“We’re not mad at Ethan for that,” Garrett replied from the doorway. He looked exhausted. “We’re not mad at Ethan for anything. It was just a misunderstanding. Do you ever have misunderstandings?” Garrett asked Derrick.
Derrick looked confused. “Like when I don’t know how to spell a word that mommy is teaching me?”
Garrett and I couldn’t help but smile. “Not exactly. If your mom asks you to eat your vegetables, and you are confused because you don’t have any vegetables on your plate because mommy forgot them, that’s a misunderstanding.”
Derrick did his best impersonation of a little scowl. “Mommy never forgets vegetables.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t, kid.” Garrett led him toward the couch and turned up the muted cartoons. Derrick had gotten his fair share of cartoons in the past weeks because of the Garrett and Ethan, and I felt like I was failing as a parent.
Garrett left Derrick on the couch and gestured for me to follow him out of the room. When we made it into the hallway, he stopped and faced me. Behind his tired eyes was a look of uncertainty and worry. “You need to understand what went down in there, because if you’re going to make it work with him, you have to get it. You can’t leave him like Taylor. You can’t break him more, because I don’t think he could survive being torn down again.”
A seed of anger rose in me at the accusations. “Why would you think I’d ever hurt him like Taylor did?” I spat out her name like it was a bug on my tongue.
“Accepting him for being like this is not what he needs,” Garrett continued. “Everyone else in his life is trying to do that—letting him keep on his shirt, standing by passively as he refuses to go into a burning building, allowing him to wallow in a loss that happened three years ago. You’re the only one who can help him, but you’re also in a position to further hurt him.”
I knew Garrett was right, and I knew he was coming from the right place of heart, but I was infuriated that he was lecturing me. “You’ve let him stay here and enabled him to avoid fires for years. You’re more of a liability than him after twenty-four hours of no sleep, and that’s the only reason you sent him tonight. Am I wrong?”
His face reddened and he took a step back, but he knew I was right. “We need to help him,” Garrett said.
“I know we do.”
Ethan would have hated seeing us here, concocting a plan to help him overcome his struggles, but we needed to figure out something. Ethan would remain handicapped until he learned to live a normal life again. If he’d never step foot in another fire, that was fine. But he needed to accept his scars and accept his past before we could start a life together. After visiting Bruce, I knew I was ready to try.
I needed him to feel the same way.
Chapter Ten
As planned, I arrived at his house, a bottle of red wine in hand and a nice, blue dress hanging limply from the single strap on my left shoulder. Ethan waited at the door with a smile.
“You look stunning,” he greeted, taking the wine and opening the door for me.
It was difficult to hold onto my negative thoughts—onto the things we needed to discuss before allowing the date to progress any further. Garrett had a point, and I needed to listen to it. “You look handsome,” I added as I walked past him and into the house. “A stay at home date night?”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d have Derrick,” he admitted.
I followed him into the kitchen, and he placed the wine on the counter. My heart melted. “You made accommodations for if I brought my son on a date?”
He nodded slowly and pointed at a pot on the stove. I walked toward it and looked inside. Dinosaur macaroni and cheese, already cooked and ready, sat in a gooey heap in the base of the pot. “I just wanted to make sure he’d have something to eat if he needed it.”
I didn’t know how else to respond. It was the kindest gesture I could have asked for. He thought not only about what I would have liked for dinner, but he considered Derrick above all else and refrained from insisting that I not bring him. I couldn’t think highly enough of the fact that he put Derrick first without realizing it. I watched as he pulled two steaks from the microwave, likely just pulled off the grill before I arrived if the steam was any indication. I sat at a stool and took a deep breath before folding my hands in front of me and catching his gaze.
He prepared my plate as I continued looking at him. “What?” He asked, placing a plate full of steak, corn, and a baked potato in front of me.
“Would you take off your shirt for me?” I finally asked.
He squinted his eyes in confusion. “Would you want me to take it off for you?” he asked.
I cut into my steak and examined the perfectly pink center before smirking. “I would,” I told him, lifting my fork to my mouth.
He snorted and pushed his food aside. “Typically, girls wait until after dinner to suggest this.”
I shrugged and pushed my plate aside, too. “We already went on our first date, and if you consider all the work I’ve done on your house as dates, we’ve been through at least ten. I want to see all of you,” I admitted. “And that requires taking off your shirt.”
He didn’t speak for seconds, and I wondered if he planned to refuse.
But in one swift motion, he removed it.
It had been years since I saw him shirtless, so I quickly examined and appreciated the ridges that lined his entire stomach. It took a second to notice that abnormalities down the entirety of his left side and into his pants. I expected a horrible burn, but it was entirely healed. The scars were atrocious, but not terrifying or disgusting. They showed his strength and bravery. My attraction only grew as I traced my eyes up to the tip of the scars. Unmarred skin started an inch above his armpit, but the end was nowhere in sight.
I stood from my stool and made my way toward him.
He took a small step back, his strength wavering before my eyes. Had he ever done this?
His face was a hard mask. It was impenetrable and showed no emotions as he watched my approach. When I finally stood in front of him, his tense muscles shook. Was it in fear or anticipation? I reached my fingers toward the scars, careful to keep a mask as tightly on my face as he did on his. When my fingers were centimeters away, he clutched my wrist. He wrapped one large hand around it, followed by the other. Nothing in his expression gave away what he was thinking or feeling.
With a sharp exhale, he led my fingers to the scars and shuttered as I touched them. I jerked away. “Did I hurt you?” I asked.
He shook his head. I wanted to see how he was feeling. I needed him to let down his mask. “Talk to me,” he begged.
“You’re perfect. Even the scars.” He didn’t look convinced. “You’ve hated them for so long, you haven’t considered that others won’t hate them like you do. They mean something to me, and they should mean something to everyone. They’re a badge of your bravery and your heart.”
I pressed my hand into his abdomen and took a step closer. He didn’t respond to my words, but his mask softened. I saw the uncertainty beneath his strength. My stomach dropped at the negative thoughts he had regarding his own body—a body in which he used to have the utmost confidence. “People are usually scared away by them,” he admitted, forcing a feigned laugh.
“No, I don’t think they are. Taylor may have left because of them, but she’s a piece of work. Good people—the people you need to have in your life—will never turn away because of the burns. It’s why you should do the auction that Sylvia was talking about,” I proposed. I knew he wouldn’t believe me the moment I mentioned the auction, but I hoped it would later sink into his thick skull that I had a point. “Be confident in what you were given, because your beauty is in your confidence. If you’re confident in your burns, they are beautiful, too.”
He pulled me into his arms and kissed my forehead. I looked back up at him and raised my brows, waiting for him to acknowledge my idea. “I’m not doing it. I can’t do it,” he told me. “But you sound like a fortune cook
ie.”
I chuckled and decided not to push the topic yet. “I have stretch marks from Derrick that will never go away. Thinking like that got me through the tough times when I hated my post-partum body.”
He bent and burrowed his face in my neck, leaving sweet kisses. Each one warmed my core more than the last. “Nothing will make you less beautiful,” he told me. I pulled back and looked at him with raised brows.
“Do I even need to say it?” I asked. Would he understand that his words fit the way I felt about him, too? He bent and wrapped his arms around my thighs, lifting me to sit on the counter.
“Do you want dinner, or are you going to keep coming onto me for the rest of the night?” he asked, standing between my spread legs. I wrapped both arms around his neck and pulled his ear to my mouth.
“I don’t have anything against you having me for dinner,” I whispered, nipping on his ear.
If I thought he was tense before the words left my mouth, I was wrong. Every one of his muscles stiffened as he pulled me to the very corner of the countertop. “This is what you want?” he clarified. I tightened my legs around his waist and nodded.
He was already partially stripped, so he removed my dress, leaving only my panties and bra on my body. As he pulled away my dress, he left trails of small kisses on my skin. When he found the stretch marks I had mentioned, he spent extra time kissing each inch of exposed skin until it all had ample attention.
I arched my back as his mouth lowered, tracing the outline of where my dress had rested—from my lower stomach, down my outer thighs, and then back up my inner thigh. I gasped as his breath cooled my heated core. His black hair fell across his forehead, hovering above one eye as he peered through his lashes up at me. We kept eye contact as he slid a finger through the crease of my panties and caressed my most sensitive area.
I arched my back and pushed myself toward him. He grabbed the seam of my underwear and pulled them the rest of the way to the ground, stacking them atop the rest of my clothes.
I never came close to sleeping with him before, and it was worth the wait as he swirled his finger before plunging it into me. I moved against the finger, pressing into it and allowing his thumb to further add pleasure to the moment. I saw a hint of him peeking through his pants and I craved the rest of him.
He stood, not removing his finger from me, and unfastened his pants and belt. They fell from his waist and left his full length concealed only by a pair of boxers. Whatever I was doing was working because he was ready for me beneath the boxers. His burns caught my attention for a brief second before pleasure distracted me once again. They were as encompassing as the ones on his side, but barely peaked past his boxers.
I wrapped my legs around his back and brought him closer. His single finger turned into two as he worked me through. I rested my elbows on the island and tilted my head back, closing my eyes and relishing in the feeling of him. At once, he removed his finger and reached for my bra, unclasping it as effortlessly as I did. My breasts fell free from their cups and hung heavy on my chest. “Right here, right now,” I told him, leaning forward and lowering his boxers.
When his fullness exposed itself, I nearly gasped as I leaned myself forward. Ethan didn’t hesitate as he grabbed my hips and aligned our bodies. He trembled as he entered me, and I gasped at the spreading sensation. He completed me, and I could only breathe through the initial discomfort of him entering me. Once he was there, and I adjusted myself, he began thrusting, creating a sweet friction that drove me wild. The cool granite beneath me provided a cooler sensation as his warmth spread through my core and surrounded me. His hands clutched my hips as his thrusts grew wilder and more desperate.
My breathing intensified as we each found our pleasure, encompassed in one another. I clung to his shoulders and shouted. Together we melded into a pleasure that was so intense and so collaborative that I saw stars in the corners of my vision. The way he held me—the way he worshiped every part of my body—was unlike anything I had ever experienced.
I knew that we would make something of this relationship. If we were this strong together, nothing could break us.
Chapter Eleven
I expected a level of discomfort or awkwardness after Ethan opened up completely the night before, but when I arrived at his house in a scrubby T-shirt and stained shorts, he greeted me as if our night hadn’t happened. At one point, he lifted the base of his shirt to wipe his face of sweat. I had full view of his scars, and he didn’t look like he gave it a second thought. His gentle touches and sweet gesture nearly sent me over the edge a dozen time throughout the day. By the end of it, I texted Sylvia and insisted that we did something fun. I hadn’t spoken to her since the night at the fire station and we needed to clear the air.
She picked me up at his house at four-thirty, and I dropped my drill the second I saw her. “Are you sure you’re improving the house?” she asked, looking around at the disaster area his kitchen had become. Each room held its own disaster, but the kitchen was a new breed of destroyed. The walls were primed and prepared to be painted, tarp lined the floor at the base of each wall, the center island was covered in various tools, and all the drawers and cabinets were unhinged and resting in a pile on the floor.
“Slowly but surely,” I promised. “It’s never as good in the end if you see it in the middle of being renovated.”
“Is he okay with the disaster?” she asked.
Ethan had stepped out to get groceries, so I answered for him. “He’s perfectly okay with it… As long as it’s done next week,” I added.
My attention caught on the only empty space on the counter—the area that had become sacred to me. Sylvia leaned on it and I refrained from cringing. The memory of our night together was at the forefront of my memory.
“Are you ready?” she asked. I nodded and unplugged my tools, leaving them on the counter to continue tomorrow. I used to put them away, but he assured me that if I’d be renovating empty homes, it was only fair I treated his as if nobody lived there. I disagreed, but I knew he wouldn’t be home that night with a long shift at the fire station, so my tools wouldn’t be in his way.
We left the house after locking the door and drove downtown. “How does Mexican food sound?” She pulled into a parking space a few buildings away and parked. I reached for my door handle. “Before we get out, I need to apologize.”
“For what?” I asked, shocked that she thought she had a reason to apologize.
“For walking away after learning it was your husband who died,” she said, looking down at my ring finger. I twirled the ring subconsciously. “I knew you were married, and I knew the ring was from the marriage. You told me that you lost your husband, but I didn’t imagine it was… like that.”
I shook my head. Bruce always crossed my mind during the day, but the memory was more uplifting than usual. “I had a short life with him, but it was amazing. I couldn’t have asked for anything better, and you don’t need to apologize for being shocked about not knowing. I didn’t want you to know,” I told her.
A weight lifted from my shoulder as I realized that the air between us was finally clear.
“You can talk about him if you ever want to. I’d love to listen.”
I reached over and grabbed her hand. I squeezed it in gratitude as I realized what she was offering me. “I will keep that in mind. For now, though, I think you’ll love to hear what I have to say about Ethan.”
She squealed and jumped out of the car. I followed and waited by the sidewalk for her to come around. “I love hearing about your adorable love story with the second most eligible Jones brother around.”
I laughed and twisted my arm into hers. “Second most eligible, huh?” I asked. “I’d argue he has the first place after last night.”
Her heels dug into the ground and she turned to face me fully. “You two had sex?” she shouted. I widened my eyes and covered her mouth.
“Maybe a little more discretion,” I advised.
“Did you?” Her
voice came out muffled from my hand.
Not many people were out and walking the sidewalks, but those who were could easily pass us by as we stood beside her car. I nodded with a wicked smile. “And, he took off his clothes for me.”
Her excitement grew. “He even took off his shirt?” she asked.
“Even his shirt.” I felt a light blush color my cheeks as I considered the body beneath that shirt. I couldn’t understand how he was so ashamed of a body that looked like that. He was an immaculate representation of a man, and I was thrilled for him to realize that once again.
Sylvia’s attention caught on something behind me, and her smile faded into a look of anger. I turned and saw what caught her eye. I was thoroughly convinced that there was no such thing as good karma when Taylor met my eye and smiled. She turned her attention from the path ahead of her and veered in our direction.
“Hey, you were the girl with Ethan the other day, right?” she asked. Her smile was plastered on thick, and I was taken aback by how genuine she appeared.
“I was,” I told her. My words left my lips slowly as I weighed the situation between us.
She shifted her attention to Sylvia and her smile dropped, revealing the conniving woman beneath the mask. “And you’re with her?” she asked me, as if Sylvia was the spawn of Satan.
I scowled. “That’s right. Is that a problem?”
She looked back at me with a less stellar portrayal of kindness. “It’s just, this girl completely ruined my haircut because I broke up with her brother in law,” Taylor said. “Kind of unprofessional, don’t you think?”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Sylvia stepped forward. “First of all, I wouldn’t even let my scissors near your dry, bleach blonde hair. Second, keep spreading rumors about my business and you’ll see what I can do to hair.”
Taylor didn’t look the least bit concerned as she rolled her eyes and looked at me. “I just wanted to talk to you. What was it, Lena?”
Hearts Ablaze (Courageous Hearts Series Book 2) Page 6
