“Aly… Please, makamae, I can’t…I just can’t…” He moved my hands from his face then, slipping his fingers at the base of my skull, between the mess of bed hair there. But Ransom didn’t speak. He only took, mouth to mouth, those strong, demanding hands holding me still as he kissed me in frantic, eager kisses. He touched me and held me like he thought I’d disappear and each kiss, each touch, felt like a goodbye hanging in the background waiting to be spoken. “End game,” he finally said, coming up for air. “My end game.”
“This new?” Ethan asked, pointing to a ruby-jeweled chandelier that hung from the ceiling over the bar. His eyes searched, taking in each strand of red and crystal string and the gold-rimmed tassels that circled each.
“Yeah,” I said, glancing up at the piece with the shadow of Ransom’s memory lingering in the back of my mind. “Keira found it at the renaissance festival in Hammond last year. One of the vendors sells lights and chandeliers with a Moroccan flare. She put it up in storage and forgot to give it to me until the other day when she went up to the garage looking for a pull away mattress.”
“She running out of run at her mansion?” Ethan half laughed at that ridiculous prospect, taking a sip of wine behind his smile.
“No,” I started, trying not to let the small dig at Keira get to me. Ethan had no room to talk. He hadn’t exactly taken a vow of poverty. Taking a minute, I twirled my half empty glass, looking at the small bubbles circling around the surface. “Ransom…he can’t get upstairs yet and the sofa isn’t big enough for him to sleep on.”
Ethan had been a bit edgy, somewhat distant since the barbeque. When I asked what bothered him, he’d shake his head, dismissing my worry as him being distracted, loaded down under the weight of his cases. But something dulled the shine in his eyes. Something I guessed may have had to do with how I’d stayed with Koa and Mack while Keira and Kona were with Ransom. For nearly four days I didn’t speak to Ethan because I wanted to give the kids my full attention. They were worried about their big brother. They were scared that their parents weren’t at home. So I’d send my fiancé texts to check in, to let him know I didn’t need a thing from him.
I guessed that might be problem. Ethan hadn’t been needed and maybe that bugged him more than he let on.
“Anyway, she gave it to me when I saw her last week.” The wine felt good on my tongue, the small bite of the liquor soothing.
“You saw her?” Ethan’s eyes had gone dull again and I didn’t like how pinched his lips got, how it seemed to take effort to keep the scowl from his mouth.
“She asked me to stop by.”
“For Ransom?”
He waited for my answer and that expression—the tightened lips, the hard set of his eyes as he watched me, felt like a challenge. But I wouldn’t lie. What would be the point? “Yes. For Ransom.”
A minute head nod and Ethan looked into his glass, tapping the base with a fingernail as he spoke. “He’s not doing well I take it?”
“He’s being a little shit.” That was an understatement. In the years I’ve known him, I’d seen Ransom’s attitude more than once and every time I had, I’d been able to call him on it. But last week when I visited, he’d been cruel, angry. But I’d never seen him mean before. I’d definitely never seen that meanness directed at me. “He told me he didn’t need me worrying about him.” I took deep gulp of wine. This time it tasted bitter.
“That upset you?” Ethan asked, voice low, soft.
“Of course it upset me.” I wouldn’t hide my anger. Not from Ethan. He was forever preaching to me about honesty and truth. He wanted me to tell him how I felt about things that weighed me down. Well this attitude from Ransom, the sting I felt from it, was a heavy damn thing. I couldn’t hide that. I wouldn’t and so with Ethan looking worried, looking upset and mildly jealous, I gave him the truth he always professed to want. “It hurt. Badly. I didn’t deserve that from him, especially from him and I…” Head shaking, I realized that my voice had gotten too loud for casual conversation. It showed on Ethan’s face, in the lift of his eyebrows and the heavy line that moved between them. “It is what it is, I suppose.” I exhaled, shrugging like it didn’t bother me. “Anyway, it’s done and I don’t feel like talking about Ransom.”
“I don’t believe that.” He was slow, subtle, not meeting my gaze as he took the wine bottle from the counter and refilled our glasses.
“What?”
Ethan took two sips, licking his lips before he finally rested his glass on the countertop and slipped his hands into his pockets. This time when he spoke, he met my eyes. “That day at Kona and Keira’s, watching the game?” I nodded absently. “Until the moment Ransom got hurt I never really appreciated how much he meant to you.” He paused, keeping my gaze with the impassive glint in his eyes. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t upset. Ethan seemed a little disappointed, but that was all I could read from his expressions. “How much he still means to you.”
“We aren’t…there’s nothing there…”
“Aly…” He moved in front of me, leaning a hip against the countertop but Ethan didn’t touch me at all. “Why are you lying to yourself? Why are you lying to me?”