Chapter 3 #3
The tears I’d been holding back all day shot to my eyes.
I blinked rapidly a few times, hoping to stop them from falling, but it was no use.
I was too weak, and my pain was too big.
A pathetic gasp escaped me, and suddenly I was crying in front of the very man I’d been hoping could distract me from this.
I covered my face, desperate not to let Ethan see me like this. Today couldn’t possibly get any worse. Or could it? I heard him step closer until he was right beside me. Even in the state I was in, his presence was impossible to ignore.
I felt a soft touch on my shoulder, and I braced myself to be thrown out of his flat. The last thing a guy like him wanted on his hands was a sobbing woman. But to my surprise, Ethan didn’t drag me to the door. Instead, he pulled me to him. A jolt shot through me, and suddenly, I was in his arms.
Under other circumstances, I would have pushed Ethan away, because my dislike of arrogant arseholes was much greater than the physical pull between us.
But I didn’t have the strength to resist the comfort he was offering me.
My fingers dug into his hoodie as if of their own accord.
He pulled me in even closer, which only made me cry harder.
I wasn’t even sure why I was crying. Over Amy?
Was I crying because I had lost not only my sister but also my life as I knew it?
Because losing Amy had made me an outcast, since my colleagues didn’t know what to do with my grief?
Or because my parents and little brother couldn’t bear the sight of me?
Ethan didn’t say anything. He had no soothing platitudes or words of comfort.
He didn’t whisper calming things into my ear or promise everything would be OK.
He just held me tight until it felt like his strong arms were the only thing keeping me upright.
As reluctant as I was to admit it, being held by Ethan felt good.
He may not have liked me any more than I liked him, but the way he held me suggested otherwise.
Enclosed by his scent, the flood of tears constricting my throat began to slow after a while.
It was both a relief and a disaster. The clearer my vision was, the clearer my mind became—and with it, the realisation that I was letting myself be comforted by Ethan Darlington.
Something he would tease me about for the rest of my life.
Or at least for as long as I worked for the hotel.
I pulled away from him, wiped my face dry, and fixed my eyes on the damp patch my tears had left on his hoodie.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at his face, where I was sure I’d find a smug grin.
I was embarrassed to have broken down in front of him.
Ashamed, I wanted to march straight out of his flat and never come back, but I didn’t want to make myself look even weaker. I was strong. I could face my feelings.
“Are you feeling better?” Ethan asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.
I held back my remaining tears to steady my voice. “I . . . I think so.”
“Good.” As if he’d just been waiting for me to say I was fine, he stepped back, taking with him his warmth and comfort. “Because when you’re done bawling, you can get back to work.”
This was the Ethan I knew and despised. Every last trace of kindness had vanished.
But his spite gave me the strength to straighten up and look him in the eyes.
His expression was guarded, but deep down, I caught a flicker of something.
And that was when it hit me: He wasn’t being cruel because he was an arsehole.
He was being cruel because I’d asked him not to be nice to me.
Which, in a twisted way, was actually kind of sweet.
“What is it, Gracie?” he asked. I hated when he used that cutesy nickname, but I didn’t want to call him out on it—he’d only use it all the more. “Are you hard of hearing? Or why are you standing around? Get to work. The rubbish won’t take itself out.”
I grabbed his hand, which just a moment ago had been resting reassuringly on my back, and pulled him towards the door. I only managed a couple of steps before he braced himself and stopped.
Confused, he stared at me as if I were losing my mind. “What are you doing?”
I shrugged. “Taking out the rubbish.”
He wrenched his hand free. “Very funny.”
“What? I can’t carry you.”
The corners of Ethan’s mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly.
I waited for a retort, but none came. Instead, he shouldered past me, bumping against me as if I were just some annoying obstacle in his way.
Wordlessly, he returned to his laptop and began ignoring me.
It was as though he’d decided I was no longer worthy of his attention.
I sighed.
Yes, Ethan Darlington was an arsehole, but he was a nice arsehole.
Today, at least. Because this wasn’t a victory I’d won myself; he’d let me win.
My grief and pain gave way to another feeling—not exactly relief or joy, but something different.
Something that felt unbelievably good, like a little slice of normality . . . and I had Ethan to thank for that.