“Mom, I’m sorry. I just…”
Just what? Truthfully, he had nothing to offer as an excuse other than the blackness in his soul, and how in hell did he explain that to his mother? She didn’t know about the fight he and Rick had had that day, or the details leading up to the accident. And she sure as hell didn’t know about that night a few months ago, under the stars and feeling the weight of grief and guilt when he and Emily had…
“You need to find your way back to us, and no one wants it more than me. I love you more than you can hope to understand, and it kills me to see you in pain. To know you spend day after day alone and holed up in that shop working on your bikes and not seeing anyone. It’s not normal or healthy, and you drink too much. I want you back, but I finally realized last night that it’s something you need to do on your own. Me wishing you back will accomplish nothing. It has to be you who wants to live. It has to be you who wants more than to just exist. So when you’re ready, when you finally get that what you’re doing is wrong and tragic and Rick would kick your ass if he could… When you know that, your father and I will be waiting. I hope you learn to find some kind of peace, and I hope we see you soon.”
She hung up before he could say a word, and, kind of dumbfounded, Ethan stared at his phone until his vision blurred. Until a wave of anger burned through him and he threw his cell savagely and watched it slam against the wall before falling in pieces to the floor.
Hands fisted at his side he took a moment to control his breathing and glanced around his place. He’d bought it for a song months after Rick’s accident because he knew he needed to be away from people. At the time, he had plans to bring the home to life, but in actuality, he hadn’t done a damn thing to it. Linoleum still peeled on the floor in the kitchen. The faucet dripped something fierce, and the window over the sink didn’t open because it was painted shut.
This wasn’t a home by anyone’s reckoning, but that wasn’t something he dwelled on. It was clean and tidy, and that was enough for Ethan. He spent most of his time in the shop, or riding his bike on the back roads, or fishing alone on the lake. He felt nothing as he emptied his mug into the sink, ignoring that steady drip, and tried to decide if his stomach could handle food or not. He wouldn’t think about his mother’s words—there’d been similar conversations in the past, and he was pretty damn sure there’d be many more.
Just when he decided to skip the whole food thing, a knock at the front door had him turning from his bedroom and heading for the foyer. Mood blacker than ever, he figured it was the delivery service with the parts he needed for the shovelhead he was trying his damnedest to finish. He yanked open the door and, along with a blast of cold air, the woman who stood there shivering stole his thoughts as well as his vocal cords.
Her skin was pale and translucent, and she was thinner than the last time he’d seen her. There was an air of fragility about her he didn’t like, though her eyes still had some fire. Her baby blues traveled the length of him, and aware that his towel was perched dangerously low on his hips, he smiled at her, though it was as cold as his heart.
She blushed, and her eyes fell away from his, while Ethan’s attempt at a grin turned into a full-on scowl. “I don’t have the time or energy for you, Em.” His words were clipped and harsh. He supposed a part of him wasn’t dead, because he felt bad when he saw her flinch.
“You’re going to make some time,” she rasped, her voice rough, as if ill-used. She pushed past him, and with a curse, he slammed the door shut and turned to face her. Her hair was longer than he remembered, a mess of blonde tangles around her face. With those big eyes of her and cheeks red from the wind, she looked ethereal. God, he’d forgotten how beautiful she was.
“Did my mother put you up to this?”
“What?”
He saw her confusion and sighed, rubbing his forefinger along the bridge of his nose as pain sliced its way up into his brain. Ethan let out a long breath. “Just say what you came to say and do it fast. I’ve got a lot to do.”
“You look like shit,” she said, chin up as some of that fire in her eyes warmed up the rest of her.
“Three bottles of tequila will do that to a guy.” He studied her for a second. “You didn’t come here to lecture me on my bad choices, so just say whatever it is, Emily. I wasn’t kidding when I said I didn’t have time for you.”
“Okay,” she replied, though some of the fire in her voice dissipated. She hesitated, and something worked its way across his chest. Some sharp kind of warning that told him an already shit day was about to get worse.
His blood turned to ice, and it took more than a bit of effort to make his lungs work. In that moment, his world narrowed to the trembling woman in front of him, a woman who pulled every fucking string he owned. A woman he wanted to quit so bad, he could taste it. If only because the very thought of her made him come apart. Made him remember. Made him feel so low, he knew he’d never find his way back if he fell under her spell again. He wasn’t good for her, and she sure as hell wasn’t good for him.
“Just spit it out, Em.” His mouth felt like sawdust even as he pushed the words out.
“I’m pregnant.”
“Congratulations.” He paused, hating the pain that flashed in her eyes. “But I don’t exactly give a flying fuck. Anything else?” His gut churned and his skin felt too tight. He wanted to hit something.
“Yes,” she whispered, slowly nodding as she took a step back. “There’s one more thing.”
“Just say it and go.” His voice was harsh and cutting, his mood ugly.
She turned and reached for the doorknob but paused before yanking the door open. She looked to the side and seemed to be considering her next words. When she spoke them they didn’t penetrate his brain until she gave a half shrug and disappeared into the brilliant midmorning sun.
And when they did, her words lingered. They buried themselves under his skin and wormed their way into his body, feeding a fire of anger that didn’t need much to stoke.
“I’m thirteen weeks. If you still suck at math, I’ll help you out. The baby is yours.”
Chapter Two
A few years back, when Emily’s friend Monique announced her pregnancy, Emily was jealous and envious and all those dark green emotions a person could have. As her friend’s baby bump grew, as her skin glowed and her smile lit up the whole of Crystal Lake, Emily remembered thinking, that should be me. I should be pregnant and happy. I should be walking on air looking like a goddess with the birds singing and the wild animals of the forest paying homage at my feet like I was starring in a Disney movie.
Monique had shone as if the sun lived inside her, and less than a week after the birth of her son, she’d been walking the sidewalks, pushing an expensive pram, wearing her pre-pregnancy clothes, and looking fabulous.
That green monster inside Emily had expanded. It ate at her for days until she finally got over herself and the sad life she’d fallen into. At the time, she’d been convinced that Rick would one day wake up, and once he did, well, they’d pick up where they left off. And it would be Emily glowing and happy and heavy with child.