Chapter 14
Emily's POV
My chest was tight and my voice was rising but I couldn't stop it. "Because apparently that's the question of the morning."
Ethan stared at me.
He looked genuinely stunned—not performing it, not searching for the right thing to say. Just frozen for a second like I'd said something completely unexpected.
"What?" he said. "No. That's not—" He stopped. Shook his head. "That's not why I came to find you."
"Then what?"
He shifted his weight. Looked almost uncomfortable, which was strange on someone his size. "I wanted to ask what time you left home this morning."
The question hit wrong. Like an interrogation. Like Detective Rodriguez all over again—Where were you? What time? Can anyone confirm that?
Something hot and sharp flashed through me.
Calm down, I told myself. He's not interrogating you. Just breathe.
But I couldn't. My heart was pounding too hard and my thoughts were moving too fast and I was so tired I could barely see straight.
"What?" I said.
"This morning. What time did you—"
"Why?" My voice came out sharp enough to cut. "The police already asked for my alibi for Saturday. Now you're interrogating me about Monday?" I took a step back and my hands were shaking again, worse this time. "What business is it of yours what time I left?"
He looked startled. "No, I didn't mean—"
"Everyone else is already asking questions. I don't need you doing it too." The anger was building and I couldn't stop it. Didn't want to stop it. "So unless you've got something useful to say, just—"
"Emily—"
"None of your business." I turned away. "That's the answer."
I walked off before he could respond. Didn't look back. Didn't care if he was still standing there or if I'd hurt his feelings or whatever.
Except I did care.
That was the problem.
I made it halfway down the hallway before the realization hit me—I'd been expecting something from Ethan. Hoping for something, maybe. And when he showed up asking questions like everyone else, it had felt like betrayal even though he hadn't actually done anything wrong.
I stopped walking. Leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.
You're being paranoid. He wasn't interrogating you. He was just asking a question.
But I didn't go back. Didn't apologize. Just stood there until the warning bell rang, then headed to class.
Lunch was worse.
I sat alone at my usual table in the corner, picking at a sandwich I'd made that morning and barely tasting. The cafeteria was loud—too loud—and I kept my head down, hoping no one would notice me.
Then I saw him.
Ethan, carrying his tray, scanning the room. His eyes found me. He hesitated.
Started walking in my direction.
My chest tightened. I didn't know if I wanted him to come over or not. Didn't know what I'd say if he did.
But then one of his teammates called out—"Yo, White! Over here!"—and Ethan stopped. Looked at me one more time. I couldn't read his expression from this distance. Then he turned and headed toward his friends instead.
He didn't look back.
I told myself I was relieved. Told myself it was better this way. But the sandwich tasted like cardboard after that and I threw most of it away.
The rest of the day crawled by. I kept my head down in every class, avoided eye contact in the hallways, and counted down the minutes until the final bell.
When it finally rang, I grabbed my stuff and headed for the exit. The subway entrance was just across the street, the stairs leading down to the platform already crowded with students heading home. I was halfway there when I heard footsteps behind me.
"Emily."
I turned around.
Ethan again. He stopped a few feet away, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. "Can I give you a ride home?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it again.
"I'm sorry," I said. The words came out stiff. Awkward. "This morning. I shouldn't have—" I stopped. "You were just asking a question. I overreacted."
"It's okay." He said it quickly. Like he'd been waiting for an opening. "You don't have to apologize. I get it. Today's been rough."
"Still." I shifted my bag. "I was a jerk."
"You weren't." Ethan took a step closer. "And for what it's worth? I don't care what your dad did. That's not who you are. You're not him."
The words landed somewhere deep. Somewhere I didn't want to look at too closely.
"Okay," I said quietly.
"So." He gestured toward the parking lot. "Ride?"
I hesitated. Then nodded. "Yeah. Okay."
Ethan's truck was parked near the back of the lot. Same Ford from Friday night. He unlocked the passenger door first, held it open while I climbed in.
The drive back to Graystone was quiet. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but careful. Like we were both watching what we said.
He pulled up in front of my building and I grabbed my bag. "Thanks."
"Anytime," he said.
I was halfway out the door when I saw mom.
She stood on the front steps with a grocery bag in each hand, looking directly at Ethan's truck, her expression unreadable.
I climbed out quickly. "Thanks again," I told Ethan, then shut the door before he could respond.
Mom was still watching as I walked up the steps.
"That a classmate?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"He live around here?"
I frowned. "I don't think so. Why?"
Mom shifted the grocery bags. "Just thought it was strange. I saw his truck this morning too."
I stopped. "What?"
"This morning. Same truck, parked right there." She nodded toward the curb. "It was there when I left to go shopping around six-thirty. Still there when I got back maybe an hour later. Then it drove off."
My stomach dropped.
An hour.
Ethan had been here for an hour. Waiting. And I'd left at five-thirty because the subway got too crowded after six and I couldn't handle being pressed in with that many bodies.
What time did you leave home this morning?
That's what he'd been asking. Not interrogating. Not checking my alibi. Just trying to figure out why he'd missed me.
And I'd snapped at him.
"Emily?" Mom was looking at me now, concerned. "You okay?"
"Yeah." My voice came out hoarse. "I'm fine."
But I wasn't fine. I was standing there on the steps with guilt sitting heavy in my chest, realizing that Ethan White had spent an hour waiting in the worst neighborhood in town just to make sure I got to school safely.
And I'd told him it was none of his business.
God, I'm an idiot.
"Come on," Mom said, nudging my shoulder. "Let's get inside."
I followed her up the stairs, but my mind was still on that truck. On Ethan sitting there alone, watching the door, not knowing I'd already left.
On the fact that he'd come back anyway. Asked again. Offered me a ride even after I'd been horrible to him.
You're not him, he'd said. That's not who you are.
I didn't know if I believed that. But the fact that Ethan did—that he'd said it like it was obvious, like it was just true—made something crack open in my chest that I'd been holding shut for a very long time.