EIGHT
ONE NIGHT
Six Years Earlier
Westchester, New York
The Grove
The sun sets, and I don’t move.
Ruby messages me to say she’s bumped into an old flame and won’t be home tonight, and I don’t move.
I have a vague notion I’m in shock, but I don’t know if I should be. I still don’t know what happened.
Ethan.
Ethan happened, but …
Did he just break up with me?
No.
No.
If he’d broken up with me, I’d know, right? He was upset, sure, but he was angry with Erika, not me.
No. It wasn’t even Erika’s fault. He was angry with himself.
So why do I feel so … wrong?
I stand and stretch, but it doesn’t help the ache in my bones. I need to do something. Help him.
I should tell him that whatever he’s feeling, we’ll work through it together. That’s what couples do, right?
But are we still a couple?
I grab my backpack with shaky hands and dig around inside until I find my phone. A small voice warns me to stop. Says that if I talk to him, he’ll clear up my confusion, and at this point, I’ll take vague hope over grim knowledge.
But I can’t not talk to him. I have to fix this.
I bring up his number and hesitate.
Please let him be blowing off steam. Let us get through this.
I pace the room as I wait for the call to connect. When it rings, I stop short.
I can hear Ethan’s ringtone, AC/DC’s “Back in Black,” coming from outside my door.
I yank the door open, and there he is, phone in hand, shoulders slumped, leaning against the wall opposite my door.
“Ethan?”
“I don’t know why I’m here.”
I can barely hear him. His voice is rough, and his knuckles are scraped and bloody. His posture is so bunched and tense it sets me on edge.
“What happened to your hand?”
He talks as if he doesn’t hear me. “Even when I’m trying to stay away, I can’t. What the fuck is wrong with me?”
“Ethan? Your hand?”
When he looks at me, his eyes are red and swollen. “Punched a wall.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a pathetic fuck. You should know that by now.”
I’ve never seen him so emotionally raw. My skin prickles. This isn’t good.
“Hey, it’s okay. Come inside.” I take his hand to coax him through the door. “Let me clean that up for you.”
He reluctantly follows me inside to the bathroom. I rinse his hand under warm water and cover the scrapes in antiseptic cream. He watches me carefully. His tension fills the small room.
I want to calm him, but I don’t know how. When I try to touch his face, he moves back, just out of reach.
“Don’t…” He strides into the living room and tugs at his hair. “I should’ve gone home. From the start I knew I’d be the worst thing to ever happen to you, but I was weak. You make me so fucking weak.”
Panic crawls up into my throat as I watch him pace. He’s unraveling. Pulling apart faster than I can put him back together.
I put a hand on his chest to stop him. He looks at it like it’s a brand, burning into his skin. I drop my hand and try to keep my voice even. “Ethan, listen, whatever you’re feeling right now, we can deal with it together. Please, just…” I take a breath and try to calm myself. “Tell me how to fix this.” Then I have a horrible thought. “Can we fix it?”
He leans against the wall, brows furrowed, head back. “I don’t know.” His panic vibrates in the air, making all my hairs stand on end.
“How can I help you? Please—”
“Dammit, Cassie, I don’t fucking know, all right? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore. Since the moment I met you, I’ve been so turned around, I haven’t known which way is up. All I know is that I want to be with you, but—”
I walk over to him and take his face in my hands. My desperation matches his. “No. No buts. You are with me. Look. You’re right here.”
“I shouldn’t be.” He squeezes his eyes shut.
“You should. You’re with me, and I’m yours, and I … I love you.”
He snaps open his eyes to stare at me, and I realize this is the first time I’ve told him that. It’s strange that this is new information to him. I’ve felt it for a long time, but I guess I’ve been too proud, or too scared, or too stubborn to say it. But I have to tell him now because I’m losing him.
I watch for his reaction. Do I expect him to say it back? After all these months of compulsive passion, of course that’s what I expect. But he doesn’t say it. Instead, he drops his head like I’ve somehow opened Pandora’s box and doomed us both. “Fuck. Cassie … don’t…”
“It’s true,” I say, as the ache in my chest flares. “I love you, Ethan. You’re … amazing. But I know you’re scared. The last time you opened yourself up like this, your girlfriend cheated on you with your best friend. But you know I’d never do that. I love you. And I hope that under all your fear … you can find a way to … well, I hope that … you love me, too. Right?”
Please, Ethan. Tell me I’m right.
He shakes his head. “I can’t…”
I hold my tears back. He needs me to be strong, and I need him to be okay. We can do this. “You can’t … love me?”
I tense all my muscles so his answer can’t hurt me.
“Cassie, it doesn’t matter how I feel about you. I can’t be what you need.”
“You can. You are.”
“How can you say that?” he says, frustration making his voice hard. “I keep proving you wrong, time and again. You deserve someone else.”
“I don’t want anyone else. But … if you do…”
He shakes his head. “You know that’s bullshit.”
“I don’t understand. So, you want me, but don’t love me?” My voice cracks, and I hate how pathetic I sound.
His expression melts from anxiety into pity. I hate that look. He sees how desperate I am for him to tell me I’m wrong.
“You think I don’t love you?” he says as he steps away from the wall and draws up to his full height. “If I didn’t, do you think I’d be in hell right now? You think I like feeling like this? Like pushing you away isn’t ripping out parts of me? Fuck, Cassie, I know the right thing to do is to leave you alone. But when I think about doing that, it…” He grips his chest. “It fucking hurts. And I’m so sick of hurting. I thought you could make it better, but you only made it worse.” Everything he’s feeling is on his face. He can barely look me in the eyes, and it makes mine sting with tears. “You want me to say it? Yes, I love you. But you have no idea how many times I’ve wished I didn’t.”
He curls his hands into fists, and he looks frayed at the edges, like he’s going to split apart any second if he doesn’t touch me. I feel the same way.
“Loving you,” he says, “is the stupidest, most selfish thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t stop. God knows, I’ve tried.”
Before I have time to answer, he’s moving. Within three strides, he has his arms around me, crushing me against him as he claims my mouth. The initial shock of it is quickly replaced by a white-hot fever. It melts my muscles and settles in my bones.
He groans and kisses me again, and again, becoming more passionate with each passing second. I can barely keep up.
He’s never kissed me like this before. Never. It’s like he’s speaking directly to my body. Asking permission, and apologizing, and wishing for things that can never be. He pushes me back against the wall, and even though the kiss is full of the same hungry lust that’s always lived between our mouths, it’s also something else.
It whispers under my skin and heats the air in my lungs. I feel it tangling in all my nerve endings as he presses his weight against me and moans into my lips.
“Tell me how to stop loving you, Cassie. Please. I have no fucking clue.”
He kisses me deeper. Longer. More intensely. It’s seduction and yearning. Raw and unashamed.
It’s everything.
Our mouths and hands become frantic. He says he wants to keep us apart, but our bodies have other ideas.
His movements are rough impatient with need. When he tugs at my shirt, I lift my arms to let him pull it off. My jeans are next, and I have to lean against the wall as he yanks them down. When he kisses his way back up, my legs liquefy.
Heat is coursing from him into me and back again. Everywhere he touches me burns. All the places he’s yet to touch ache. His mouth is everywhere, like he’s trying to consume me. I know how he feels. I’m just as hungry for him.
I fumble with the buttons on his shirt, desperate to get to the skin beneath. I get most of them undone, but the last one won’t give way. I grunt as I rip the fabric and push the shirt off his shoulders. When both of my hands finally land on his chest and press against the thrumming pulse beneath, I sigh.
This is more than lust. It’s even more than love. It’s imperative. Mindless, bloody-minded need. I can’t kiss him deep enough, or hold him close enough.
“God, Ethan…”
He’s not gentle, and that’s okay with me. I’m not used to him like this. So raw and uncontrolled. Nothing is being held back. Nothing. And it’s so thrilling to get so much of him, emotion catches in my throat.
He tugs at my bra and pulls the straps down so he can get to my breasts. All I am is breath as he kisses and nibbles, and when he pushes one hand into my panties, I’m one long, unending inhale.
I grip him so hard, it’s like I’m trying to get inside his skin. As I unbuckle his belt and pull it free, he’s still teasing me with his fingers and mouth, keeping me pinned to the wall to stop me from flying away. I yank his jeans open, and it’s only when I slide my hand into his boxers that he falters in his intensity. All of sudden, he’s still, and his whole body shudders as I palm the weight of him and squeeze.
Oh, how he feels. How he looks as I touch him. Muscles flex with grateful shudders and restrained urgency.
He puts a hand against the wall, head low, breath fast. He looks like he’s in pain, but I know better. I stop long enough to work his jeans and underwear over his hips, and then I maneuver him back against the wall so I can kiss a line down his chest. When I reach his abs, he starts cursing. When I take him in my mouth, he’s not even forming words anymore, just long, raspy vowel sounds.
If I had the power, I’d have him always feel like this. Loved and worshipped. I’d melt away his doubts and insecurities with soft suction. Brush away his fears with reverent touches and low, appreciative moans.
Before long, he’s gripping my hair and pulling me away. Then he’s kissing me with renewed passion. He pauses to unlace his boots and pull off his socks. I take the opportunity to kiss his back, his shoulder, his bicep. He comes back to my mouth, and I pull off his jeans and underwear. He’s barely kicked them away before he’s sliding down my panties.
I’m not quite sure how we get on the floor, but we do. I push him down so I can taste every inch of warm, sweet-smelling skin. Every tense muscle and delicious groove. As I’m working on his chest, I’m vaguely aware of him pulling his wallet from his jeans and rolling on a condom.
When he’s done, he pushes me onto my back and settles between my legs. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the intensity of him like this. Naked and glorious. He towers over me with eyes that are somehow black but also full of fire. He studies my face as he braces on one arm, his broad shoulders tense, and then I feel him, pressing forward.
Oh.
The sweet, ecstatic pressure.
I look at him in awe. This feeling. This slow, intense filling. So different from the first time we did this. There’s still some discomfort as my inexperienced flesh gets used to being stretched, but there’s none of the previous resistance. No pain. Just the incredible miracle of one body joining with another.
Within a few gentle thrusts, he’s inside, and oh, God, I’m not big enough for the inferno of feelings he ignites in me.
His mouth is open. Eyes heavy and blinking.
How can he possibly think we can’t work when we’re like this? This is bigger than fear. More important than doubt.
He starts to move, slowly at first, his jaw clenched in determination. Then, his need takes over and he gains momentum. Every thrust brings him deeper. I clutch at his shoulders, and watch as his face morphs through different layers of pleasure. He’s magnificent.
He tangles his hands in my hair. Kisses my chest. Suckles on my neck. Through it all, he’s moving, long slides that make me quake and gasp. Heat crawls up my neck as pleasure spins inside me. When he increases his pace, I know I’m making embarrassing sounds, but I can’t stop. He’s too much.
When I can’t stand his beauty any longer, I look at the ceiling. It swims and sways. I give up and close my eyes. Lift my hips to meet him. Grip his lower back and urge him on.
In the end, I just submit to panting. Adrenaline courses through me as I walk a tightrope of sensation, and when he reaches between us and presses his fingers in tight circles, I’m gone. Falling and flying at the same time, and giving plaintive voice to the long, heavy pulses that overtake me.
I’m still spinning when he lets out a long moan. He bucks and presses in as far as he can, then he slows, and eventually stops. By then, we’re not even two people anymore; just one orgasmic, panting mass, clinging to each other with trembling limbs.
Incredible.
What more could two people want from each other?
I let out a deep sigh.
Ethan’s body is heavy against me, his face pressed into my neck. I run my fingers through his hair and try to get enough oxygen.
“I love you, Ethan Holt,” I say, soft and breathy. “No matter how tough things get, just remember that, okay?”
He tenses for a second, and just when I think my heart is going to bottom out from him not saying it back, he exhales. “I … I love you, too.”
For the rest of the night, we don’t talk. We make love, time and again. In the shower, in the kitchen, on the sofa, and, finally, in my bed.
When exhaustion finally takes us, I curl into his side and rest my head over his heart.
Whatever internal dilemma he’s going through, we’ll find a way to make it right, because that’s what couples who love each other do.
I go to sleep with Ethan’s heartbeat in my ear and his arm around me.
The next morning, light bleeds through my eyelids, and I’m dimly aware of birds singing in the trees outside. I smile as I register the warm body beside me.
The first time we slept together, he left before I woke. This time, he stayed.
I breathe in his scent and run my hand over his chest and stomach. He’s warm, and it seems so decadent to feel the length of his naked body pressed against mine. This amount of Ethan should be illegal. He feels too good.
Just being beside him arouses me, and I contemplate which sexual positions we could try this morning. There are so many new things I want him to teach me.
As I snuggle into his chest and sigh in contentment, I realize his heartbeat is fast. Too fast.
I open my eyes to find he’s awake. Staring, stony-faced at the ceiling.
A rush of heat crawls across my skin. “Hey.”
He blinks and turns to me. “Hey.”
His posture is stiff. Alarmingly so. The arm that held me close last night now lies straight out from his body, barely touching me at all.
I sit up. “What’s wrong?”
He blinks a few times, jaw tense. “I have to go.”
Before I can protest, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, grabs his underwear, and pulls it on.
“What? Ethan…?”
“I need to go home and pack before heading back to New York for the holidays,” he says, not looking at me. “Plus, I have to go see Erika about what extra credit I need to do over the Christmas break to make up for flunking this term’s acting class. Merry fucking Christmas to me.”
He pulls on his jeans and buckles his belt before going in search of his shirt.
“Well, I could come with you. Back to your place, I mean. After you pack, we could get breakfast. My flight home isn’t until this afternoon…”
“No.” He disappears into the hallway and sickening knots form in my stomach. I sit up and pull the sheet to my chest as he reappears, buttoning up his shirt.
“You don’t want me to come with you?”
He sits on the bed and grabs his boots and socks, not even sparing me a glance as he pulls them on and laces the boots. His movements are tense. He looks angry, and I don’t know why. Doesn’t he remember last night?
“Ethan … talk to me.”
He finishes tying his shoes and stares at the floor. His jaw tightens as he takes a deep breath.
“Cassie…” He sighs. “I can’t … we can’t do this. I thought that maybe…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “We just can’t.”
“No,” I say, my panic rising. “Don’t start with that crap again. We can. We did last night. Do you even remember how amazing it was? How incredible we are together?”
His breathing speeds up as he turns to look at me. “Last night was a mistake.”
I freeze. His words hang in the air like a toxic cloud. Something inside me cracks and ruptures.
He’s not saying this. He can’t be.
He was there. He felt it. How could he not? It wasn’t just sex. We made love. Many times.
“A … a mistake?”
For a moment, I see pain flicker across his face, then it’s gone.
“Last night was…” He shakes his head. “Yesterday, I flunked acting because I couldn’t open up. But that shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you, because you’ve been asking me to open up for freaking months, and I failed at that, too.” He looks over his shoulder but doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’m not capable of being a proper boyfriend. We both know it. Last night doesn’t change anything.”
My cheeks burn with anger. “How can you say that? You proved how you feel about me all night long. We said we loved each other, for God’s sake! It changes everything!”
He turns to me, his eyes filled with tears. “Yeah, well, sometimes, love doesn’t magically fix things. I shouldn’t have allowed things to go as far as they did. We’re never going to work, and I can’t go on pretending that we are. You shouldn’t, either.”
I’ve felt this coming, but I still can’t believe he’s doing it. “This is ridiculous! You think we can’t work, so that’s it? Game over?!”
He pushes off the bed and spins around to face me. “Yes! Because I know I’m too fucking screwed up to be in a relationship right now. Any relationship. I will hurt you, Cassie! I’ve done it to others, and I’ll do it to you. Have you forgotten there’s a girl lying in a fucking hospital bed right now thanks to me? Because I sure as hell haven’t! And every time I picture Olivia half dead on that gurney, all I can think is, that could be you. It will be unless I get the hell out of this relationship.”
“Ethan, no.”
“Yes, Cassie. I’m no good for you. I never have been. I’m demanding and moody and jealous as all hell, and as much as I hate being like that, it’s who I am. Don’t you think I’ve tried to be different? The past few weeks it’s all I’ve done. I’ve fought all of my natural reactions to be the boyfriend you deserve, but it was all fake. Don’t even pretend you haven’t noticed, because I know you have.”
“Of course I’ve noticed, but I didn’t know what to do, because you never talk to me!”
He throws up his hands. “That’s because what I’m feeling is usually petty and fucking illogical! I see you dancing with Avery, and I can’t stop wondering how long it’s going to be before you fuck him. You’re ten minutes late, and I think you’ve finally decided I’m not good enough for you, and you’ve left me.”
“That’s crazy.”
“I know! That’s the problem! Yet I can’t help thinking it. I don’t trust you, even though you’ve done nothing to make me doubt you.” He exhales. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “I’ve done a lot of things in my life I regret. Treated people badly. Taken out my issues on others. I feel myself doing it to you, and I can’t fucking stand it. You don’t deserve someone like me, and I sure as hell don’t deserve someone like you. Just accept it and get on with your life. That’s what I’m going to try to do.”
My blood is hot, simmering beneath my skin.
I grip the sheet so hard it hurts. “Are you even listening to what you’re saying?”
“Cassie—”
I slap the bed in frustration, hating the hot tears which slide down my cheeks. “I love you, you ass! How on earth is breaking my heart protecting me?!”
He stares at me with a pained expression for a few seconds, and I hold my breath, hoping he’s going to take me in his arms and comfort me. But he doesn’t, and the knife piercing my ribs twists a little more.
Instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor, and every angle of him screams of self-loathing and unshed tears.
“Cassie,” he says, “if I don’t do this now, I know that in three months’ time, I’ll have ruined both of us, and you’ll hate me forever. Or worse. At least if I end it now … maybe there’s a chance we could still be … friends.”
“Friends?” My breath hitches, and I hate it. “Friends?” Fat, ugly tears fall, and I hate them more. He’s actually doing this. Despite everything we mean to each other, everything we’ve shared … he’s doing it.
“Am I just supposed to forget how I feel about you?” I say, quiet and bitter. “Or how you feel about me? We both know we’ll never be friends, Ethan. Ever.”
Incredulity heats my face as we stare at each other. My chest is tight, and my throat is sore. Still, I can’t stop myself from leaning forward and touching his arm. “Please … don’t do this.”
I know I’m begging, but I don’t care. He loves me. There’s nothing he can do or say that will make it untrue.
“It’s already done.” He steps away from me, and his breathing is uneven as he stares at the floor. “I have to go.”
He turns his back and crosses the room, and something ruptures inside me. All my seams pull apart, flooding me with gut-churning pain. I hug myself, and try to hold it together.
“I love you,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out.
He freezes with his back to me, shoulders tense. Silence smothers the room, screaming like thunder in my ears. My heart curls in on itself when I realize … I know … he’s not going to say it back.
His hands tighten and release, but still, his feet are pointed squarely toward the door.
I have so much to say, but I know it doesn’t matter. He’s decided to ruin us, and I can’t do a thing about it.
He turns his head. “Good-bye, Cassie.” His voice is quiet, but he might as well have yelled. “I’ll see you in the new year.”
He strides out of my bedroom and down the hallway, and I swear I hear him groan as he opens the front door.
There’s a long pause—long enough for me to think he’s changed his mind, but then the front door slams behind him, and any chance I had of holding myself together shatters into a million pieces.
The first sob is so painful, I think I’ve injured myself. The second is no better. Then, all I am is pain, and tears, and wrongness, and when I press my face into my pillow, all I can smell is the man responsible for it.