Chapter 156 Like He's Raising a Daughter
The wheels hit the JFK runway with a violent shudder.
It was a little past two in the afternoon.
Before boarding in LA, I’d checked the weather app three times.
Cloudy, it said.
I’d pictured something heavy and gray—New York in that movie‑kind of way, where clouds press down until the whole world goes quiet.
But when we stepped off the plane?
Sun.
Full, unapologetic sun—gold and warm, slipping between thin, harmless clouds. The Hudson glittered in the distance like someone had shaken a jar of silver dust over it. The air was crisp instead of gloomy. Bright instead of brooding.
Everything completely different from what I’d imagined.
I just stood there, dazed, while people rolled past us with luggage and loud voices.
Ethan glanced down at me, the edge of his mouth pulling upward. “Disappointed?”
I shook my head. “No. Just… surprised.”
He slipped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into him like he was claiming real estate. His breath brushed my ear, low and warm. “Your memories—your youth—I want them full of me. Not some imaginary boy with an umbrella.”
I stiffened.
Oh my God. That.
I turned my head, my forehead brushing his nose, feeling the heat of his breath against my cheek.
“I told you,” I muttered, “that story wasn’t real. Just a character in a magazine from when I was thirteen. A drawing.”
His hands came up, cupping my cheeks gently but firmly. “Paper boys don’t get a pass either. You remember me. Only me.”
He realized a half‑second later how sharp that sounded. His expression softened, voice dipping low.
“Just me. All right?”
Before I could answer, a familiar horn honked.
A matte military‑green Jeep rolled up, and Jake Thompson swung out of the driver’s seat—the last time I’d seen him was months ago. He’d been reassigned to the East Coast, stationed full‑time at a military base just outside New York.
Jake nodded at me with a warm smile. I nodded back.
“Welcome to the city,” he said as we climbed in.
We hit the highway, buildings rising around us like jagged glass mountains. Jake kept one hand on the wheel, tone casual. “So what made you two pick New York out of nowhere?”
Ethan slid his arm around my shoulders again, thumb brushing my collarbone. “She wanted to come.”
I elbowed him. “You said you were bringing me.”
He shrugged. “You wanted it.”
I turned my face to the window, more out of irritation than anything—because arguing with him was pointless.
Conversation died out after that.
Jake wasn’t talkative.
Ethan wasn’t talkative.
And me? I was wedged between two men who were both a decade older, a decade wiser, and absolutely impossible to small‑talk with.
Within minutes, the hum of the road and the warmth of Ethan’s body pulled me under. My forehead pressed to his chest, and everything went dark.
—
When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hotel bed.
Five‑thirty.
I had no memory of getting here.
The door opened, and Ethan came in carrying a glass of water. He shut it with his foot.
“Hungry?” he asked.
I rubbed my eyes. “Not yet.”
He handed me the water and sat beside me. “Jake and a few of the guys want to grab dinner with us. You mind?”
I took a sip, warmth spreading down my throat. “You asking like that means I don’t have a real choice.”
His brow lifted. “If you don’t want to see people, I’ll tell them to stay home.”
“Don’t,” I said quickly. “It’s cheese fondue. It’s depressing with only two people.”
His hand slid around my waist from behind, pulling me back into him. His chin settled in the curve of my shoulder. Together we looked out at the panoramic view—old steel, new glass, river light, history stacked on history.
He kissed my cheekbone softly.
“You really do like this type of place,” I murmured. “Juniper‑wood beams, metal frames, stone fireplaces… You pick the same style in LA, and now here.”
His lips brushed my ear, teeth grazing lightly. “Steel and glass are fine. But this—this mix of old and new? Wood, stone, metal, all fused together? Buildings that look like they grew out of the earth? That’s America to me.”
I blinked.
He kept going, eyes on the city.
“This place was a mining site. They reused the beams, the tracks, the rusted steel. Turned a dead spot into something livable again. That kind of transformation—it’s part of who we are.”
Something in my chest tightened.
Like a match struck in the dark.
People online always argued about America like it was an ideology rather than a landscape. Either worshipping it or tearing it apart. No nuance. No history. No texture.
But Ethan—he looked at these streets like someone reading scars on a palm.
And seeing that…
It hit me hard.
“Ethan?” I whispered.
He turned.
I tugged him down by the collar and kissed him before I could overthink it.
“You’re really charming,” I breathed against his lips.
His hand slid behind my neck, gentle but unyielding, and the kiss deepened until I felt my pulse in my fingertips.
—
Night brought rain.
Soft, misting, almost shy.
We sat at an outdoor table under a wooden awning, steam rising from bubbling fondue pots. The skyline blurred just slightly through the drizzle—New York looking like a watercolor painting instead of a living beast.
I popped a bread cube into my mouth and stared out at the river.
Ethan’s hand turned my face back toward him. “Eat first. Look later.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why can’t I do both?”
“You can’t.”
Jake snorted. “Only she could tolerate you like this.”
I swallowed my laughter.
If only he knew how intolerable Ethan could really be.
Two of Ethan’s old Marine buddies—broad shoulders, quiet eyes, that unshakeable ex‑military stillness—clinked beers with him. Jake’s girlfriend, a sunny woman with hazel eyes and an assertive voice, nudged him sharply.
“You’re rude,” she scolded him. “Ethan’s just taking care of his girlfriend. Unlike someone I know.”
Jake immediately dropped half the pot’s worth of sausage into her bowl. “Eat. As much as you want.”
The other two men ignored the drama entirely and toasted Ethan again.
Eventually, I pushed my bowl away. “I’m full.”
Ethan brushed my hair back. “Go look around. Don’t get soaked.”
Jake’s girlfriend stood. “I’ll go with her.”
We walked toward the river, mist clinging to our hair.
Behind us, I heard Jake mutter, “You treat her like your kid, you know that?”
Ethan just exhaled smoke and drawled, “She’s young. Still got a kid’s heart.”
Jake let out a low whistle. “If you know she’s that young, how’d you manage to put your hands on her?”