by Lisa Suzanne
He chooses his words carefully. “When Mark got married, Sebastian and I started hanging out more.”
I glance up at him, and his gaze is fixed on the fire. “What does that mean?”
“It’s a long story,” he says.
“So are you two back together?” Reese blurts.
Mark nudges her and I look up at Ethan. His icy blue eyes bore down into mine, a question in his—a question of something we haven’t discussed, but maybe we don’t need to. Maybe it goes without saying.
But the fire he snuffed with his grudge feels like it’s burning again, and I want to discuss. I want to clear the air. I want him to tell me he’ll never hold what I did against me, that it won’t forever take life-threatening situations for us to realize we need to be together. It won’t be an easy talk, but it’ll be a talk we need to have before we can progress forward.
“We’re not apart,” I say softly, my eyes still on his. It’s a non-answer, I suppose, but it’ll have to do for now.
“It is what it is,” he says.
I can’t help when my lips tip up in a smile. “And it isn’t what it isn’t.”
He chuckles and looks over at Reese. “I don’t know what it is, but I know we aren’t an isn’t anymore.”
Mark and Reese both look at us with their brows drawn down in confusion as if we’re speaking gibberish, and all I can do is laugh.
* * *
I’m not sure what the protocol is here. I just finished getting ready for bed. I’d like to travel home since I’m no longer part of this tour. I’d like to meet with my own doctor and sleep in my own bed. But I’d also like Ethan Fuller in the bed beside me, inside me, all over me. Unfortunately, though, that has to wait. I don’t know if we’re back together or not, but he and Mark had some work to do and some people to fill in on our situation, so I left them to do their thing.
I decide to go to bed. The talk Ethan and I need to have can wait. It’s waited this long, and I have no idea how long he’ll be getting things in order with Mark.
Just as I slip beneath the blankets, I hear a soft knock at my door. “Yeah?” I call.
The light from the hallway brightens the room and casts Ethan in a dark silhouette as he steps into the bedroom. “Can I come in?”
“Of course,” I say.
I lean over and flick on the small lamp on the nightstand and then pat the bed beside me. He kicks off his shoes and slides beneath the covers, and we both lie on our sides facing each other, reminiscent of some of our best talks together.
“At the hospital earlier, you said our talk could wait until later. It’s later, and I have some things I need to say.” Despite the directness of his tone, his voice is soft and gentle. “I’m sorry I dropped off the radar for the past couple weeks. I was avoiding you the best I knew how considering we’re traveling together.”
“You did a bang-up job of that,” I say.
He runs the back of his knuckle down my cheek. “I know. It was purposeful. Chuck was instructed to keep everyone away from me.”
“Why’d you run away from me?”
“I didn’t run away from you. I ran away from everyone. It was all just a perfect shit storm striking at the same time. The night of the fire, I guess I learned for the first time I’m not immortal. I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life.” He closes his eyes. “A lot. But this was the thing that made me realize it could all be taken away so easily.”
When he opens his eyes again, they’re filled with fear. I place my fingers gently on his jaw. The stubble there is coarse against my fingertips, a reminder this isn’t just a dream—Ethan Fuller really is in my bed right now. We really are talking this through, and I hope with everything inside me this is what will finally bring us back together.
“Shouldn’t that realization have pushed you closer to me?” I ask quietly.
“It should have. And it did at first. But then you were there telling me you’re this person from my past who I’d put up on this pedestal. You killed my version of the girl I thought I loved even though I knew all along you were her. I didn’t know how to trust you.”
“But all that changed just because we had a scare today?”
He shakes his head. “No, babe. I am the one who changed. I realized I can’t hold onto this anger. Life’s too short and maybe we all just need to fucking forgive and get over it. Maybe it’ll be hard to trust you again, or maybe we can just start the fuck over and give this a try because you’re carrying our baby and he deserves it.”
“You should go see your dad.” I blurt out the words before I can stop them. I realize it’s a sensitive subject and we need to figure us out first, but part of me feels like he can’t hand over his forgiveness if he doesn’t make things right with his father.
He flinches just slightly before he freezes. “How do you know about that?”
“Mark,” I admit.
He presses his lips together then exhales a long, frustrated breath. He rolls onto his back and looks up at the ceiling instead of at me. “I don’t want to get into it.”
“You literally just said five seconds ago that life’s too short, that it’s time to forgive and forget.”
“I was talking about us.” He tosses his arm over his eyes, and I hate that he’s hiding from me.
“For us to work, Ethan, you have to let go of all the grudges.” I tug on his arm, but he doesn’t move. “You have to face the things you’ve been hiding from.”
He finally moves his arm from his eyes and glances over at me. “Fine. I will if you will.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, suddenly feeling defensive.
“You come with me to see my father, and I’ll go with you to see yours.”
I press my lips together. It won’t be as hard for me, I don’t think. I’ve already made the decision to see him while I’m here, and the mental preparation is half the battle. But after everything that happened today, I’m terrified. I’ll want to tell Dad about the baby, but I don’t want to walk into his life after being out of it for so long only to tell him about my high-risk situation—to get his hopes up and then dash them if something bad were to happen.
“I need to get back to Los Angeles,” I say.
“You need to stay right here with me.”
“I can’t,” I protest. “The doctor said no touring.”
He turns back on his side to face me. “He said no performing. That doesn’t mean you can’t stick it out with me for the rest of the tour. Besides, I need you right here with me so I can see for myself the two of you are okay. And as long as you’ll be here with me, we can go visit our dear old dads.”
I shake my head. “I’m not sitting on a bus until you make your way back to LA so you can babysit me. You’ll be home in a week.”
“I’ll be home in a week for those two shows, but then I’m back to Vegas for business meetings and then Chicago again. Then we fly to London.”
I sigh as I think about the shit on my plate after this tour wraps as well. I’m supposed to plan my next record, meet with my lawyer, meet with some vendors about merch, and, of course, attend various interviews, benefits, and parties.
I wonder how much of it Bridget can cancel or postpone or reschedule, but that’s not what’s got my heart dropping into my stomach. “Can we really ever make this work, Ethan?”
He’s tender as his fingers move to my hair. He strokes it gently and in a pattern as he tucks it behind my ear, and the blue ice of his eyes melts into something warm. He presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “If we both want it badly enough, Mace, we’ll do whatever we can to make it work.”
“Do we both want it badly enough?”
He pauses for a beat, and then he says, “I can only speak for myself, but my answer is yes.”
“Mine, too,” I whisper.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
MACI
I’ve never been to a prison before, but Ethan has. He knows the drill.
Apparently, an application to visit an i
nmate takes anywhere from one to six weeks, but his mother filled out his application when he was a kid and he renews it every year just in case. That alone tells me he’s willing to make up for whatever time he’s lost even if he doesn’t recognize it.
I, however, am not on the list, and we don’t have the time to wait one to six weeks for me to get on it. So we do the best we can. I travel with Ethan to the correctional facility and stay in the car with Chuck while he goes in to say goodbye to his father.
I have about a million questions as we sit outside. We’re visiting his dad before we see mine, and the whole ride here, Ethan’s hand clutched mine. It’s the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen him. He held one of my hands in both of his, wringing his fingers together, pressing a fingertip to my pulse, drawing strength from my steady heartbeat while his was probably racing in his chest.
I couldn’t get a good read on his eyes before he got out of the car since he wore sunglasses, but he pressed a quick kiss to my cheek and took a deep breath before he got out.
I don’t know if this will be a five-minute visit or if he’ll be in there for hours. All I know is visiting hours run from noon to three, and it’s a little after noon now.
The Vail boys decided to do a surprise show at Sevens tonight. Ethan described it to me as the seedy bar where they got their start, and he said they owe a lot to the owner of the place. I’m planning to go just to watch, but we’ll see how my visit with Dad goes and whether I have the energy to go out afterward.
I still wish I could’ve just flown home this morning, but it’s essential I make good on my deal with Ethan before I leave Chicago. His dad then mine...it’s a taxing day for someone who’s supposed to be avoiding stressful situations.
Ethan opens the door and slides into the seat beside me less than ten minutes after he got out of the car. “To Maci’s dad’s house,” he says to Chuck, and then he focuses his gaze out the window.
He draws in a deep breath but doesn’t budge the sunglasses from their perch on his nose. I wish I could get a read on him, but he won’t let me see him.
“How’d it go?” I ask softly.
He doesn’t speak for a full minute as Chuck starts the car and we head toward my dad’s house, my blood pumping hard through my body. I take his hand in mine and stroke the back of it with my thumb, trying to provide comfort even though I want to scream what the fuck happened in there!?
He finally sighs. “I was too late.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
His gaze stays out the window. “He died this morning. Probably while we were on our way here.”
“Oh,” I say, suddenly at a total loss for words. I want to tell him I’m sorry and I know how he feels...but I don’t. I didn’t have the same relationship with my mother he had with his father. I don’t even know if he wants my sympathy in this situation.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
“You want to talk about it?” I ask quietly.
He shakes his head but starts talking anyway. “I just can’t believe I finally decided to talk to him, to work toward forgiveness or to try to understand. I don’t know. To get some answers since I’m going to be a father now.” He pauses, his eyes still on the landscape outside the window. He finally turns toward me, those blue eyes still hidden behind his sunglasses. I can’t tell if he’s more sad or angry or frustrated or regretful. “I can’t believe I finally came here and I’m too fucking late.”
I squeeze his hand. “The important thing is that you came. You were ready to move forward, wherever that might have taken you.”
“What good does that do me now?” He spits the words out, but I know he’s not mad at me. He’s mad at himself for waiting too long, and he’s lashing out at me because I’m the one here in the car with him.
“You should call Zoey,” I finally say.
He presses his lips together. “I don’t want to be the one to tell her. She had a better relationship with him than I did. She’ll find out when the prison informs next of kin.”
“I know it’ll be hard, but don’t you think she needs to hear it from someone she loves rather than from a guard she’s never met? You’ll probably need to make arrangements and—”
“I won’t need to make arrangements. It’s done. He had nobody but Zoey, and he knew he was going to die. The guard told me he’ll be cremated and ready for pickup in a few days.”
“Don’t you want to have a service? Something to say goodbye?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I made my peace with him being gone a long time ago.”
I don’t believe the words he’s saying. If that were true, coming today wouldn’t have been such a big deal. He wouldn’t be upset over walking out of that prison without getting his chance. But I can’t say any of that to him, obviously.
He exhales a long, deep breath. “I’ll call Zo.”
I lean over and kiss his cheek. I’m trying to figure out how to handle this situation delicately while my heart rate picks up speed as we start to move toward the house I grew up in. “For what it’s worth, Ethan, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It’s not my loss.”
“I knew you’d say that,” I say, squeezing his knee. “But I’m sorry anyway.”
“It is what it is,” he says wryly.
He slides his phone out of his pocket, and I turn my attention out the window. It feels like I’m giving him some privacy if I don’t stare at him while he calls his sister. I listen to his words anyway as we pass familiar sights. The path from downtown Chicago toward my childhood home looks mostly the same even though I haven’t traveled this way in a long time. I spot the tree where my mother took photos of me on my fifth birthday. I don’t remember taking them, but I have a box of old pictures at home I occasionally look at. The tree is bigger, but I still recognize it.
“Hey, Zo.” I can’t hear her side of the conversation, but then he says, “I finally went to go see Dad, but I was too late.”
She talks for a long time.
“It happened around eleven this morning.” He talks about the same things he just told me, and I rest my hand on his leg as I focus my gaze out the window to keep my prying eyes off him.
“You did?” he asks. He blows out a breath. “I need to be in Los Angeles by Tuesday.” I feel his warm gaze settle on me, so I turn to look at him. “Actually, scratch that. I’ll be heading home Saturday.”
I shake my head in protest. He doesn’t need to go home early because of me. “I’ll stay,” I blurt. If it’ll keep him here for whatever service Zoey wants to have for their father, he needs to be there. He studies me for a long time with those blue eyes—an almost uncomfortably long time. “Monday?” he asks. I’m pretty sure he’s confirming with Zoey and asking me all at the same time, so I nod. “Monday’s fine. Early,” he says into the phone. “I love you too. Let me know what I can do.”
They hang up, and I squeeze his knee again. “You might’ve missed your chance to talk to him, but at least you won’t miss your chance to say goodbye. To find closure.”
He nods. “Thank you.” His words are so simple yet so laden with meaning I’m momentarily floored.
Eventually we pull onto the street of my childhood home, and just like everything else, it looks the same. The house on the corner’s a little different after a fire a few years ago. I read about it in the paper. The house across the street is white now. It used to be blue. But when we pull into my driveway, I’m brought back fifteen years to the last time I was here.
How can he still live here? It looks the same, but everything’s different. Without my mom here to spread her special brand of warmth through the house to make it a home, it’s just...all wrong.
Maybe that’s why I haven’t been back—and maybe this is going to be harder than I initially thought.
“You ready?” Ethan asks as we pull into the driveway.
I didn’t text ahead, didn’t email, didn’t do anything to let my dad know we were showing up today. For all I know, he’s not even home.
I even considered for a brief minute he doesn’t even live here anymore, but a quick online search told me he does.
A magnet holds me to the seat in the back of this car. I can’t move, can’t approach the door. Can’t make myself relive the past I left behind me so long ago...but did I really leave it behind me if Ethan Fuller is sitting right here next to me? It’s everything I wanted when I was fifteen—almost like I really am fifteen again, but in some alternate universe.
“It’s okay, Mace. You can do this.” His voice is soothing and hits me right where I need it. He takes off his sunglasses and leaves them in the car before he gets out. He helps me out. From the way my blood is pumping in my ears, I’m positive my heart rate is elevated and that can’t be good.
He closes the door behind me and grabs my hand. He starts walking toward the front door, but I’m glued to the side of the car. He stops when I let go of his hand.
“I can’t,” I say.
He turns back to look at me, and then he takes a few steps back toward me. His body aligns with mine against the car as he boxes me in. I feel his warmth in the freezing February air, and I wait for his words like a puppy might wait for a treat.
“Yes, you can. You’re stronger than anyone I know.” He buries his face in my neck, and I cling to him as he talks to me, his voice low and his breath warm against my skin. “It’s not easy to let the things you buried in the past collide with the present. It’s hard to forgive, but it’s so much worse to hold onto your anger or resentment or fears. Let’s do this for the baby and for us. Let’s clear our pasts together so we can start fresh.” His lips drag on my neck, somehow warming me and giving me goosebumps at the same time.
He backs up and the little spot of moisture on my neck from his breath immediately freezes. I nod, if nothing else to keep my blood moving to try to get some warmth through my system. “Okay. Okay. Let’s do it.”
He takes my hand again and we walk toward the familiar front door. It’s in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint—like it hasn’t even been painted since I was here last.