydia—”
“I need to start dinner,” she said quickly, turning toward the stove. “The kids need to eat, and I haven’t even—there’s so much to do before tomorrow?—”
“Lydia.”
She stopped, her back to him, her shoulders rigid with tension.
“We should talk about this.”
“I know.” Her voice was small. “I just … not right now. Please. I can’t.”
She was right. The kids needed dinner. Thanksgiving prep needed to be done. And they were both still raw from the phone call, from the kiss, from the sudden violent shift in the landscape between them.
“Okay,” Ethan said. “But Lydia? That call … we need to tell the sheriff.”
She nodded without turning around.
“Whatever just happened between us—” Ethan stopped, not sure how to finish that sentence. Whatever just happened was a mistake. It can’t happen again. It was the best thing I’ve felt in three years.
“I know,” Lydia said again, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Ethan left her in the kitchen and went to wash up, his lips still tingling, his heart still racing. In the bathroom mirror, he looked like a man who’d just had his entire world tilted on its axis.
He called the station and told them about the call, answering the deputy’s questions, then setting his phone away.
Tomorrow was Thanksgiving. A day meant for family and gratitude and counting blessings.
Ethan found himself grateful for things he had no right to count as his.
For Lydia’s presence in his home, for Eli and Rosie’s laughter filling his empty rooms, for the taste of hot cocoa and salty tears on lips he’d been dreaming about for days.
He was absolutely undone even as a silent creeping fear took hold of him.
Tom Redding knew where they were and was coming for them. Was he enough to stand in the way and protect them?
He forced the gnawing terror out.
That was tomorrow’s problem.
Tonight, he had a woman in his kitchen trying to pretend her world wasn’t falling apart, two kids who needed dinner, and the memory of a passionate kiss that had changed everything.