55. Shear Wall
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
SHEAR WALL
Claire
The familiar rumble of his engine reaches the barn before eight. Right on schedule. By the time I step outside, he’s already waiting.
It’s equal parts infuriating... and impossible to argue with.
The fact that he has somehow managed to transform a basement storage room into a functioning office only makes the situation worse, because now he’s always around.
Everywhere I turn, he’s lurking nearby.
He’s hyper-aware of everything around me, his senses seemingly heightened. Any unfamiliar vehicle catches his attention. Any unexpected visitor raises questions. When I leave a room, he seems to know about it before I make it halfway down the hallway.
Understanding his behavior doesn’t make it less irritating.
“Ethan, you know I’m capable of walking from the front door to my office by myself, right?”
He doesn’t even glance away from the road, both hands fixed on the wheel at ten and two. “I’m aware.”
“Then why are you acting like I need Secret Service protection?”
That finally earns a look. “Because I care about your safety.”
“I know the statistics,” I say, the words clipped and defensive. “I’ve written the reports. But this—this was different. This was probably just some kids, some random—” I stop because I can hear myself.
His expression suggests I may have lost touch with reality.
“You do realize I’m a big girl, and I’ve worked with at-risk teenagers for a while now?”
“That isn’t helping your argument.”
“It should.”
“It isn’t.”
“You know, sometimes I wonder if you'd have told me about you and Brooke if I hadn't caught you.” He looks startled by the sudden change in topic.
“How long am I going to pay for this?” he says sharply.
Hours later, there's a knock on my office door. He steps inside. “I know you weren’t punishing me earlier. You were telling me the truth about where you are, and I made your pain about my discomfort.”
I recognize this immediately as the new Ethan, the Ethan who has put in the work through therapy.
Neither of us has anything to add, so I turn back to my computer and continue working.
I really need several uninterrupted hours of work and a temporary break from his constant presence.
Unfortunately, that break never materializes.
By lunchtime, I’ve already encountered him four times, in the hallway, in the kitchen, helping maintenance, and talking to Heidi about veterinary schools while subtly keeping an eye on the front entrance.
The man is impossible. At three o’clock, my phone vibrates with a text.
Ethan: Don’t forget counseling at five.
Ethan: That wasn’t a suggestion.
I hate you.
Ethan: No, you don’t.