Chapter 35 #2
And that was that. Silence again. My pulse ticked with every turn, every stretch of pavement. By the time we rolled over the viaduct, the air felt thick enough to choke on.
Then, as if the universe had a sense of humor, a sudden bump in the road sent my water bottle careening into the air mid-sip, splashing across the dashboard.
We both froze, wide-eyed, and then burst into laughter, the tension cracking wide open.
His knuckles relaxed on the wheel as he wiped a few drops from his cheek. “Well, that wasn’t part of the plan.”
I grinned, my heart racing. “Just testing your reflexes!”
The laughter filled the space, softening everything between us just enough that when he pulled the truck over at the entrance to the bike path, I wasn’t sure if my stomach flip was nerves or anticipation. Maybe both.
I slid out of the truck, smoothing the hem of my shorts, and started toward the bike path entrance. “So… do we just walk?” I asked, already picturing some stiff, polite stroll where we both tried not to step on each other’s shadows.
Behind me, the tailgate clunked open.
I turned. “Um… what are you doing?”
Ethan lifted a duffel from the bed, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to smile. “Tell me you’ve never been rollerblading.”
I blinked. “Rollerblading?”
“Yeah. You know—wheels on your feet, gravity doing its best to kill you.” He set the bag down, unzipping it to reveal two pairs of blades, elbow pads, knee pads, and even helmets.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Not even a little.” He held up a pair in my direction. “Try them.”
I laughed, too loud and too quick, covering the sudden thud of my pulse. “You’re serious. You actually planned this.”
His shrug was casual, but there was something quiet in his eyes. “Borrowed a few sizes from Nate’s rec stash. Seemed like you’d like it.”
And damn it, I did.
“Fine,” I said, pretending to sigh. “But if I break my neck, you’re explaining it to Carol. And Lucky.”
“Deal.”
He crouched in front of me, steady hands guiding the blades onto my feet, tugging the straps snug around my ankles. I sat on the edge of the tailgate, trying to act normal, while every brush of his knuckles sent my stomach tumbling.
“Stand up,” he said once he’d checked the last buckle.
I wobbled instantly. He caught me, one hand firm at my elbow, the other bracing at my hip. Heat shot through me, sharp and unexpected.
“Hold on,” he murmured. “Bend your knees a little.”
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered, clinging to his arm with white knuckles.
We made it to the path, my wheels jittering beneath me. He guided me with patient hands—steadying me when I lurched, laughing softly when I windmilled my arms like a cartoon.
At one point, I nearly pitched sideways. He stepped in fast, hands closing around mine, wrists crossing over my chest as he steadied me from behind. For one breathless second, I leaned back against him, our laughter colliding with the sound of my skates scraping asphalt.
“You’re fine,” he said near my ear, his voice low. “I’ve got you.”
And the worst part? For that one second, I believed him. I wanted to stay right there, his hands anchoring mine, the warmth of him pressed against my back.
After about forty-five minutes, my legs finally stopped wobbling. I could push off, glide, and even coast without looking like I was about to topple over and scatter my dignity across the pavement. Ethan kept pace beside me, his strides smooth and unhurried, wheels humming steady against the path.
The sun was starting to dip, painting the treetops in amber. For the first time in days, I didn’t feel like I was fighting the silence between us. We were moving in sync, breath and motion, no need for words.
But of course, I ruined it.
“I didn’t mean it,” I blurted, eyes fixed on the path ahead.
“Mean what?” His voice was careful, but not cold.
“At prom.” My throat tightened. “When I said it didn’t matter. That I was leaving anyway.”
He was quiet long enough that I almost regretted saying it. Finally, he replied, “It sounded like you meant it.”
“I…” I blew out a breath, wishing I could rewind. “I didn’t want it to sound like I don’t care. Because I do. About this. About you. I just—” My voice caught, and I shook my head. “I don’t know how to explain.”
He pushed ahead a little, coasting backward so he could face me. His eyes searched mine, steady, frustrated, too perceptive. “How do you do it?” he asked softly. “Go from one city to the next. Make people care, make connections… and then just walk away?”
The words landed heavy, because the truth was ugly. I dragged my gaze to the trees. “Because I have to.”
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
“I don’t know what else to say.” The ache burned sharper. “If I let myself stay, anywhere, it’s just a matter of time before people decide I don’t belong. Before they leave. So I leave first.”
I wanted to say more, wanted to tell him everything—every reason, every wound—but the words locked tight in my chest. If I opened that door, I wasn’t sure it would ever close again.
Ethan coasted back to my side, facing forward again. His jaw was set, but his tone was softer. He sighed. “Then maybe we stop pushing for answers.”
I glanced at him, startled.
“Call it a truce,” he said. “We’re friends. We work together. Let’s just enjoy the time we’ve got. No interrogations.”
My voice came out shaky. “And no promises.”
“Exactly.”
We skated in silence after that, but it felt lighter somehow. Like naming it a truce took the sting out of all the things we couldn’t say.
And for the first time since prom, when our shoulders brushed, neither of us pulled away.
Back at the truck, I flopped onto the tailgate while Ethan crouched to undo my rollerblades. His fingers were steady, sure, tugging at buckles until the wheels clattered onto the gravel. When he reached up to unclip my helmet, his knuckles brushed my cheek, sending a spark I felt everywhere.
“Hold still,” he murmured, loosening the strap.
The helmet slipped free, and a strand of hair tumbled forward.
Without thinking, he smoothed it back behind my ear, his calloused fingertips grazing my skin.
His hand lingered, and something electric passed between us.
My breath caught in my throat, heart hammering so loudly I was certain he could hear it.
We were close—close enough that I could see the flecks of amber in his eyes, close enough that I caught the scent of cedar and rain that clung to his skin.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, pupils dilating slightly, and I felt myself sway toward him, helpless against the gravity between us.
Every nerve ending in my body screamed yes, even as a voice in the back of my mind whispered that this would only make leaving harder.
Headlights cut through the darkness, painting us in harsh white light as a pickup truck growled past, country music spilling from its open windows. I flinched away from Ethan's touch, my laugh too sharp, too sudden as I reached for my water bottle and twisted the cap with trembling fingers.
Ethan exhaled hard through his nose, looked away. “Guess that’s our cue.”
I nodded, my skin still tingling where his fingertips had brushed my cheek, the ghost of his like a sunburn—warm and tender and impossible to ignore, no matter how hard I tried to act like it meant nothing.