Chapter 75: Torn Threads Sophia POV

I woke up on Ethan’s couch again, the faint scent of coffee drifting from the kitchen, the blanket tangled around my legs. I stretched, my arms reaching over my head, then kicked the fabric off, folding it with quick sweeps of my hands, stacking it neatly on the armrest. My phone buzzed on the coffee table, Melissa’s name flashing, but I swiped it away, setting it face down with a soft tap.

Ethan shuffled out from the kitchen, a mug in one hand, a plate of toast in the other, his hair still damp from a shower. "Morning," he said, setting the plate down with a clatter, handing me the mug, his fingers brushing mine as I took it.

"Morning," I replied, sipping the coffee, the warmth spreading through me as I brushed crumbs off my shirt from yesterday’s bagel, my fingers flicking them onto the floor. "You didn’t have to make breakfast."

He shrugged, grabbing a piece of toast, tearing off a corner with his teeth. "Figured you’d need it—long night," he said, his voice casual, sitting beside me, his knee nudging mine.

I nodded, setting the mug down with a clink, grabbing a slice, nibbling at the edge. "Yeah, couldn’t sleep much," I said, my free hand tugging at a loose thread on my jeans, my mind spinning—Jake’s voicemail still echoing, his raw plea tugging at me.

"You okay?" Ethan asked, tossing the crust back onto the plate, wiping his hands on his pants, his eyes flicking to mine.

I forced a smile, folding my hands in my lap, my nails digging into my palms. "Not really," I admitted, my voice shaky, brushing my hair back with a quick swipe. "I don’t know what I’m doing anymore."

He leaned closer, his arm stretching along the couch behind me, his fingers brushing my shoulder. "You’re here—that’s something," he said, grabbing the remote, clicking the TV on, the morning news buzzing low in the background.

I shifted, my shoulder pressing into his side, the warmth of him seeping through my sweater. "Here for you," I said, my voice soft, leaning into his hug as he pulled me closer, his arm wrapping around me, my head resting on his chest.

"Good," he replied, his hand rubbing slow circles on my back, his breath ruffling my hair. "I need that."

I closed my eyes, my hand resting on his arm, my fingers tracing the fabric of his shirt, guilt and attraction tangling in my gut. "Jake called last night," I murmured, pulling back slightly, grabbing my phone, unlocking it with a swipe.

Ethan’s hand paused, his grip loosening. "What’d he say?" he asked, picking up his mug, sipping it, the ceramic clinking as he set it down.

I scrolled to the voicemail, tapping play, holding it to my ear—Jake’s voice crackling through, "Soph, please come home—I need you." I dropped the phone onto the cushion, my hand trembling, brushing crumbs off my jeans again. "He’s falling apart," I said, my voice breaking.

Ethan grabbed my hand, squeezing it gently, his thumb brushing my knuckles. "He’s tough—he’ll figure it out," he said, his tone steady, pulling me back into his hug, his chin resting on my head.

"Maybe," I whispered, my arms wrapping around him, my fingers clutching his shirt, the steady thud of his heartbeat grounding me. "But I feel like I’m breaking him."

"You’re not," he insisted, his hand sliding to my cheek, tilting my face up, his eyes locking with mine. "You’re saving me—focus on that."

I nodded, my breath hitching, leaning into his touch, my lips parting slightly. "Saving you," I echoed, my hand brushing his chest, the intimacy growing, a pull I couldn’t shake.

He grabbed a throw pillow, tossing it aside with a flick, shifting us so we faced each other, his knee pressing against mine. "Stay again tonight," he said, his voice low, his fingers brushing my hair behind my ear.

I hesitated, grabbing the blanket, folding it again, my hands fidgeting with the edges. "I shouldn’t—I need to check on Jake," I said, my voice wavering, setting it down with a soft thud.

"One more night," he pressed, his hand resting on my thigh, his touch warm through my jeans. "He’ll be fine—give him space."

I bit my lip, brushing my fingers through my hair, tugging at the ends. "Space," I repeated, leaning back into him, my head on his shoulder, my resolve crumbling. "Okay—one more."

He smiled, grabbing the toast plate, offering me another piece, his fingers brushing mine as I took it. "Good," he said, popping a bite into his mouth, chewing slowly, the TV droning on about a storm coming.

I ate, brushing crumbs off my shirt again, my elbow nudging his side as I shifted closer, the tension between us thickening. "What’re we watching?" I asked, grabbing the remote, flipping channels, my thumb jabbing the buttons.

"Whatever you want," he replied, his arm tightening around me, his hand sliding to my waist, pulling me against him.

I settled on a cooking show, tossing the remote onto the table with a clatter, my hand resting on his chest, my fingers curling into his shirt. "This is nice," I said, my voice soft, my guilt warring with the comfort of his closeness.

"Yeah," he agreed, his lips brushing my forehead, his breath warm against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

We stayed like that, the TV flickering, a chef chopping onions in the background, my phone buzzing again—Jake’s name flashing. I reached for it, my hand pausing, then pulled back, brushing it under the blanket with a nudge. "Later," I muttered, leaning deeper into Ethan’s hug, my heart pounding.

Ethan grabbed a glass of water from the table, sipping it, the ice clinking as he set it down. "You’re tense," he said, his hand rubbing my back again, his fingers kneading the knots.

"Always," I replied, forcing a laugh, my hand brushing his arm, lingering there, the pull stronger now, drowning out Jake’s voice in my head.

He shifted, his face close to mine, his breath mingling with mine. "Relax," he whispered, his hand cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing my lip.

I nodded, my eyes closing, leaning into him, my lips inches from his, when a car engine rumbled outside, headlights glaring through the blinds, slicing across the room. I pulled back, standing, pacing to the window, pushing the slats aside—Jake’s car idling in the street, the glare blinding me.