15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ETHAN
“ W hat the hell? I could have taken care of that by myself,” Kinzie yells as I throw her ass into my truck.
“Christ, Kinzie,” I groan. “She probably broke your fucking nose. And that eye—” I pull a tissue out of my glove box and hold it out to her.
She snatches it from me and presses it to her bloody nose, muttering obscenities the whole time.
“Do you know who that was?” I ask as I peel out of the parking lot. “Tara Ford. As in Ford-nado. The number one woman in college volleyball.”
Kinzie sneers. “Since when do you follow women’s volleyball?”
“Since she got engaged to the number one pick for the NBA last year.”
“So what?” She glares. The expression doesn’t hit quite the same when she’s got a tissue pressed to her face. “What does any of that have to do with—”
“That woman in there,” I admonish, “is known for a lot more than spiking a ball. She’s a fucking hothead. Nathan knew exactly what he was doing when he hired you. He saved his own ass and reputation by hiring you to do his—”
“Dirty work?” Kinzie’s voice is pure fire. A warning.
I should tread lightly, but she has to see this for what it really is. “Yes. Dirty work.”
Kinzie shifts in her seat and drops her head back against the headrest. “That’s not what I do. You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Kinzie, I’m not going to pretend I know anything about this wedding canceling shit, but I can tell you that I know a lot more about Nathan Pacer than you do.” I grip the steering wheel so tight the leather creaks. “He hired you to take the heat off himself and to exploit Tara. I can see it now: ‘Tara Ford-nado strikes again.’ Literally. She’ll be labeled crazy as soon as the media catches wind of what happened.”
“She is crazy.” Kinzie rolls her head to one side and scrutinizes me. Already, her eye is swollen and the skin around it is turning purple.
“Trust me, that was all a show. You didn’t help Nathan pull out of an engagement. You provided a PR story that’ll make him look like the guy who saved himself from Tara’s path of destruction.”
Kinzie blows out a long breath and closes her eyes.
We’re silent the rest of the way back to Hope Island. When I drop her off at her sister’s place, Kinzie unbuckles and lets herself out of the truck without another word.
I slept terribly last night. Partly due to my crap mattress, but mostly because I couldn’t stop thinking about Kinzie. I searched for her online the moment I got home so I could find out more about how a person can make a career of destroying futures.
I stayed up late, reading through a few dozen blog entries, each one better than the last. It’s no surprise. Kinzie was always talented. Far too smart and creative to follow me around from one duty station to the next.
She had to go to college. She’d worked too damn hard for that scholarship.
So I broke up with her, set her free. Gave her the space and opportunity to be successful. To follow her dreams.
Her entries were all well-written, her stories purposeful. I found myself smiling when I came across one about a woman named Tyler who hired Kinzie to break off her engagement with her fiancé, also named Tyler. Not because the story was funny, but because it resonated with me in much the same way I could imagine it resonating with so many other people who are desperate to end their lackluster relationships.
Neither one wanted to end their relationship. They truly loved one another. But they’d been together for so long, with so little intimacy, that even after seeing a sex therapist, any sort of affection had come to feel like a chore. And so Tyler hired Kinzie as a means to salvage their friendship.
For as much as I hate her job, Kinzie writes with such conviction that I suppose I can understand her desire to help the people she writes about. She even threw shade at herself for stepping in so matter-of-factly.
I scrolled through the dates, searching for an entry about Victoria and me, curious about how we measured up against the others, but nothing popped up. I scrolled and scrolled until a particular title caught my attention.
“The One That Destroyed Me.” The entry was dated two years ago. It had more than a million views and almost as many comments.
This was it. The one that started it all. I hesitated at first, skimming over the words. When they landed on fucking my best friend , my heart plummeted and I started back at the top.
I’m supposed to be on my honeymoon right now, having the best sex of my life. That’s what newlyweds do, right? They travel to a beautiful remote setting, hole themselves up in a hotel room, and fuck until they can’t see straight.
Fortunately for me, I still have my eyesight, though I am nursing quite the hangover.
Spoiler alert, I did not get married yesterday. I planned on it. We were all at the church, and I was ready to walk down the aisle. I was wearing my white wedding dress with all its lace and glory. My makeup was on point, and my feet were cozy in the ballet flats I’d opted to wear.
Somewhere between putting the finishing touches on my look and the wedding march, however, a feminine voice rang out. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Keep going. Right there. Harder” came from the small broom closet next to the bride’s room.
I looked at my sister, and together, we laughed.
The wall rattled, two bodies clearly pressing against it from the other side.
“Who do you think it is?” I asked. Who would be so bold as to have sex in a church?
With a giggle, my sister shrugged. “Whoever it is has terrible taste. Having a quickie here, with God watching, is kind of cringy.”
The moaning grew louder, and within seconds, it was accompanied by a deep voice.
“I’m coming. I’m fucking coming,” he rasped.
“Gross,” Tessa said, leaping up from her chair and opening the door.
“What are you doing?” I hissed, still perched at the vanity.
She spun around, her eyes twinkling. “Aren’t you the slightest bit curious about who’s in there?”
Of course I was curious, but we were only a few minutes away from the procession. I didn’t want to risk Jay walking by and seeing me in my wedding gown. I’m the furthest thing from superstitious, but Jay had wanted it that way. We hadn’t seen each other since the day before.
Despite my concern, I made my way to the door, and Tessa left it open just a crack so we could peek out.
The door next to us creaked open.
“I love you,” the soft feminine voice cooed. It was familiar, and not in the sense that I’d just heard it screaming in pleasure moments earlier.
No. It was…
Shit. My best friend, Chasity, spilled out from the doorway, her blond hair a mess and her dress askew.
I slapped a hand to my mouth as she leaned in and kissed a man I couldn’t yet see.
“I love you too” was his muffled response.
Chasity pulled away from the door then and slid her hands down, smoothing out her dress.
“Oh my God,” Tessa laughed. “I should have known it was her.”
I rolled my eyes. I should have known it was Chasity too. Chasity is addicted to sex, and I don’t say that lightly. She literally attends sex addiction counseling because she has difficulty controlling her sexual desires. Since it doesn’t typically affect me, I don’t poke and prod at my friend’s struggle to remain celibate.
I was ready to turn away, but movement caught my attention. It was time for the man to sneak out, I supposed. Again, curiosity kept me rooted to the floor.
He backed out first. When he closed the door behind him, he turned around, and that’s when recognition dawned.
My heart cracked wide open at the same time my stomach bottomed out.
Jay. My boyfriend of three years, fiancé of one, my groom-to-be, had just fucked my best friend. On our wedding day. And they “loved” each other? What the actual fuck? Our happily ever after was supposed to start today. And he loved her?
I’m not a violent person by nature, and I hate confrontation, but the second it dawned on me what was happening, I lost it. It was as if I’d been possessed. I’m not even sure whether I started in on him with my arms or my words, and I have absolutely no idea who pulled me off him. All I know is that by the time two sets of hands dragged me away, a crowd had formed.
As I type this now, hungover, I’m not nearly as broken up over the events as I would have expected.
Does it hurt to be cheated on? Yes. Do I wish things would have turned out differently? Of course. I wish Jay had just told me about Chasity and saved me from being humiliated in front of my friends and family. I would give anything for somebody to have come forward with the truth, no matter how brutal it was.
But despite the title of this blog post, Jay didn’t destroy me. He’s just another notch in the infamous bedpost of my failed relationships.
The truth is, it’s me. I’m the one who destroyed it all. I allowed myself to get swept up in Jay’s debonair antics. His sophistication and charm. His ability to make me swoon, even when, deep down, I suspected that he was a cheater. I’m a fool. Because once I heard the words, “I love you,” I was a puddle at his feet.
It wasn’t the first time. Over and over, I’ve found myself in a similar place. The moment the guy attaches feelings, real or not, I overlook everything else. It doesn’t matter whether there’s romance or name calling. I’m in it for the long haul. Was in it for the long haul.
Gag me now, right?
Now, with hindsight in my favor, I can’t blame any of my failed relationships on the man. It’s me. I have too many deep-seated, unresolved issues from my first true love.
Yes. First loves are a bitch.
My mouth went dry. With a shake of my head, I closed my computer. What the hell was I supposed to do with all the information I’d just uncovered? I should have left it alone.
Now, as the coffee brews, I climb into my tiny shower and wash my hair. Once I’m dressed, I pour the coffee into two large thermal mugs and hop into my truck. Kinzie and I need to talk. I wanted to yesterday, but then she went and got herself punched in the face.
Tessa’s house is dark and quiet. Why wouldn’t it be? It’s ridiculously early, and I doubt any of them have insomnia like I do. Most people like to sleep until the sun at least alerts them that it’s a new day. I, on the other hand, don’t know what it’s like to have the sun wake me up. I huff in frustration. I’ll have to wait a few minutes. So, engine off and seat belt unbuckled, I lean back in my seat.
Bang. Bang, bang, bang .
I practically launch myself out of my seat at the sound. Heart racing, I peer out the window.
Standing in the driveway, Kinzie frowns at me. “Open the door.”
I rub at my eyes and do as she says, then take in the sky. It’s light out, and the sun is peeking from the tree line behind the house.
“What time is it?” Shit. I can barely sleep at home. What are the odds of falling asleep in my truck like that?
“Did you sleep out here?” Kinzie takes a step back. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt and pink pajama bottoms, and her hair is pulled up on top of her head.
“No, I did not sleep out here.” With a grunt, I climb out of the truck.
“You were drooling.” She snorts, but the sound cuts off abruptly, and she brings her hand to her face.
“Fuck, Kinz. Did you at least ice this last night?” I lean forward and move her hand from her cheek. Both of her eyes are ringed in deep purple and blue, and there’s a good-sized scratch above her eye.
She shudders. “Ice is cold.”
I brush the pad of my thumb across the bruise, assessing the inflammation beneath it. “Does it hurt?”
“No, it feels terrific. I was just thinking about how much I enjoy a good punch in the face.”
I pause mid-stroke, leaving my thumb on her cheekbone, and study her.
Her brilliant blue eyes look back at me. She’s angry, but a small smile escapes her lips, nonetheless. A sudden urge to pull her in, to kiss those lips, bubbles up from deep inside.
Dammit. That’s the last thing she’d want. If anything, she doesn’t want me anywhere near her.
The front door creaks open, and Tessa appears.
“Ethan. You’re here early,” she says, yawning and propping herself up against the door frame. She, too, is dressed in a pair of pink pajamas bottoms and a T-shirt. The twin connection is strong today.
Kinzie presses into me. “He’s taking me out to breakfast. Isn’t that the sweetest?” she asks, taking my hand and lacing our fingers together.
Tessa beams. “Ooh, Derrick mentioned going to the Pancake House. We should double.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Kinzie responds. She keeps her tone cheerful, but her jaw is clenched tight.
When Tessa goes back inside to get ready, Kinzie releases my hand. The loss of her touch is like a punch to the gut.
“What did I just do?” She closes her eyes and rubs her forehead.
“I thought this charade”—I point my finger between the two of us—“was over.”
Kinzie hits me with a glower. “It is. I mean it will be. I tried last night, but…”
“But?”
“But.” She looks back up to meet my eyes, her voice low and defeated. “When you dropped me off last night, she saw my eye and freaked out. The only thing that calmed her down was knowing that you were there to save me.” Shoulders lowering, she puffs out a breath. “One mention of you was all it took to change the topic. She went on and on about how excited she was that we were back together and that it was the perfect time, since she’s about to leave the country. She’s ecstatic that I’ll have support here while she’s away.”
I let out a low groan.
She gives me a smirk. “I’m going to hell, aren’t I?”
Shaking my head, I retrieve the coffees from my truck and hand her one. “If so, then I guess we’re going together.”
Beaming, Kinzie holds up the travel mug. “Is this coffee?”
I nod.
She takes a sip, and her whole body softens.
It takes all my strength to keep from smiling. To not trace the outline of her face in the sunlight. I came here to talk to her. Not to stare at her.
“You have no idea how good this tastes,” she hums. “Those wretched little heathens don’t own a coffeepot.”
An hour later, Kinzie and I are sitting in a booth next to one another while Derrick and Tessa sit across from us. They both order waffles, eggs, and bacon. Kinzie and I share a stack of pancakes. We agreed that we’ll use this opportunity to play up our faux infatuation with one another to show Tessa her plan worked. Then, because neither of us wants to continue this mess, we’ll have an epic breakup, right in front of her sister.
Kinzie, who’s dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a yellow short-sleeved silk blouse, plays her part, snuggling into my shoulder. Her dark hair hangs down her back in long, thick waves. Tilting her head, she scoops it up and draws it to one shoulder, away from me, exposing her neck.
My eyes are drawn to her soft, pale skin immediately. I don’t even have to pretend for Tessa’s sake. I sweep a few stray strands back and slowly brush them over her other shoulder with the rest of her hair. Then I drag my finger down the center of her back, relishing the way the silk of her blouse feels against my fingertips.
It takes me a moment to come to my senses. Shit. Too far. I freeze, and in the same instant, Kinzie’s body stiffens beneath my touch, but she’s quicker to recover than I am.
Fuck . What is wrong with me? Stroking her back like that was purely instinct. Like a reflex from my youth.
To anyone else, my touch probably looked like any other. A sign of affection. But to Kinzie and me, that touch used to mean so much more. It was my way of saying she was beautiful or “I can’t wait to be alone.”
Kinzie turns toward me and smiles, her lips curling up delicately. For a moment, I think it’s genuine, but then they smash together in a tight line, and I know I just crossed the fake dating line.
Across from us, Tessa clears her throat, and we both snap back to the moment.
“Don’t you two look cute,” she says, smiling brightly. Turning to Derrick, she jabs him in the ribs. “Don’t they look cute?”
“Very cute,” Derrick agrees, though he’s more interested in the waffles he’s dousing in syrup than he is in us. “They don’t need you drawing attention to it, though.”
“It’s okay. We don’t mind, do we, honey?” Kinzie drops her hand to my lap and squeezes my thigh hard.
I cough, more from the pure shock of Kinzie’s term of endearment than the pain she’s trying to deliver, then slide my hand on top of hers and pull her fingers from my lap. “Nope. I don’t mind at all, babe.”
Silence. Complete, utter silence. Inwardly, I cringe. I can’t believe I just called her babe.
“Aside from the black eye,” Tessa says, uninterested in our pathetic nicknames for one another, “what else did I miss yesterday? Did you find anything at Maggie’s?”
“Just Bigfoot,” I grumble, cutting into my pancake.
Kinzie chokes on the bite she just shoveled into her mouth.
“What?” Tessa asks, looking from her sister to me and back again with a skeptical frown.
“Bigfoot. You know, the big, hairy guy who lives in the woods? Only, he was standing in the living room next to the fireplace.”
Kinzie wipes her mouth with a napkin, still coughing, though the sound quickly morphs into a laugh. “It is not Bigfoot. It’s a squirrel.”
“A squirrel? No. There’s no way. Squirrels are tiny creatures that climb trees. That guy was big enough to rip a tree from the ground with his bare hands.”
“I told you, Maggie’s grandad carved Arthur from an old—”
“Arthur?”
She blinks at me. “The squirrel.”
“The squirrel has a name?” I choke back a guffaw.
“Yes. I told you that yesterday. All of the carvings have names.”
“I must have blocked that part out. I was a bit busy trying to save myself from certain death.”
Kinzie drops her fork and turns in her seat so she’s facing me. “Have you never been to Fletcher’s Farm?”
I shrug. What does the squirrel have to do with a farm? “I don’t think so.”
Kinzie’s eyes go wide. She eyes her sister and Derrick before setting her gaze back to me. “You’re kidding, right?”
I shake my head.
“Never? How is it possible that you and I never went there together? I spent half my childhood in that house.”
“It is pretty weird that you grew up here, yet you’ve never been there,” Tessa pipes up.
“Hold on. Hold on,” Derrick says, setting his fork down. “Give the man a break. I’ve lived here three years, and I’ve never been there.”
“That’s because the farm closed years ago,” Tessa says, waving a dismissive hand. “Maggie couldn’t keep up with it all after Ezra passed away. It’s such a shame. That place was great.”
“What kind of farm was it?” Derrick looks at Tessa with an arched brow.
“It had everything. Flowers, trees, produce,” Kinzie responds, “And don’t make that face and be all stereotypical. Yeah, he’s a guy, but that has no bearing here. This is a small town, and everybody knew about Fletcher’s Farm.”
“Everybody but me.”
“You’re telling me you never went to see the sunflowers in the fall? Or to pick tomatoes or cucumbers in the summer?”
“Kind of a chick thing,” Derrick whispers from the corner of his mouth.
Tessa swats at his arm. “She’s right. Fletcher’s Farm was a Hope Island staple. They supplied all the zinnias for the fundraisers at our school. And didn’t Maggie send all those floral arrangements to your dad’s funeral?” She eyes me, her lips pressed together.
I scratch at my jaw, keeping my mouth shut. I have no fucking idea who supplied the flowers. Hell, I barely remember who showed up.
Kinzie and Tessa continue their conversation, chatting about Ezra and how he taught Kinzie woodcarving. Something about more statues and kids and a petting zoo. But their words fall on deaf ears, because now, all I can think about is my dad. The man I lost. The one person I looked up to and aspired to be like. He was my everything. My hero.
Until he wasn’t.
I still relive that day over and over again in my head. It’s seared into my memory like a hot brand. It was a typical spring day. We had our windows open, and the wind was blowing fresh air into our house. Mom had taken Jill and Andy to the grocery store while Logan and Carter hung out at a friend’s house down the street.
It was just Dad and me. We were cleaning out the garage to make room for the car he’d just bought for my mom. It was a surprise. A gift for their twentieth wedding anniversary.
“How many more days till graduation?” my dad had asked me, his voice thick and heavy.
“Twenty-two.”
He pressed his lips together and nodded once. “You still have your heart set on that college?”
He and my mom asked the same question at least once a week. They thought moving away, even though I’d earned a partial scholarship, was a risky move, because I’d have to take loans out to cover the rest of my tuition.
I didn’t care. I had my heart set on attending Columbia University. It was where Kinzie would attend in another year. I would take prerequisites while I figured out what to major in. Kinzie would work on her journalism degree.
I was sick of the question. So, with a huff, I got back to work.
We’d been working in silence for several minutes when he set down a box and leaned over it, groaning.
“You okay?”
He stood back up and turned toward me. “Yeah, just got a little dizzy. And my chest.” He pressed one palm to his heart, as if to ease the discomfort.
My heart thudded against my sternum as I took him in—the sheen of sweat at his brow and the grimace on his face. “You should sit down. I’ll get the rest of those boxes.”
“No, I’m fine. Probably just indigestion.” He picked the box up again and carried it to the other side of the garage, where he placed it on the metal shelf we’d just assembled.
“Have you considered joining the military?” he asked, hands on his hips. “Doesn’t have to be the Marines like me, but it’s something to consider. You may not care about school loans now, but that’ll change after you graduate. At least the Marines will pay for your college when you’re actually ready.”
He strode back to the stack of boxes, running his palm over his chest again.
Frustrated, I turned away from him and got back to work. “I am ready,” I say. “I’ll figure out what I want to do when I figure it out. Kinzie and I have plans.”
“Plans?” He turned, this time his face etched with anger. “You’re eighteen, Ethan. You and Kinzie have your whole lives ahead of you. You don’t want to start out life in the hole. She has a full ride at Columbia. You don’t. You’ll be drowning in debt when you graduate.”
Head lowered, I shook it. “I’ll be fine. I’ll work and—”
“Ethan,” he cut me off, his tone harsh.
“No. I don’t want to—”
“Ethan,” he bellowed again.
At the fear in his tone that time, I finally looked up.
My dad stood at the opposite side of the garage, clutching his chest. His face was pale, and sweat dripped from his hairline. “Call an ambulance. I think I’m having a heart attack.”