47. Addy
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Addy
I find out Bryce has been arrested while eating peanut butter straight from the jar in Ethan’s kitchen, wearing one of his sweaters and compression socks that make me feel ninety years old.
The television is on mostly because Oliver likes the weather graphics and keeps insisting Chicago is “under attack by aggressive clouds.” I’m half-listening while trying not to gag over the smell of scrambled eggs Ethan made approximately three hours ago that still somehow exist like a threat.
Pregnancy is magical.
The news anchor’s voice sharpens suddenly.
“…breaking developments this afternoon in the ongoing Strong AeroTech investigation…”
My entire body goes still.
On screen, flashing red banners cut across footage of downtown Chicago.
STRONG AEROTECH FORMER ENGINEER ARRESTED
My stomach drops so fast that I grab the counter. “Oh wow.”
Ethan looks up immediately from across the kitchen table where he’s been pretending to read emails while actually staring into the middle distance like a deeply traumatized billionaire statue. “What?”
Then he sees the television.
Everything in him stills. The footage changes. Bryce in a dark jacket, being escorted down courthouse steps surrounded by federal agents and cameras. His face is tense, furious, trying to hide panic and failing at it.
I stare at him. And for the first time since Milwaukee airport, he doesn’t look larger than life.
He looks small, cornered, human.
The anchor continues speaking.
“…charges currently include aviation fraud, corporate sabotage, evidence manipulation, unauthorized systems intrusion, and involuntary manslaughter connected to the reopened investigation into the death of pilot Megan Strong…”
Oliver looks between us from the floor where he’s building an airport out of magnetic tiles. “Why is Daddy on TV?”
I move instantly, crouching beside him carefully because my center of gravity is now apparently controlled by three tiny drunk acrobats. “It’s work stuff, sweetheart.”
Ethan kneels beside him. “Remember how Daddy said some people made very bad choices with airplanes?”
Oliver nods solemnly.
“Well, the police are helping fix it now.”
Oliver thinks about this carefully. “Like when Captain ate my Lego wheel, and the vet had to help?”
Silence.
Then Ethan says gravely, “Shockingly similar.”
I choke on a laugh.
Because of course that’s where we are emotionally as a family now.
Federal aviation crimes and Lego digestion analogies.
Oliver seems satisfied with this explanation and goes back to his airport.
The news keeps talking in the background.
“…sources confirm recovered server logs and authentication records were instrumental in obtaining the warrant…”
“…the original crash investigation may have relied on manipulated telemetry data…”
“…pilot Megan Strong’s actions are now under renewed review…”
I mute the television.
The silence afterward feels enormous.
Ethan stares at the darkened screen for several seconds. “They finally stopped blaming her.”
That’s the thing that breaks me. The rawness in his voice.
I stand slowly and walk toward him. His eyes lift to mine immediately. Blue, exhausted, devastated, and hopeful in the saddest way I’ve ever seen. “Oh, Ethan.”
He shakes his head once like he can’t handle comfort yet.
Unfortunately for him, I’m pregnant and emotional and deeply in love with him, so his preferences are no longer the controlling authority in this household.
I take his hand anyway.
His fingers close around mine instantly. Like instinct. Like relief.
Behind us, Oliver crashes two toy planes together dramatically. “Emergency landing.”
Ethan closes his eyes briefly.
“Subtle,” I whisper.
“He gets it from Captain.”
“I’m not convinced Captain knows what aviation is.”
“He believes in bedlam. That’s adjacent.”
A small smile finally appears.
The rest of the day feels strange.
Too quiet emotionally for how loud everything actually is.
Phones ring constantly.
Sara calls twice.
Jeffrey once.
Federal investigators apparently want statements, timelines, and enough documentation to drown a small country.
Ethan handles all of it with terrifying calm while I sit on the couch trying not to spiral every time the news updates.
Bryce arrested.
Bryce charged.
Bryce connected to Megan’s crash.
Every headline feels unreal. Because Bryce was awful, yes. Selfish, cruel, emotionally allergic to accountability. But this is monstrous.
I keep thinking about Milwaukee Airport.
About him standing there telling me I was “too much.”
Meanwhile, he was carrying around corporate sabotage and involuntary manslaughter like a psychotic emotional support hobby.
Men truly have the audacity.
By evening, the penthouse finally quiets.
The city outside shines gold and blue beneath the darkening sky.
Oliver insists on pizza and “movie night” because, apparently, a national scandal builds appetite.
So Ethan orders enough food to feed an army while I help Oliver build a blanket fort in the living room.
I supervise.
Mostly because every time I bend over too fast now, my body files a formal complaint.
“Sunshine,” Oliver says seriously from inside the fort, “you have to crawl.”
“I physically can’t crawl anymore.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I’m carrying your future basketball team.”
“You can still crawl a little.”
Rude.
Ethan walks in carrying pizza boxes and stops.
His expression softens instantly.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by blankets while Oliver aggressively explains fort engineering principles and Captain lies in the middle like an unemployed security guard.
Warmth flickers across Ethan’s face.
We eat pizza inside the fort while Oliver explains an extremely complicated game involving runway emergencies, stuffed animals, and what I think is a dinosaur acting as air traffic control.
At one point, Ethan laughs. Really laughs. It catches me so off guard that I just stare at him.
Oliver yawns loudly before either of us can ruin our emotional stability completely. “I’m sleepy.”
“No kidding,” Ethan murmurs.
“You said no kidding is old people language.”
“It is.”
“You’re old.”
I choke.
Ethan looks deeply offended. “I’m forty-two.”
“Ancient,” Oliver says solemnly.
“Traitor.”
I’m laughing so hard I snort. Pregnancy has robbed me of dignity in increasingly creative ways.
Ethan looks over at me with such helpless affection that my stomach flips.
Eventually, we get Oliver bathed, pajamaed, and into bed after exactly fourteen negotiations, two stories, and one deeply emotional discussion about whether astronauts could take dinosaurs to space.
“Goodnight, buddy,” I whisper, kissing his forehead.
Oliver wraps his arms around my neck suddenly. “Love you, Sunshine.”
My heart physically squeezes. “I love you too.”
His sleepy little face brightens. “Forever?”
I glance toward Ethan standing in the doorway. His expression wrecks me quietly.
“Forever,” I whisper.
Oliver falls asleep clutching his stuffed airplane.
Ethan closes Oliver’s bedroom door gently, then leans against the wall beside it like his body suddenly weighs too much.
I stand there watching him. This beautiful, exhausted man carrying grief and guilt and relief all at once.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
“No.”
Honest.
Always devastating when he’s honest.
I step closer. “Talk to me.”
His eyes lift to mine. “I don’t know how to feel.”
“That seems reasonable.”
“They spent four years telling me Megan made a mistake.” My throat tightens. “And now Bryce is in custody, and investigators are calling her brilliant and saying the system failed her and I…” His voice roughens. “Part of me is relieved, and part of me feels sick for not finding it sooner.”
“You weren’t supposed to solve her death alone.”
“I tried anyway.”
“I know.”
He laughs once without humor. “Control issues.”
“You’re very committed to them.”
“Yes.”
Silence stretches softly between us. “I thought loving someone again would feel like betrayal.” My breath catches. “But it doesn’t.”
My eyes sting immediately. “Ethan—”
“It feels terrifying,” he says. “And reckless. And completely out of my control.” A faint smile touches his mouth. “Which I hate.” I laugh wetly. “But it doesn’t feel wrong.”
I melt completely. Because this man, this impossible, grieving, emotionally constipated silver fox. He’s trying so hard, and I love him so much it’s becoming unbearable to carry around silently.
I step closer until there’s almost no space left between us and place my hand against his chest slowly. His heartbeat is steady beneath my palm. “I love you.”
The words leave me before fear can stop them.
Ethan goes completely still. Like even breathing might break the moment. Then his hand slides gently against my waist. “Addy.”
I shake my head immediately because if he says something devastatingly emotional right now I might actually dissolve into soup.
“I know this is messy and insane and badly timed and technically started with airplane sex and trauma…”
His mouth curves helplessly.
“But somewhere between Oliver calling me Sunshine and you buying me orange juice and turning your penthouse into a prenatal command center…” My voice breaks slightly. “You became my home.”
Ethan’s eyes close briefly like the words physically hurt to hear, and for one terrifying second, I realize love has become hard for him over the last four years.
Then he looks at me again, and I realize it isn’t pain. It’s feeling. Full force, uncontrolled. “I love you too.”
The words hit me so hard I actually stop breathing for a second.
Then he kisses me.
It’s like a dam broke and every repressed, compartmentalized, locked-up thing inside him floods into me at once, hot and desperate.
His hands come up to my face, and he kisses me so hard I taste how much he needs this, and more indecently, how much he needs me.
I make some sound, part laugh, and part needy animal noise, and he groans against my mouth, while pushing me up against the wall in the hallway, his body pinning mine gently.
“You’re perfect,” he hisses.
For a woman that’s been told she’s too much, hearing this is wonderful.
“I want you, Ethan.”