6. Ethan
6
ETHAN
I yawn, still half-asleep, my body stretching the sheets tangled around my legs.
I’m tired. I open my eyes to the morning sun streaming through the window, casting a warm glow in the room. Yeah, it’s morning all right. And I’ve slept later than I usually do.
One look at the bedside clock. It’s 9:23AM! How on earth did I sleep so late?
I sit up and the bedcover slides down my body, revealing that I’m completely naked. A frown. I’ve never gone to bed without my pair of matching pajamas David got me five years ago—it was my nightly ritual to be closer to my brother.
The cool air washes against my skin, sending shivers down my spine as I whip my head around to the other side of the bed; it’s empty, the sheets rumpled where she had been.
Holly. Beautiful, infuriating, captivating Holly, completely naked just as I am now as we tangled in the sheets all night.
No way! I scrub a hand over my face as the details of the night flood back.
It’s one of the best nights I’ve ever had with any woman, and not just because I haven’t had sex with anyone in about three years now. She’s left me totally knocked out and I’ve slept for what? Six hours? Something that I haven’t been able to manage since I can remember.
Where is she now?
I get out of bed and head to the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face, trying to wake myself up. I look in the mirror, my eyes heavy with sleep. I see the lines of exhaustion etched on my face.
I've never been one for casual hookups. It's not in my nature. I've always been cautious, always in control. But with Holly, it was different.
I've known from the moment I met her that she was special. There's something about her, a spark of defiance that's both intoxicating and terrifying. And last night, I let my guard down.
I'm not sure how I feel about it. Part of me is relieved. It's been a long time since I've let myself go, since I've allowed myself to feel something other than pain and anger.
But another part of me is worried. What does this mean? Am I ready for something serious? Or was this just a one-night stand?
Mistake or not, I’m about to find out. And I better head out to face the repercussions of my actions now.
I head back to the bedroom, feeling a surge of something I can’t quite name. Desire? Fear? I grab my phone from the dresser.
I’ve got a message. It’s my uncle again, asking that I call. I sigh, throw on a shirt and head outside the bedroom, drawn by sounds and a sharp smell of coffee coming from the kitchen. There she is, looking completely at home. incredibly gorgeous in an oversized shirt, barefoot with her hair let down. She turns and smiles at me, and for a moment, everything else fades away.
“Good morning,” she smiles, her voice warm and inviting. “Coffee?”
“Sure,” I manage, taking a seat at the table. I’m unsure what to say, unable to tear my eyes off her. She moves with such grace, her every gesture a mesmerizing dance.
My phone rings, and I see it’s my uncle again. I silence the call, not wanting to deal with him right now.
“Not going to take that?” Holly asks, pouring coffee into a mug.
“It’s nothing important,” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant.
She nods and grabs a cup of coffee for herself, settling down opposite me. “How about breakfast?”
“I don’t usually eat before training. I’ll grab something after.”
“Fair enough,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee. “So, about the redesign...”
I’m grateful for the shift in conversation, though I can barely offer coherent responses. I’m too focused on her—her hair, a cascade of waves framing her face, her eyes, bright and sparkling with curiosity, her brows, perfectly arched, her nose, delicate and straight, her lips, full and inviting, her face, a masterpiece of angles and softness. Even her neck, leading down to a body that’s both strong and elegant, captivates me.
“Ethan?” Holly’s voice pulls me back to reality.
“Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”
She smiles, clearly amused by my distraction. “I was asking if there are any specific places you want me to focus on or avoid in the redesign.”
“Right. The upstairs is mostly off-limits, except for the guest room and the hallway. Downstairs, feel free to do whatever you think is best. Just ... leave my office alone.”
“Got it,” she says, jotting down notes. “I’ll start with the common areas and see how it goes.”
I nod, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety. The idea of Holly changing my space feels both intrusive and comforting. She has a way of making everything seem warmer, more alive.
We fall into a comfortable silence, each lost in our thoughts. I can’t help but steal glances at her, noting the way the morning light catches her hair, the way her shirt slips off one shoulder, revealing smooth, creamy skin. Every detail is etched into my mind, a constant reminder of last night.
She finishes her coffee and looks at me, a question in her eyes. “So, last night...”
“Yeah,” I say, not sure where this is going.
“I just want to make sure we’re okay. I mean, I don’t want things to be weird between us.”
I laugh, a short, bitter sound. “I think it’s a little late for that.”
She looks hurt, and I immediately regret my words. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just ... complicated.”
She nods, understanding in her eyes. “I get it. Let’s just take our time to think about it and we can tell each other what we decide later, right?”
She wants to give me time. It’s so weirdly different from what I expect that I almost don’t know what to say.
“Okay,” I nod.
“Good,” she beams a bright smile. “Now that’s out of the way, and I’ve got some more ideas for remodeling the house already. Wanna listen?”
What? How are you moving on so quickly? I almost gasp and then I quickly grab my coffee, burying my surprise in a sip.
I must keep my guard up every time I’m around her. With Holly, it’s becoming clear that nothing is ever simple, or as expected.
“Ready?”
“Hmm.” I nod into my cup of coffee, watching her move around the kitchen. There’s something soothing about her presence, something exciting about watching the lips I was kissing all through last night move animatedly as she outlines her plans for the house. I’m mesmerized, barely able to focus on her words.
Every gesture, every flicker of emotion that crosses her face pulls me in deeper. I want to keep talking about what happened last night, but I can’t bring myself to broach the subject again.
She wants some time, and that’s what I’ve got to give her, but I can’t keep talking about wallpapers and paint choices while my insides are in a turmoil for this woman.
“So, what’s the deal with your ex-boyfriend?” I cut in, changing the topic. “Why’s he waylaying you at the Blizzards turnstiles of all places?”
Holly’s expression darkens, and she pauses, cocking her head before she answers. “Jake? Apparently, he believes I haven’t moved on yet, and I might be pining for a second chance.”
“Are you?”
She chuckles, the sound sharp and bitter. “Would you pine for a partner that cheated on you? Multiple times? He’s a big part of why I left L.A. for Chicago. He’s a self-centered, egotistical jerk who thinks the world revolves around him.”
On that, I fully agree.
I nod, anger simmering just below the surface. “You can always tell Jake I’m your boyfriend if it’ll keep him off your back.”
Holly looks at me, surprise and gratitude mingling in her eyes. “That’s a huge favor. Thank you.”
I shrug, trying to downplay it. “It’s easier because we live together. It’ll be more believable.”
“And that’s the only reason?” She smiles, a genuine, warm smile that makes my chest tighten.
“Uh–what? You don’t think it’s good enough?”
She stares at me for a long moment and I feel my heart pounding against my ribs.
“Ethan—”
Her phone rings right then, cutting her off. “I’m sorry, I need to take this,” she stands and leaves the room.
I watch her go, feeling a mix of emotions. There’s something about Holly that makes me want to protect her, to keep her safe from her douchebag of an ex-boyfriend. I’ve always avoided other people’s baggage, but with her, it’s different.
Maybe it’s because I know what it’s like to be pressured by others. Maybe it’s because David’s death anniversary is coming up, and Holly is the first housemate I’ve had since my brother.
Just then, my phone rings, too. It’s my uncle. I decide to answer this time, my patience worn thin.
“Ethan, it’s about time you picked up,” his voice grates through the speaker.
“What do you want, Frank?” I snap, my anger bubbling over. “You and your family don’t have lives of your own? You have to keep leeching off me?”
“Watch your tone, boy,” he growls. “We took you in when you had nowhere else to go.”
“And I’ve been paying for it ever since,” I retort. “You’ve milked every cent out of me, used David’s memory to guilt-trip me. I’m done being your cash cow. Get a job, Frank. Live your own damn life.”
“You ungrateful little—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“Ungrateful? You took us in for the money, not out of the kindness of your heart. You made our lives hell, and you think I owe you for that? Screw you, Frank. Screw you and your entire family.”
I hang up, breathing hard. The anger roiling inside me feels like a storm, threatening to break free. A shuffle of feet behind me makes me turn around. Holly’s standing there, shock and confusion in her eyes. I know she’s overheard my side of the conversation, and I can see the doubt in her eyes, wondering if I’m someone she can trust.
That flicker of judgment makes my anger flare again. I owe no one an apology, not even an explanation if they can’t bear to give me the benefit of the doubt.
I grab my car keys off the wall, avoiding her gaze. “I’m heading to training,” I say gruffly, storming out of the house without looking back.
As I drive, the anger gnaws at me, joined by disappointment. I’ve always told myself that I don’t care what others think of me. No one knows the pain until they’ve been in my shoes—but seeing that doubt in her eyes, knowing she’s questioning me, hurts more than I want to admit.
It doesn’t matter, Ethan. You don’t need her approval or anyone else’s.
I push the car faster, trying to outrun my thoughts. I can’t shake the image of Holly’s face, her eyes filled with uncertainty and something else—something that looks a lot like disappointment.
I’ve always prided myself on my control, on keeping people at arm’s length. But Holly has a way of breaking through all that, making me feel things I’m not ready to feel. And that worries me more than anything.
Maybe what happened between us last night is a mistake, and should remain so.
As I pull into the rink’s parking lot, I take a deep breath, trying to refocus. I can’t afford distractions, not now. Not ever. But as I step out of the car, the memory of Holly’s unwavering gaze follows me.
The practice hall is already buzzing with chatter and anticipation when I step in, the players changing into training gear, grabbing their skates. I'm surrounded by the familiar adrenaline in the air and hockey gear, a comforting ritual.
Coach Andrew appears in front of the group and, for the next two hours, we do an analysis of the previous games and identify what we can improve. As soon as he whistles to order us to the ice, Ryan appears beside me, a grin plastered on his face.
"Ready for practice, man?"
I nod, my mind still reeling. I'm torn between the desire to focus on the game and the need to figure out what's going on with Holly.
"You're awfully quiet today," Ryan observes, raising an eyebrow. "Scared I’ll have your ass on toast out there or you’ve got something on your mind?"
I shrug, trying to sound casual. "Just thinking about the game."
He laughs. "You're always thinking about the game."
I ignore his teasing. I need to focus. I can't let my personal problems interfere with my performance.
As we step out onto the ice, the cold air stings my face. I skate to my position, my mind racing. I need to clear my head, to focus on the game. But Holly's image keeps flashing before my eyes. Her smile, her laugh, the way she looked at me last night.
I take a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts away. I need to concentrate.
The puck drops, and the game begins. I need to lock in now to play well, keep my mind sharp, and my body reacting instinctively. But I can't shake the feeling radiating through me. The puck is passed to me from the left wing and as it rolls toward my stick, I slow down. One of the defensemen slams into me, hard, and I crash to the ice.
Gasps and worried murmurs ripple through the rink. My assailant offers me a hand, and I grit my teeth, accepting the help to get back on my feet.
“Are you okay?” Coach Andrew calls out, his voice laced with concern.
I wave to show I’m fine, even though pain radiates through my body. Grabbing my stick properly, I tell myself I needed that slam to remind me that my mind should only be on the game while I’m on the ice. I decide to forget Holly and focus on the game.
Just as I start to move, I see a flash of auburn hair at the edge of the rink.
I blink, wondering if my mind is playing tricks on me. Another defender slams into me, and I hit the ice hard again. Coach Andrew whistles loudly.
“Focus, Ethan!” he barks, frustration clear in his voice.
I nod, embarrassed, and glance back to where I saw Holly. My mind’s not playing tricks on me. She’s there, standing beside Lauren.
What is she doing here?
My thoughts spiral, torn between frustration and the undeniable pull I feel towards her.