Chapter 62
Emily's POV
"Ethan, wait—" Panic flooded through me as I realized what Ethan was about to do. I started after him and then froze, suddenly aware that I was standing in my living room in nothing but a bra and dress pants. "Fuck. Ethan, stop!"
But he was already out the door, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. I heard the stairwell door slam and knew I had maybe thirty seconds before he'd be in his truck and gone.
I lunged for my bedroom, grabbed the first shirt I could find off my chair, and yanked it on while running for the door. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely work the buttons. I gave up halfway through and just held the shirt closed as I burst into the hallway and ran for the stairs.
By the time I made it down to the street level, Ethan's truck was already pulling away from the curb. I could see him through the windshield, face set and determined, Alex's shirt still clutched in his hand.
"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck." I spun in a circle, trying to figure out my options.
A cab was idling at the corner, driver scrolling through his phone while he waited for a fare. I ran toward it, waving my arms to get his attention, and yanked open the back door.
"The Echelon House," I gasped out, sliding into the backseat. "I need to get to The Echelon House right now."
The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror, taking in my half-buttoned shirt and wild expression with the kind of weary skepticism that suggested he'd seen weirder. "That's just a few blocks down," the driver said, jerking his thumb in the general direction. "Maybe ten-minute walk if you're in a hurry."
"I don't care. Just drive. Please."
He shrugged and pulled away from the curb. I grabbed my phone and tried calling Ethan but it went straight to voicemail. Tried again with the same result. He'd either turned it off or was deliberately ignoring me.
I sent a text instead: Please don't do this. We can talk about this. Just come back.
The message showed as delivered but not read. I watched the little dots that would indicate he was typing a response but they never appeared.
I sat in the backseat and tried to calculate how much of a head start Ethan had. Five minutes, maybe three. Enough time to find Alex and do something catastrophically stupid that I wouldn't be able to undo.
The cab pulled up outside The Echelon House after what felt like an eternity. I shoved cash at the driver without counting it and bolted for the entrance, my shirt still half-unbuttoned and flapping open as I ran.
I burst through the front door just in time to see Ethan's fist—wrapped in the white button-down shirt—connect solidly with Alex's jaw.
The sound was sickening. A wet crack that seemed to echo through the suddenly silent restaurant. Alex stumbled backward, catching himself against the bar before his knees gave out. Blood was already welling up from a split in his lip.
"Ethan!" I ran toward them, my heart hammering so hard I could barely breathe. "What the fuck did you do?"
Ethan stood there breathing hard, the shirt now unwrapping from his hand. He didn't look at me. Just kept his eyes fixed on Alex with that cold, lethal expression I'd never seen on his face before.
I dropped to my knees beside Alex, hands hovering uselessly over him as I tried to assess the damage. His lip was split and swelling fast, blood trickling down his chin onto his collar. But his eyes were clear and focused when they met mine, something calculating flickering behind the pain.
"I'm fine," Alex said quietly. He touched his lip gingerly and winced. "Really. Don't—don't fight because of me. This isn't worth it."
The words were so perfectly calibrated to sound selfless that I almost missed the manipulation underneath. Almost. But I was too angry and scared to process it properly.
"You hit him!" I turned on Ethan, my voice shaking with fury. "You just assaulted him in his own restaurant! Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"He had it coming." Ethan's voice was flat. Cold. "He knew exactly what he was doing when he answered your phone. When he put his hands on you and made sure I knew about it."
"He spilled coffee on me!" I was shouting now, past caring who heard. "That's it! That's all that happened! And even if it wasn't, even if something did happen, that doesn't give you the right to—"
"He was playing you, Emily!" Ethan finally looked at me and I saw something raw and desperate behind the anger. "He was manipulating you and you couldn't see it because you were too busy—"
"So you thought you'd just hit him?" My hands were shaking. "You thought violence was the answer? Do you know what kind of charges he could press? You could be arrested for this!"
"I'm not pressing charges." Alex's voice cut through our argument, quiet and reasonable. "Against anyone. This was a misunderstanding. We can all just walk away and—"
"Shut up!" Ethan and I said simultaneously.
Alex fell silent but I could see the faint satisfaction in his expression despite the blood on his face. He was enjoying this somehow. Enjoying watching us tear each other apart.
I took a breath, trying to force my racing thoughts into some kind of order. When I looked back at Ethan I felt something cold settle in my chest because I realized I barely recognized him right now.
"I can't remember the last time I saw you happy," I said quietly. The words came out steadier than I felt. "The last time you smiled at me like you actually wanted to be there. Maybe you should focus on things that make you happy instead of—"
"Instead of you?" His voice cracked slightly. "That's what you mean, isn't it?"
"Ethan—"
"Are you breaking up with me?" The question came out raw and desperate. "Is that what this is?"
"I didn't say that." But even as the denial left my mouth I could feel how hollow it was. How much of a coward I was being by refusing to finish what we both knew was already over.
"No. You didn't say it." Something hardened in his expression. "You wouldn't. Because that would make you the bad guy, right? Better to just keep pulling away until I'm the one who has to end it."
He bent down and picked up the shirt he'd dropped, the white fabric now stained with Alex's blood. For a moment I thought he was going to throw it at me. Instead he just held it loosely in his hand, staring at it like he was trying to figure out how everything had gone so wrong.
"Fine," he said finally. "If you won't say it, I will. We're done, Emily. We're fucking done."
He threw the shirt on the floor between us and walked toward the door without looking back.