Chapter 52
Chapter 52
It was 3:30 AM when I headed downstairs, the house eerily silent except for the soft creaks of the wooden steps beneath my weight. The chilled air of the night wrapped around me as I reached the front door, the faint hum of a car engine breaking the quiet.
Outside, the headlights flashed twice.
Ethan was still there.
I frowned as I made my way toward the car, the frosty ground crunching softly under my boots. The cold bit at my exposed skin, but the simmering confusion and irritation inside me kept me moving. He had noticed me coming down; that much was clear from the quick flashes of light.
As I opened the car door, a wave of warm air hit me, carrying the faint, earthy scent of tobacco and leather. Ethan sat in the driver’s seat, his eyes bloodshot and heavy with exhaustion. His messy hair caught the faint glow of the dashboard lights, making him look disheveled yet oddly resolute.
“Why haven’t you left?” I asked, sliding into the passenger seat. My voice was clipped, betraying my frustration.
Ethan turned toward me, the movement causing a soft rustling of fabric against the leather seat. There was an awkwardness in his posture, his broad shoulders hunched as if he’d been caught in the act. Still, he managed a sheepish smile.
“You know…” He scratched the back of his neck, his voice gruff yet hesitant. “When you’re tracking someone, it’s better to lose them than to be discovered.”
A sharp laugh escaped me, more incredulous than amused. “So, you’re saying you failed at stalking me? And you decided to wait here instead of going home?”
He opened his mouth, clearly about to argue, but then closed it, a stubborn set to his jaw. His lips pressed together firmly, but his eyes held the faintest glimmer of humor. “You just complimented me on being excellent last night,” he said, his tone teasing.
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“That was last night, Ethan,” I shot back, crossing my arms. “I didn’t think you’d take it so literally.”
He shrugged, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I wanted to prove you right.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress the faint smile that tugged at my lips. “The issue isn’t whether you’re excellent or not. The question is–why didn’t you go back?”
The smirk faded, replaced by something softer, something raw. “You’re not safe,” he said simply, his voice low and steady, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
My chest tightened at the words, an unexpected warmth blooming alongside the tension. I shifted in my seat, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation. “Ethan…” My tone grew serious, my gaze meeting his. “Thank you.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The quiet settled between us, heavy with unspoken words. The bruise on my face throbbed faintly, a deep reddish–brown reminder of the events that had led to this moment. The corner of my mouth stung, the split still raw, but I forced a strained smile anyway.
Ethan’s dark eyes lingered on my injuries, his brow furrowed in a mixture of anger and helplessness. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with this,” he murmured, his voice thick with
regret.
I shook my head, my gaze dropping to my hands clasped tightly in my lap. “Ethan, for a long time… I hated you.” The words hung in the air, heavy and jagged.
He stiffened beside me, but he didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to defend himself.
“I hated that you couldn’t protect me like you used to after the landslide. I hated your arrogance, your disdain for my profession, your cowardice, your coldness…” My voice trembled as I spoke, each word chipping away at the walls I had built around these feelings.
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back, determined to finish. “But since we reunited, it’s like all those old wounds have been ripped open again… only to be healed, piece by piece.”
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Ethan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white. His gaze remained fixed
on the windshield, though there was nothing to see but darkness outside.
“I just want to say thank you,” I continued, my voice softer now. “For everything you did for me–the good and the bad. I’ve been doing fine these years, Ethan. You don’t have to feel guilty anymore because… I don’t care about you like that.”
The words were meant to be freeing, a release for both of us, but they felt like a knife
wisting in my chest.
For a moment, Ethan didn’t respond. His jaw clenched, his breathing slow and measured as if he were trying to hold something back. When he finally turned to me, his eyes were red, tears clinging to his lashes but refusing to fall.
“I know,” he said quietly. His voice was barely a whisper, but the weight behind it was unmistakable. “I’m sorry.”
The raw vulnerability in his tone caught me off guard, and I felt my resolve falter.
“I won’t do it again,” he added, his gaze searching mine, desperate and unwavering.
A strained laugh escaped me, the tension breaking for just a moment. “Be careful your wound doesn’t open again…” he said, his concern evident. His tone, however, carried a faint teasing edge, like he might actually want it to.
I couldn’t help but laugh more openly this time, the sound filling the small space of the car. Instinctively, my hand reached out, resting lightly on his arm.
Ethan froze, his breath catching audibly. His muscles tensed under my touch, the warmth of his skin radiating through the fabric of his shirt. His gaze locked onto mine, the intensity of it almost overwhelming.
I hesitated for a moment, my fingers curling slightly before I pulled back.
Ethan shifted, his movements subtle but deliberate, as if giving me space.
I reached for his collar instead, tugging him closer. Our noses were mere inches apart, and
his eyes widened in surprise, their usual guardedness replaced by something softer, almost
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vulnerable.
“Can I touch your hair?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
Ethan blinked, taken aback. “Do I have a choice?” he replied, his tone half–amused,
half–confused.
I nodded, satisfied with his answer, and slid my fingers into his hair.
The warmth of the moment hit both of us simultaneously, a subtle collision of emotions that neither of us was prepared for.
Ethan’s hand instinctively wrapped around my wrist, his grip firm but not restrictive, as though grounding himself.
My fingers brushed against something rough and raised near his temple–a scar, distorted and jagged like a crack in an egg. The sensation sent a shiver down my spine, the unexpected discovery stirring something deep within me.
Ethan stiffened at the contact, his breath hitching.
