Chapter 19 #3
Even if her life wasn’t in imminent danger, the idea that she went through episodes like that—frequently, if her reaction and dismissal were any indication—and more than likely alone…
His heart clenched, and he inhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to focus on the walk ahead, shoes crunching into the gravel and leaves under his feet.
Focusing on the sounds and the steadiness of pace also helped him to avoid thinking about that kiss—yet another reason why he hadn’t had a restful sleep. The way her body had fit so perfectly into his, the feel of her lips, the way she had leaned into him—
He shook his head, forcing his thoughts to clear as he ran a hand over his face roughly.
He could say with all honesty that he truly did not care about his appearance that morning.
It had been a long time since he’d felt that way.
He knew he was unkempt. His beard, which he had grown so meticulously, cared for so painstakingly, constantly toeing the line of being so precise as to be fussy, had gone for almost forty-eight hours without so much as a trim.
He had put on whatever clothes he could find in his duffel bag, grabbing some jeans and an old T-shirt he had brought for sleeping in.
His designer running shoes were all but destroyed anyway, so he’d shoved his feet into those and made a mental note to get a new pair when he got back to the city.
Back to the city.
The thought of leaving, going back, without anything resolved between him and Julia made his heart do that funny little seizure once more.
It was a physical pain in his chest, like someone had punched him.
They had passed a point of no return now, right?
They couldn’t simply go back and not talk for another decade—or worse, forever.
Could they?
He had been caught up in the moment, talking to Julia as they’d walked, laughing with her, reveling in her familiar dry humor.
How had he gone so long without that voice?
Without these conversations? He needed to bring up last night, the kiss that almost overshadowed everything else that had gone on between them.
He needed to know that it wasn’t he who was irrevocably fucking things up again. That maybe—maybe—they actually had…
What?
A second chance? What did he even want from her?
A relationship? Or did he want her to come back to his life in the exact same capacity she’d been in it before—a friend, a confidant, a constant presence, and a foil to whatever mood he was in.
Someone he could rely on to simply be there. Was that even fair to her?
He turned to say something about it to her, anything, when he realized her eyes had already caught the edge of the water.
Julia had always loved the lake, he realized. So had he, granted, but there was something about their summers there that had left more of an indelible mark on Julia.
When he thought of her, he thought of water.
The color that surrounded her like an aura, a self-possessed blue, complementing her honey blonde hair, her eyes the color of the murky depths of the ocean.
Lake water would not be a fair comparison to Julia, as he would only be able to come up with greens and browns, but there was something about her that was water incarnate, cool and composed and powerful.
He felt himself feeding off her enthusiasm, eyes turning toward the water. Even Noah and Katy, who before had seemed to be more zombielike versions of themselves, perked up a bit.
The lake, clear and glittering in the midmorning sun, was showing off.
They had always been lucky to have their neighbors spaced out far enough to have this stretch of lake to themselves—except for Julia’s family, of course—and it still remained peaceful as far as the eye could see, calm and cool, the autumn breeze fluttering over the water and into their faces.
Ethan recognized that they were somewhere between their two cottages.
Julia’s was farther inland than Ethan’s, but now, with the overgrowth and without anyone to care about the path between the two—since there were quicker ways to get there anyway, with the main road more developed, and even via the water if someone had a boat—it likely wouldn’t be visible even if he tried to look.
Which he didn’t really care to, if he were being honest with himself.
The realization from the previous night, that it was Maggie’s family who lived there now after all the years of Julia’s father holding on to it like a shrine before finally selling, still left him feeling rattled, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.
It was always Ethan’s cottage that had been their safe haven anyway.
The one that Julia had ultimately grown more familiar with, had preferred being at.
The one that, over time, she’d stayed at more, especially when she would come up with Ethan’s family once her cottage had been virtually abandoned.
She had never committed to a room there, never made it feel exactly like home for herself, despite his parents’ insistence she try, but he supposed that was irrelevant in light of what she had done with it now.
Her place in his family had always been…complicated. To his parents, she had filled a void, the daughter they hadn’t been able to have despite years of trying. To Ethan, she had been something else entirely: not quite family, not quite friend, always hovering in a space that defied easy labels.
Ethan found himself inadvertently taking a deep inhale, the sensation of the lake air familiar and reinvigorating, as he once again tried to quash the memories of the past. A quick glance over to Julia saw her doing the same.
They caught each other’s eyes and exchanged a small private smile.
An acknowledgment of a feeling or memory, or both, that they knew they shared.
“It’s still beautiful,” he said quietly, talking only to her as the others moved closer to the water, Katy staying close to Maggie while Noah loped over to a rocky area overlooking the water.
“I feel lucky,” she admitted, saying those words out loud to him for the first time ever as she wrapped her sweater coat around herself tighter.
It wasn’t cold; the sun was high and warm in the sky, with only a fresh breeze to indicate the season.
But he watched as Julia shivered anyway.
He resisted the urge to offer her his own light jacket—or put his arm around her.
“You are,” he mused, then hastened to explain himself at her sharp glance. “Not that— I mean, the circumstances weren’t—” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. No matter what I say, I can’t help but feel like I’m constantly fucking up.”
She laughed, a breathy, almost humorless chuckle, and then fell silent for a beat. When she spoke again, her voice sounded raw. “I hate this.”
He didn’t have to ask what she meant—he knew.
He hated it, too. The formality, the stiffness between them.
The need to parse out words and watch what they said and pretend like their shared history didn’t mean anything.
All because of one stupid mistake all those years ago.
Or a prolonged continuation of mistakes that had led them to where they were now.
There were no words to describe the difficulty of losing someone who had once been so close, someone who had felt more like a limb than a friend.
It had been like a death, but somehow worse—because both had continued on living, knowing the other was still out there, with no contact or communication between them.
“Just say what you want to say,” she continued, arms still tightly wrapped around herself. “The way you want to say it. Pretend like the past eight years never happened, and just tell me everything you would have if we were twenty-five again.”
Ethan thought for a moment. It felt like a trap, and he wanted to proceed with caution in case he somehow fucked things up again.
“I would tell you…” He swallowed. “How proud I am of you. How happy that you got to do this—”
“No.” She shook her head, eyes narrowing, and he panicked slightly.
You’re fucking it up, you’re fucking it up!
“No,” she repeated, pointing at him, poking his chest. “That’s not what Ethan would have said. Not the Ethan who talked to me every day for the last eight years. You never would have gone into all that mushy stuff.”
She was right, in theory. The Ethan she’d known would never have waxed poetic over her, said things that were soft and flowery and full of admiration. He would have thought them, sure. He’d thought them all the time. But say them out loud?