I’ve never heard Ethan’s voice sound so weak and exposed, like a child who’s just learned that Santa doesn’t exist and wants his momma to reassure him that he’s wrong. My heart breaks a little as I watch the confidence drain from him. His cockiness and swagger swirl around in an invisible vortex until the essence of what makes him Ethan Jamison—singer, musician, Mr. Popularity—is gone. Like it’s been sucked through some imperceptible plughole, leaving a shadow of the guy I know and love sitting before me. Broken.
“I think if you talked to someone it might make you feel better. I don’t know, I guess that when Em died I shut down for a little while, and wouldn’t talk to my mom about it. She made me an appointment with a grief counselor. Yeah, I only went like three times, but just voicing what was hurting inside helped me in ways I didn’t even realize I needed to be helped. I think you should at least explore the possibility.”
“It’s not that easy…I don’t think I can. It’s not like I have your regular run-of-the-mill daddy issues, Blair. I don’t want to talk about him with a stranger or anyone, for that matter. I definitely don’t want to tell them about my fucked up home life. I’m fine. I don’t need some overpaid asshole in a leather recliner and plaid button down telling me it’s okay to cry. Trying to drag up why it is that he beats me and why the fuck I let him.”
“Ethan, I…”
“I need some air,” he says balling his napkin and throwing it down on the table along with a few bills to cover the check.
He’s out of the exit before I can even process what he’s said. I sit in the booth and watch through the window as he steps out into the dirt parking lot and begins kicking at the ground with the toe of his boot. Red dust is swirling around him as he shoves his hands down into the pockets of his jeans, holding his arms rigid and tight by his side. I sigh as he stands and studies the ground like it’s the most interesting thing on the planet. I should give him a couple of minutes to himself, but I’ve never been good at realizing when to take a step back. Knowing what he’s told me he thinks about only fuels my need to get to him quicker. I can deal with him wishing Frank dead, but the thought of him wanting his own life cut short scares the shit out of me.
I’m already out of the booth. I step out into the muggy air and make my way over to him. He hasn’t moved from his stance. I don’t know what to say, so I step up behind him and practically bear hug him. Pushing my face into the back of his shirt. I can feel his breath hitch, but he doesn’t say anything. We stand in silence with nothing but the passing traffic humming in the background. Just as I’m about to drop my arms he turns and scoops me off the ground, letting my legs dangle loosely. His arms are so tight around me it feels like my chest has molded into his. I don’t think anyone can distinguish where he ends and I begin.
“I’m sorry.”
I crane my head back as much as his embrace will allow and look at the sadness he’s wearing.
“Why are you apologizing? It’s me that needs to say sorry, I should never have brought it up.”
“I’m sorry for making you worry about me. I should never have said anything to you.”
I wriggle out of his hold, dropping the few inches down to the ground with a thud.
“Yes you should have. I care about you. If you’re hurting, or confused or just pissed at life, I want to know about it, Ethan. I don’t care how big or small you think it is I want to know every little thing. Don’t shut me out. I love you, every part of you, not just the happy-go-lucky, cocky parts but the broken, shattered pieces and everything in between.”
My eyes are stinging as I fight back my tears. I can’t let them fall, though. I need to be strong for him, show him that I can take the weight of some of his burdens. The tension leaves my shoulders as he leans forward and cups my face, his callused fingers slide from my cheeks and into my hair. Slowly he draws my head to his lips and lands the softest kiss I’ve ever felt to my forehead.
“Let's go home Princess,” he whispers. I take a deep breath, drawing in the smell of his shirt and realize that I am home because I’m with him.
“Are you vibrating?”
“Um, what?” I ask looking perplexed at his question.
“I can hear vibrating—is your cell ringing?”
“Oh!” I rummage in my purse lying open at my feet and fish out my phone, careful not to bend too quickly. It’s lit up with Brie’s name blinking at me.
“It’s Brie. I’m gonna take this,” I say putting the phone on speaker.
“Oh my god, you answered!” she squeals. “I’ve tried calling you a bunch today and it kept going to voicemail.”
“Hey, Brie. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to know what time you and that sexy ass boy of yours will be getting back. Jackson and I thought we could come and visit with you if it’s early enough.”
There’s hope in her voice and I realize now that I’ve actually missed her quite a bit. Ethan chuckles faintly at her referring to him as my sexy ass boy, and I smile over at him.
“I don’t know…what time are we going to get back, Boy?” I ask and his voice lowers to a husky drawl.
“Ain’t no boy here, Princess, I’m all man.”
“Oh my god, Blair! Am I on speaker phone?” Brie shrieks as I laugh at the suggestive eyebrow dance he’s doing.