Chapter 59
Ethan
The parking lot smells like warm asphalt and spilled soda.
Lily skips ahead of us, bouncing in her new shoes proudly with every step, Mom trailing behind her with an indulgent smile that hasn’t left her face all day. Claire walks beside me, close enough that I’m aware of the heat from her body, far enough that I don’t brush her hand.
I keep my eyes forward.
“Dinner with us?” Mom asks suddenly, turning to Claire as if the idea has just occurred to her.
Claire hesitates only a second. “Sure.”
The word lands in my chest like a dropped weight.
Normally, I wait for these visits. Count on them. Mark time by them. But tonight, for the first time, I wish she would say no. I wish she would make an excuse. I wish she would leave this moment untouched.
Because I know she’s going to ask.
And I don’t know how to answer her without tearing myself apart.
The drive back to the house is quiet. Lily chatters from the back seat, narrating every thought she’s had since the mall, her voice bright and unburdened. Mom laughs in all the right places. Claire listens, smiling, nodding, slipping seamlessly into the rhythm like she belongs there.
She does belong here.
That thought almost makes me crash. I’m thankful that nobody knows my stupid thoughts.
Dinner is loud in the way family dinners are, clinking silverware, overlapping conversations, dad asking Lily about her spelling test even though mom already did. I sit across from Claire, answering questions when they’re directed at me, keeping my responses short.
I can feel her watching me.
She has that way about her. Always has.
“So,” Dad says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “How was the mall?”
“Fun!” Lily announces. “I got pink shoes.”
“They light up,” Mom adds.
Claire smiles at her. “I noticed.”
Her eyes flick to me briefly, curiously. I look away.
When dinner finally ends, I clear plates too quickly, stack them with unnecessary precision, give myself tasks that require movement. Anything to avoid the moment when the house quiets and the questions begin.
As soon as the dishes are done, I grab my jacket.
“I’m going to check the backyard,” I said, already moving.
No one stops me.
The night air hits my face like relief. Cool. Damp. Crickets sing from somewhere beyond the fence, steady and rhythmic, like they’ve been rehearsing for this performance.
I stand in the dark, hands shoved into my pockets, staring up at the stars. They’re faint tonight, dulled by cloud cover, but still there if you know where to look.
I count breaths.
The back door opens behind me.
Light spills out, outlining a familiar shape.
“Ethan?”
I close my eyes briefly and exhale. “I’m here.”
She steps out onto the grass, pausing when the light disappears behind her and the darkness settles. I move without thinking, reaching for her hand.
“Careful,” I murmur. “Your eyes haven’t adjusted.”
Her fingers curl around mine instantly, trusting, warm.
That simple contact sends a shock straight through me.
We walk a few steps farther, toward the old porch swing tucked into the shadowed corner of the yard. We sit with space between us, not the careful distance of strangers, but the distance of people pretending they’re not on the edge of something.
The swing creaks softly beneath our weight.
The crickets keep singing.
Silence stretches.
Finally, she breaks it.
“What happened today?” she asks quietly.
I stare out at the dark yard, jaw tight. The truth presses hard against my teeth, sharp and dangerous.
I choose the version that is easy.
“He was talking shit about you.”
She’s quiet.
I risk a glance at her profile, the way the faint starlight traces the line of her nose, her cheek, her mouth. She looks calm. Thoughtful.
“And?” she prompts gently.
I frown. “That’s it.”
She turns to me then, brows knitting slightly. “That’s it?”
“He was talking about you,” I say, frustration creeping in despite myself. “I stopped it.”
She exhales slowly, leaning back against the swing. “Ethan… I’m used to it.”
My hands curl into fists in my pockets. “You shouldn’t be.”
She tilts her head. “It’s a small town. People talk. They always have.”
“You don’t know what he was saying,” I snap before I can stop myself. “You shouldn’t have stopped me. I should’ve killed him, for what he said.”
Her eyes soften with understanding.
“That’s sweet,” she says quietly. “But I know exactly what they say.”
I look at her sharply.
“They’ve been saying it for years,” she continues. “About me. About us. About you.”
My chest tightens painfully.
“I don’t want you to get into fights,” she adds. “But… thank you. For standing up for me.”
She reaches out then, her fingers brushing my wrist.
The contact stills me completely.
Something shifts inside my chest, a truth clicking into place with brutal clarity.
I’m angry because this is my fault. Because I gave them permission. I hurt her loud enough that the town still echoes with it.
I look back up at the sky, blinking hard.
“I hate that you’re used to it,” I said quietly.
She squeezes my wrist once, then lets her hand fall back into her lap.
The swing rocks gently between us.
For a moment, neither of us speak.
Then she moves, like she’s finally come to a decision.
She reaches for my hand again, fully this time, and laces her fingers through mine. She leans closer, her shoulder brushing my arm, her presence warm and undeniable.
The night seems to hold its breath.