Chapter 8
Ethan
A small shuffle behind Mom drew my eyes to the hallway.
A tiny girl peeked out, chestnut hair curling around her face, eyes too big for her small frame. She clutched a teddy bear to her chest.
Lily.
I’d seen her… what? Twice? Maybe three times? She’d been a baby then, all soft fists and sleepy blinking.
Now she looked like a solemn little bird.
Mom knelt and held out a hand. “Come say hello, darling. This is your Uncle Ethan.”
Lily didn’t move at first. She studied me, quietly cautious. Then, slowly, she walked forward and pressed into my mother’s side without a word.
I crouched, unsure what to do with my hands. “Hi, Lil,” I said, voice softer. “I’m… I’m really glad to see you.”
She nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and looked away.
My insides hurt.
Mom smoothed her hair. “I’m taking her to the park for a bit. Claire will be there.”
Claire.
The name left me breathless and hit me like a bruise at the same time.
The one person I’d spent a decade trying and failing to forget.
“I thought she was…” I cleared my throat. “I didn’t know you people were close.”
“She’s been helping with Lily.” Mom said gently.
Of course she was.
“That’s good,” I managed.
Mom ushered Lily toward the door, giving me one last watery smile. “We’ll see you in a little while.”
The door shut behind them, the soft click echoing through the house.
I didn’t realize I’d gone still until my father spoke.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he said gruffly.
I huffed a humorless breath. “Sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be. Just… sit, son.”
I did. Because when Bill Walker used that tone, you didn’t argue, not even at thirty-two.
He lowered himself into the chair across from me, elbows braced on his knees.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
The question scraped something raw.
“I should be asking you that,” I said, too dry. “You’ve lost more than me.”
“And you lost your brother.”
His voice was steady, but the lines around his eyes carved deeper as he spoke.
“It’s… different, you had to deal with this alone,” I said, looking away.
“It’s not,” he replied. “Grief isn’t a contest. You found out late. It’s hitting you all at once. That’s its own kind of brutal.”
I swallowed, throat tight.
Dad continued, voice low. “And now you’ve been told you might be raising his daughter. No father should have to ask that of anyone. But Matt did. Which means he trusted you, Ethan. More than you think.”
I closed my eyes. The guilt pressed heavier, along with the responsibility.
“I shouldn’t have driven,” I murmured, changing the subject. “I couldn’t even feel my hands.”
“I know. I asked you not to.” His jaw tightened. “But you insisted.”
“I already missed the funeral.” My voice wavered. “I couldn’t stay away any longer. I needed to be here.”
Dad nodded, something like pride, or pain, flickering through his tanned face.
“You’re here now,” he said. “That’s what matters.”
His words steadied me, like a hand on a shaking shoulder.
I breathed deeply. The first steady breaths I’d taken since receiving the devastating news.
Outside, the rain eased into a soft patter.
Somewhere down the road, my mother’s car engine faded into the distance, carrying Lily toward the park.
Toward Claire, my traitorous heart whispered.