Ethan Walker's Road To Wonderland (Road To Wonderland #3)

by L. J. Stock

  “How the fuck do you manage to get yourself in such deep shit?”

  “I’m surrounded by arseholes.”

  “You talking about your mirror?”

  “Dickhead.”

  Scott smirked. “Just fucking do what you have to do, E. If shit gets complicated, call me. I’ll back your crazy arse up.”

  “Mate, I appreciate it,” I said genuinely, heading to the door. I was already late, but I could make up for time by cutting through the path. Pulling the door closed behind me, I stopped and stuck my head back inside. “By the way, fucker, your obsession with my arse has got to stop.”

  **********

  Running wasn’t a chore for me. It was cathartic. The wall people spoke of was a reality. You tended to hit a spot where you felt like you couldn’t go on and dragged arse. The only things ahead were more pain, difficulty breathing, and a lot of fucking sweat. Then you pushed past it, the endorphins kicked in, and the most natural high you’ve ever felt flooded your system, pushing you harder and faster. The natural high was what got me started running. When the cravings got bad, I took myself out and just pushed and pushed until this free and natural high slapped them back into the depths of me, and I felt like I could breathe.

  The first day that I came to check on Paris and her mate, I’d been trying to find a way to look out for them without being creepy. That’s when I saw Blondie stretching, and I’d known it was the best way to get shit done. It made sense as to why I was moving around the area and gave me an excuse to catch a glimpse of her. No matter how fleeting it was. I preferred running in the winter so I could hide in my hoody and admire every curve on her beautiful body. There was a possibility it would have been creepy as hell if she hadn’t been doing exactly the same thing to me. Most days, her eyes lingered on my arse with such intensity I could feel it in my dick.

  Pushing myself up the woodchip path, I swore I could hear the perfect tempo of her feet falling long before she came into view. I was so focused on catching her coming around the corner, I almost missed the snap of a twig in the forest beside me. Before I could take a diversion to see what it was, she’d come into my peripheral. My attention was torn for the first time ever on one of these passings, and it was all down to the unease I was suddenly feeling. I couldn’t unexpectedly dart into the trees and dig around, but I couldn’t turn around and stalk her either.

  It wasn’t until I was almost on top of her that I saw the fox dash deeper into the forest in an attempt to escape from us and the noise we were making. My shoulders fell almost immediately as the sense of danger passed, but the overwhelming frustration at feeling as though I’d wasted the time I had to watch her forced me to gaze over my shoulder as I passed her, my eyes on her arse, not noticing until it was too late that she was doing exactly the same.

  As with everything with Blondie, the moment was over too soon and whatever opportunity had been there was gone before I could even think to use it to my advantage, and we’d both turned our respective corners.

  If I’d known it was the last time I’d see her, I’d like to think I would have been better prepared for it, that maybe I would have taken more of a chance and spoken to her. There were a lot of things I wished I’d done differently, because the chain of events that followed that interaction would haunt me.

  If I’d just spoken to her, I would have saved her from the beating she took from Daggs - something I found out about later. She was jumped just after we passed one another. She only suffered a concussion as far as I knew, but had I stopped it, would that have ended up in Paris being killed? Would it have sent Daggs to jail? Or would he still be out on the streets? Were their sacrifices the only reason he wound up rotting behind bars?

  Either way, I couldn’t change the past. I couldn’t fix what had been broken, and now I wasn’t needed. The girls were safe and I had a life to get back to - one that didn’t mean constantly looking over my shoulder and wondering if the job Daggs had started was going to be finished.

  Even watching out for them, I’d failed, and I knew that I was never going to find the strength inside myself to actually speak to this woman. It was as though fate was making sure we never got the opportune moment, and karma was finally paying me back for all the fuck ups I’d made while on drugs. After months of drowning in the guilt of not being there to save her that day, I made a promise to myself that this crazy obsession was going to end. She was too good for me. It was becoming fucking ridiculous. It was time to enter a new kind of rehab, which is exactly what I did.

  For so long, I went about my life coping just fine, too. I went months without thinking about Blondie or the old world I’d run away from. I went years without bumping into any of them. This road I was on was talking a new turn and I was going with the flow.

  Until I got a phone call almost four years later. One that was about to change everything.

  “A fucking flannel shirt?”

  “What about it?”

  “Mr. Suit and tie and you’re wearing a fucking flannel shirt to take the girl of your dreams out.”

  “Shut up, Scott. I’m gonna fuck it up without your help, mate.”

  “So you’re going to sabotage yourself?”

  “Stop psychoanalysing me and suck my dick, you bellend,” I said, hauling arse past a mirror and stopping to backtrack, tensing my arms to make sure it was the right shirt. I’d never been nervous about taking a girl out in my life, yet here I was like a right fucking pansy, shitting bricks as I clock-watched.

  “You’re being an arsehole about this, lad. Eleven years, E. Eleven, and you’ve never thought you were good enough to even talk to her. It’s completely natural to feel nervous.”

  “Mate, I ain’t good enough for her. No amount of suits and ties or fine restaurants and fancy cars will ever change that.”

  Scott drank from a bottle in one long pull and just stared at me with bemusement. I'm certain he’d ever seen this side of me. It was entirely possible that was because I wasn’t so much as aware that this side of me existed. The fact that taking a bird out had me in a state wasn’t boding well for either of us.

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what? I ain’t looking at you like anything. I just wish Dean was here to see you like this. It’s funny, mate.”

  I jumped over the leather couch in one go and wrapped my arm around the fucker’s neck, flexing when his neck was between my forearm and bicep. “Not a fucking word.”

  Scott got a kidney shot in before wriggling out of my grip like a puppy with its head stuck in a fence, all four of his limbs pushing against me until his head slipped from my grip. He swung out, his fist catching my bicep and giving me a dead arm. As juvenile as it was, the whole interaction made me relax. I was wound tighter than a coil and we both knew it. His antagonising was working only because of that.

  “Jesus! I thought you’d forgotten how to laugh for a minute there. I’m seriously gonna have to take another look at Little Miss Journalist if this keeps up.”

  “You’re a barrel of laughs today, ain’t you? Don’t think I haven’t noticed your good mood lately, Mr. I’m going for a drive, see you in eight fucking hours, and come back smiling like I got my dick sucked.”

  I was certain he had a bird he didn’t want to tell me about, and from the wide-eyed innocent act I got back, I knew I was right. He would tell me when he was ready.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Right,” I chuffed, digging into my pockets as my phone started ringing. I’d been waiting for Dean to get back to me all morning about my car, Lucy. Of all the days for my Shelby Cobra Mustang to let me down, this was not the day it needed to happen. “Dean?”

  “Don’t ‘ave a paddy, E, but it ain’t ready yet. I did me best. It’ll be later, lad.”

  “Dean.”

  “I know. You’ve a date. Ain't stupid, mate, but shit takes time.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “No need for name callin’.”

 
; “Thanks for trying, kid. Call me when she’s ready.”

  “I will. Catch ya later.”

  Hanging up the phone, I turned to Scott and turned up the smile that asked the question without words. I never would have asked him normally. Lucy was as dependable as she was sleek. It was just bad fucking luck that she wouldn’t start that morning. I’d said it was an omen, which was exactly why Scott was in my apartment, drinking my beer.

  “Beth has my car, mate. Her clunker bit the dust last week.”

  “I’m going to cancel.”

  “The fuck you are.”

  “I can’t show up on the fucking bus.”

  “If she likes you on a bus, you’ll know she ain’t after your money.”

  “What money?”

  “Fuck off, E. I ain’t blind mate.”

  “I wonder sometimes,” I said, pushing my keys into my pocket. “But if I’m going to get the fucking bus and make it on time, I’d best be leaving. Don’t drink all my beer, and lock the door before you leave.”

  “Yes, Mum.”

  “Fuckhead.”

  “Tosser.”

  I headed out, jogging down the stairs and ignoring my neighbour on the bottom floor who always cracked a door or window when someone passed. Considering I came in at all hours of the night, I was beginning to think she didn’t sleep. I gave her a wave and pushed out into the relatively warm April afternoon.

  It was almost four years since I’d seen Paris or her friend. Four years since Daggs had attacked them, put Paris in the hospital and bruised Blondie’s face. They hadn’t needed me anymore, and I think there was a part of me that saw that whole part of my life as almost as big a failure as the years I had abused my body with drugs. I hadn’t protected the girls. Ultimately, they’d defended themselves, so I’d stayed away and tried to live a life of my own.

  For the most part, I’d succeeded. There was a trip to the south of France I vaguely remembered, sex, the club and its growing success, more sex, more holidays, sex on holidays, and almost a decade of sobriety under my belt. I was also somewhat rich in my own right. As with everything, the financial crisis had eased considerably, and I’d more than tripled the money I’d lost with investments.

  I’d been doing my own thing and living life as best I could. Some things were obviously more satisfying than others. Business, friendships, and the stock market were the high points. Sex? Well I had plenty of it, and it was great sex. It was just meaningless. A pursuit of happiness that lasted for the duration and left nothing but emptiness when I got up and left, or asked her to leave. Then my phone had rung, and there was Paris Hemsworth, offering something I’d craved for over ten years on a silver platter. Her best friend, Moffy. Blondie.

  Falling into my seat on the bus and watching the world pass by slowly, the coagulation of utter terror and excitement washed over me. Since I saw this woman following Liam when I was an idiotic nineteen-year-old, I had lusted after her in some form or fashion. I’d fucked her nine ways from Sunday in my imagination, but the thought of coming face to face with her… That was the last thing on my mind and agenda. The blind date Paris had arranged was a chance to get to know Blondie, and sex wasn’t the main incentive for the first time, maybe ever.

  When I finally arrived at the house I’d been to a thousand times without their knowledge, I stood at the gate, just staring at it as though it were the first time. With the amount of shit I’d been through in my life, one beautiful woman shouldn’t have such an effect on me.

  Oh, but she did, and I knew the moment I knocked on that door, there was no going back for me.

  The knock on the door felt as though it was louder than it should have been. My knuckles rapped against the wood like I was the fucking police. My hands pushed into my pockets as I waited for her to come to the door, bouncing on the balls of my feet like I was fourteen and about to get my first blow job.

  When she finally opened the thing, I had my eyes on the ground, the flesh-coloured heels attached to the long legs in denim holding my attention and pulling my eyes further north, over the curve of her hips, to the roundness of her breasts and up the slender column of her neck, only to realise that she was giving me the same assessment. That close, she was more beautiful than I’d ever given her credit for. All those months running past her and I’d never noticed the subtle spatter of freckles over her nose, the way the corner of her mouth turned up when she was appreciating something she was looking at, or the hint of white streaked through her straw-coloured hair. She was stunning. To the point I realised I was staring and had to force myself to blink out of it, my cocky smirk covering my embarrassment as she hopped down the stairs and looked up at me with a sudden look of indifference.

  All those years bumping into her and the sadness I’d noticed was still there. It echoed from deep inside her, the blue of her eyes glazing over as though she’d already made the judgment call about me and was continuing only because it was expected of her. Anyone else and I would have been inclined to let her off the hook. I’d never been hard up for a date in my life, and most of them were a lot less work than this greeting was. This woman was different, though. That sadness behind her eyes made me want to ask questions and dig deeper to find the real answers. The inherent need to make it better was an alien feeling for me. With friends and what little family I had, that went without saying, but women? I was starting to think I wasn’t wired that way.

  “Seriously, that cheesy charm won’t work with me, so how about we cut that out already?” she said, her hand raising in my direction before she offered it to me. Clearing her throat and staring pointedly at my hand, she smiled with confusion. The curl of her lips probably wasn’t supposed to be attractive, but I found myself staring anyway. “And it’s Moffy. Nice to meet you.”

  “Fair point, although it seems to me you’re making quite an assumption there. This cheese, as you so delicately put it, was just appreciation,” I said, adding a small smirk of my own and cocking my head to the side as though proving a point. The action was to disguise the complete mortification that was going on inside my own head. The fact that I’d referred to any action of my own as cheese just told me how in trouble I was.

  I lifted my hand to meet hers, the doubt having disappeared completely. I’d never admit that shit that out loud, but I felt something between us the moment we touched - divine intervention, some mystical connection between our bodies, or maybe just an overwhelming sense of ‘Holy shit, this is really fucking happening.’ Whatever it was, I could feel myself relaxing a little. Things like this didn’t happen to me. Ever. It was time to roll with the punches and see where the fuck the afternoon took us. “It’s nice to meet you, Moffy. Ethan Walker.”

  “Ethan? Cu-cute name. I, uh, mean… Uh…” She sighed, looking completely perplexed by her sudden inability to communicate with me. I don’t think I’d ever been called cute before that. Absolute arsehole was most common, but that was due to living up to the moniker and kicking ladies out of bed before our bodies had so much as cooled. “It doesn’t matter. So, where are we going?”

  Most people say hindsight is twenty-twenty. Considering I’d just had this fucking conversation with Scott, I suddenly felt like an absolute twat. I didn’t even know what was around here. I’d spend a ridiculous number of hours driving past this street and never opened my eyes enough to see what was around. The whole time I was trying to figure out what the fuck to say, she stood there looking down at her feet, probably thinking about whether I had all of my neurological functions or not. I was starting to wonder the same thing.

  “Yeah, I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I kept a couple of options open. Figured I’d surprise you.” Then I winked like an absolute idiot as her eyes finally met mine again, yet I couldn’t shut myself up. I was on a roll, and Scott’s words echoed through my mind. If she likes you on a bus, you’ll know she ain’t after your money. Maybe he was right, but it didn’t stop me from feeling like a complete knob when I said it out loud. “But unfortunately, my car
is out of action today. How do you feel about public transport? I saw a bus pass by the end of your street.”

  The look on her face said it all. She actually thought I was a bum. I honestly wouldn’t have blamed her for turning around and heading back inside before not so subtly slamming the door in my face, but to her credit, she simply shuffled on her heels and looked at me with an even deeper confusion.

  “The bus? Umm, I’d rather walk if that’s okay with you. Unless we’re going far? Public transport smells a little bit too much like old men and pee for my liking.” Her tone was a little haughty, but again she surprised me by looking to the end of the street and back at me as though she was waiting for me to lead the way.

  “Are you going to be alright in those heels?” They looked like death traps to me, but what the fuck did I know?

  “Well, I thought we would be driving somewhere, so…” She looked down at her feet, and sighed, but almost in satisfaction rather than disappointment before she looked back up at me and nodded. “Wait there. I’ll be right back.”

  She was gone in a flash, her hip bumping the door out of her way, leaving me stood on the pavement, gawping after the rattling knocker that was traumatised after the brutality of her door slam.

  I was starting to think she wasn’t going to come back when the door was thrown open with just as much enthusiasm, and I found myself faced with something much more familiar - Chucks and a petite blonde beauty who was much happier as she slipped up beside me.

  “Okay, we’re good to go. Lead the way, Ethan.”

  I had no idea where the hell we were going, but we took off in the direction of the end of her street, and I happily followed her subconscious directions as she turned and started to amble, almost aimlessly, in the direction of the only shops I’d ever seen close to her home. Our slow conversation was mostly small talk. It had started a little awkwardly, but I could have listened to her speak all day. She was comfortable with her vocabulary, never once trying to be something she wasn’t, and I admired her for it. Her mind didn’t stop working the whole time we walked, her random thoughts being thrown out, her attention fully on me as her internal satnav finally gave up and she started to swerve toward a lamppost.