Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Ethan”
It’s a pussy move, the kind only a douche would make. Yep, that one doesn’t escape me. But, fuck it, it’s all there is when you’re nailed into a coffin of your own making, buried six feet under, and nerves-jumping-in-your-body desperate to speak to a girl you’ve wronged. And fuck no am I going to try to fix this in front of my family.
I stare at my phone.
It’s a lame-ass move, Ethan. Don’t.
Fuck it.
I’m doing it.
Me: I’m wrong. You know it. I know it. I was an ass to you. You have every right never to speak to me again. But can we talk, alone, inside the house? I’m begging here, Avery. Don’t make me do what I have to do in front of my family.
I hit send and immediately wish I hadn’t because it was plain wrong to do that.
Dropping my head into my hands, my fingers claw and I wish I had fucking hair still because the pain right now of pulling out my own roots would be a great fucking thing. It might block out the pain in my heart.
Less than a minute passes, and I’m certain she isn’t texting me back or coming here. Alan thinks Avery loves me the way Mom loves him—and that may be true—but like hell is she doing a Chrissie type of move and running to me because I texted her.
And, fuck, I’m not my dad. I don’t need to be met halfway on the walk of shame road. I owe it to her to make the full trip. That’s why she isn’t answering my text, but that Avery expects me to come to her isn’t spite or anger. It’s about her knowing what an amazing girl she is and that she doesn’t have to take crap from anyone.
My heart catches in my throat.
At least I hope that’s what it means.
I hope it doesn’t mean fuck you forever, Ethan.
I stand up, brush at the residue of tears on my face, and tidy my clothes. I’m shaky and it’s damn near impossible to pull myself together. I don’t want this to go as badly as everything else has since we got to the ’Sades.
The big moments.
The hard moments.
The difficult moments loving a girl.
I’m not good at them.
I know before I start walking that even if my family wasn’t there to witness this drama after the first one I put them through, knowing I hurt Avery will be enough to make this the hardest moment I’ve ever known with a girl.
Because I love her.
Because I was wrong.
And because it was no line—she’s my everything.
The sound of my family fills my ears long before I reach the patio doors, and it sounds bizarrely normal after the scene that went down out there. Loud talking and laughter mixing with the clank of plates, glasses, and silverware.
Pausing at the glass doors, I find Avery and my heart drops to my stomach.
Shit.
She is eating, surrounded by my family—all munching on Alan’s barbecue as well—talking and smiling like the rest of them as if she hasn’t a hurt in the world.
I don’t know if that’s better or worse than how I expected to find her—upset and crying—but I realize this would be awful either way. Only seeing her looking Avery lovely with it in my head what I did to her makes it damn near crippling pain.
Bracing myself, I open the door. It would be nice if my family let me get to her without anyone stopping me.
Khloe’s seated beside Avery at the table and they’re chatting over their plates. Damn, I hope baby sis doesn’t notice me moving in. I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if Khloe sprang into my path to block me, and it’d be horrible to have to talk over her to speak to Avery.
Bobby notices me first.
Then Jake.
Doesn’t take effort to read what’s on their faces—you were fucking out of line, dude. And that’s more than enough family input. Not looking at any of the others.
My gaze shifts back to Avery. I’m keeping it locked on her. It’s the only way I’m going to keep my shit together until I’m with her.
When I’m standing next to her chair I realize I haven’t figured out what to say. And, damn, there’s crushing silence all around the table. They’ve stopped talking and eating.
I’m so close to her I know Avery knows I’m here.
I swallow several times, but the rock in my throat gets larger each second she doesn’t look at me. Please, baby, I love you…
I’m starting to think she’s going to keep her eyes averted from me the way she did in the theater, and then she looks up.
Her brown eyes are clear. No red, swollen, angry slits. Not even a mascara smear. Those bedroom orbs are wide, steady, sweet, and gentle.
I’m a mess and this incredible girl waited here for me.
It’s heart-consuming and humbling and damning. Figuring out what to say to her was hard enough before this, but there is no way I’m going to be able to say anything as spellbound by her as I am.
Time continues to tick by.
I can feel the heavy waiting stares, like a silent chant of what the fuck is he going to do and say now? And to be honest, I haven’t got a fucking clue.
Seeing her makes it inescapably clear how much of a fuckup I was today. A gut-shredding moment I don’t ever want to live again. The kind where you can’t think, hold back, or even breathe.
Without my eyes wavering from hers, I drop to both knees beside her chair, and enough crackling something fills the air it’s obvious no one expected this to be my move.
Over the top?
Probably.
Not making sense to anyone, not even Avery?
Definite possibility.
Will my family give me shit over this forever?
Yep, that one’s a slam dunk.
Doomed to failure?
Not beyond possible and I’ll without a doubt soon find out. But when a guy puts himself this deep in the shit pit, nothing less than his all is going to make a difference.
And it just popped in my head as I stared at her.
How much I love her.
How much I want forever with Avery.
And because my thoughts were racing a hundred miles an hour ahead of the movement of my body, my mind took me to how much I want to marry Avery someday. Then to wonder why guys drop to their knees when they propose.
I can’t remember all the theories my dad told me when I was kid and asked. Something about showing respect—or was it honor—humbling yourself before a woman before you ask them to be yours.
Fuck, I can’t remember exactly because my heart’s strumming so loudly I can hardly breathe. But I know why kneeling before Avery seems the right move for me.
I’m hers—body, heart, soul, and all that I am. The good and the bad, and the parts of me that need work—and I’m asking her to let me be.
Avery stays perfectly still, her gaze holding mine, and that she hasn’t said anything devastates me. But afraid of saying the wrong thing, I haven’t said anything either.
I’m there, pretty fucking sure the pain is going to crush me if something doesn’t change one way or another soon. I’m hating myself even more for what’s fast becoming another Ethan wrong move, when slowly her legs come out from beneath the table and she swivels around to sit facing me.
Her hands make a brief stop on my shoulders before they make a slow glide down my back. I couldn’t have controlled my body much longer if she hadn’t touched me first. And I’m fucking euphoric I waited for her to accept my apology this way. The feel of her hands seeps through my shirt, straight to my heart, and I can feel it, feel her. We’re going to be OK.
I pull her up against me, wrapping my arms around her, holding her tight.
My face buried in her hair, I whisper into her ear, “I love you. I’m sorry. Can the three of us leave now? I want to take my family home.”
One tear rolls down her cheek and I kiss it away. She nods, and that’s all I need to get me on my feet carrying her outta here.
“Wait,” I hear Khloe protest from behind. “That’s it? That’s your apology to her, Ethan, after the shit you pulled and the stuff you said? I don’t get it. You can’t let that be it, Avery. What the hell is happening here?”
Held against my chest, Avery looks at me, smiles, and then tilts her face to Khloe and nods. “Everything a girl should want happened here. You just didn’t see it, Khloe. But it was perfect. And that’s why I love Ethan.”
* * *
4 months later…
“We’ve only been living together five months. I don’t see the hurry. And I don’t believe in marriage, Ethan. It’s an archaic symbol from the era of male dominance over women. Because we’re having a baby doesn’t mean we have to get married, too. I think what we are is real enough to last forever. Love matters more than rings do.”
Ethan leans up on his elbow to peek at me. “I didn’t say we get married this second. I asked you to think about it. Maybe before the baby is born.”
Her head does an annoyed shake. “That’s less than a month. I don’t see me changing my mind or you being able to convince me. Can’t we just drop it? Why can’t we stay as we are? Perfect partners in everything. Fuck, Ethan, we’re already happy…”
I know just how to cut off this soon-to-be escalating argument. A startled moan passes her parted lips as her body arches.
“Oh fuck. That’s not fair.”
Her thighs are trembling and it doesn’t take much to make them shake. Her preggers body is a hot zone packed in every inch.
I plunge several times with my tongue, then lightly breathe into her. When her sputtering exhales stop, her head thrashes on the pillow and she says, “You’re not going to get your way fucking me with your tongue. No matter how great you are at it.”
I nip with only my lips at the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, tease with my tongue, then look at her again. “Maybe not. But I’m going to love every second of trying to change your mind this way.”
With my thumbs, I do a light glide across her slit and up her mound, strumming where that little strip of hair exists. “Say you’ll consider it. That’s all I’m asking.”
I alternate kisses with my fingers, avoiding her bud no matter how she pushes it at me. “OK, Ethan. You win. God, you are so much better at fucking with your tongue and making me Jell-O for you than you are speaking with it.”
I close over her entry with my mouth, and go in only far enough to do that little tickle that drives her insane. Any more and she’s going to come. Since the start of her third trimester, she’s a greedy goddess with lightning orgasms. Not that I’m complaining. Hovering long-term over Ginger is one of my favorite things.
“Thank you. Can you do something else for me?”
Her groan is one of lust and frustration. “Damn it, E. I’m almost there. Finish fucking me with your tongue and it’s damn near a sure thing. And I’m pretty sure getting a pregnant woman sexually frustrated isn’t healthy.”
I laugh, brushing back my hair that’s shoulder length again. Avery likes guys with long hair, so I’ve been growing it back.
“I want you to wait to come until I’m fucking you.”
After she smiles and motions with a finger to come here, I carefully move up her body, avoiding hitting her very large bump, and kiss her before I roll on my back and lift her onto me.
Heated and greedy, she shoves my cock in, and my redhead who owns all of me fucks me hard until we’re both coming.