by Susan Ward
Even though years younger than me, Khloe has more experience in everything than I do and I’m sure she’s right in this.
I cuddle closer to her and try to focus on the movie, but that’s not happening. And it’s my favorite part. The card game in the horse barn jail. That brings sharply to mind that Scarlett went to Rhett and that didn’t work out well for Miss O’Hara.
Khloe’s right.
I need to wait and see if Ethan makes a move.
Khloe’s head tips into mine. “I love this part. Harsh words out of his mouth, but everyone knows he loves her by how he looks at her, except Scarlett. And maybe Rhett. I’ve always wondered if, at this point in the movie, he knew he loved her.”
“I think he did. It didn’t matter how he acted. He loved her.”
Khloe’s eyes sharpen on my face in a heavy look that screams get it now, girlfriend? My breath catches and I’ve got that Khloe-being-devious-again feeling. I suspect watching this movie isn’t a random selection but part of her continuing series in everything I don’t know about guys.
She smirks, gloating. “They’re only awful to the ones they really want and love. You don’t have to run. You don’t have to chase him. You don’t have to do anything, Avery. Ethan’s already bagged and tagged. That’s what my sisters and I have been trying to get through that head of yours after the tear fest at The Cove when he ditched you. God, you were drowning in every kind of nonsense I’ve heard out of a girl. But all you needed to do was just figure out what you want to do and do it.”
My cheeks flame but my eyes hold her stare. “I want to go talk to him and end whatever this is we’ve been doing for the past two months. I want my best friend back. And I want more.”
She tugs the blanket off our bodies and tosses it in the chair beside her. “Then do it. Stop listening to me and my sisters. I can’t believe you let us order you around, doing crazy girl nonsense, the entire time you’ve been here. But it had to be done because a girl needs her head on straight to be with a guy in this family. And yours wasn’t. I think it might be now. Stop questioning yourself. Stop blaming yourself for what everyone can see is something going on exclusively with Ethan. You’re a strong, wonderful, independent woman. Be strong, wonderful, and independent. Go after what you want and fix shit. And remember whatever he says, however he acts, it’s just him being male, and being an idiot because he loves you. Even my mom figured that one out weeks ago, and she’s not exactly quick when it comes to men. Not even her own sons.”
She springs from her recliner, smiling as though she’s cured world hunger or something, and hurries out of the theater.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Ethan”
After an impromptu stop at the no-frills barbershop Dillon goes to, I tell him to take me home.
Dillon pulls up in the loop by the front door, leaving the engine idling. “We done for the day or are you going out later?”
I move a hand to rake back my hair, then shake my head when I don’t find it. “Yeah, done. Go home. Like hell am I going to go out looking like this.”
Dillon laughs. “Your family’s going to think you joined the military. Don’t worry, grunt. You can wear a hat until it grows out. Personally, I’ve always found women like short hair better than long. Even pretty though your hair was the girls always wanted me more than you.”
He grins as I give him the finger and climb from the car. I stand on the pavement watching him drive away. Once he’s out of sight I feel kind of lost and sad and unsure what to do next.
It’s afternoon and I’ve been notably absent during the daylight hours since the family started living bunker-style, but today I feel like a bastard for not having been around more for my parents. But then, a few things got uncomfortably clear for me with Dillon today and I’m not sure how the fuck that happened any more than I completely understand what the fuck chopping off my hair was about.
We stopped at the Rainbow, a rockers’ haunt, after the barbershop, and once the waitress set our drinks on the table my mouth took off spewing things. I talked, he listened without interrupting, and even more intense, I fucking listened to me. The things I was saying and crud Dillon had been telling me for weeks kept shooting into my head, and it locked into place what was wrong with me and why I couldn’t keep on this way.
I’m not sure why it felt good to haul my ass home early after that. It would have made more sense if it had felt lousy. But there’s no denying the closer we got to Pacific Palisades the better I felt, even though it was harder to ignore what was wrong with me and my life, and everything slowly fell into place.
I didn’t like who I’d become since that night at the Bowl, and if we’re being honest here, I’m not thrilled with who I was before that. There isn’t any doubt it’s time to make some changes or that the first thing I want to change is where things are with Avery.
The things she’s done that hurt me have been festering to the point where I don’t recognize me anymore, just as Dillon’s taunted me for weeks.
Ignoring it didn’t help any more than staying away from her did. And it’s time to get the fucking cement block off my chest. Avery is the weight I’ve carried around every waking moment, and the only way to get it off me is to know what happened between us.
With Tara, I didn’t question her getting with Eric. Maybe because I didn’t have a choice seeing as how she was pregnant and married to Eric by the time I knew about it. Maybe because he was my brother and no good would come from hearing shit that might make me hate him. Maybe because I was only twenty. Or maybe because Tara never mattered as much to me as time built her up inside my head.
And yes, I’ve always had a how did I lose Tara song in my head that is only second to the soundtrack of how could Eric do that to me? The last thing any guy should want is a new cover version of that playing on loop, though if I’m being honest here, that’s only part of the reason I’ve decided to get answers from Avery today.
The reason hit me hard between the eyes and I haven’t been able to shake it from my mind since.
Avery’s more to me than Tara ever was or could have been. She’s been my best friend for six years, nothing she’s done has made me stop loving her, and she matters too much to me not to dare hearing what she’s going to say.
I’m finally in a place where I’m ready and willing to listen to whatever she tells me. I’m not sure what happens after. I know what I want. I want things back to good with us, any way she wants it—friends, trying to make a go of us—just so long as she’s back in my life again.
I’m a work in progress. I get that about me. I’ve identified some pretty fucking major issues I need to deal with and that’s only half of jumping onto a new road to a new reality away from the one I’ve been living. What I need to finish what started with Dillon is Avery.
Scratch that. The only thing I need is her. It’s why I can’t make one decision about anything, because without her, nothing else interests me. The band. Anything I want to do with my life is a dark void when I try to think of doing it without Avery. I’m incapable of imagining a future without her in it. I want to know what she thinks, what she wants, to make decisions that are good for her and what I hope will be a future us.
With a truckload of nerves doing their thing inside me, I go into the house and head for the kitchen, the Manzone family information center. Someone’s always hanging there and everyone knows everyone’s shit in this house. It’s pretty much the one-stop shop to find Avery, though the private move would be to send her a text. But after weeks of silence between us, starting this that way doesn’t seem like a good thing. In fact, it seems like prick move.
At the marble island, busy chopping up veggies, I find my mom. That she’s cooking dinner herself isn’t an inducement to join family meal time, and hopefully I’ll soon have other plans and won’t have to eat it. “Hey, have you seen—”
Chrissie’s eyes flare wide and I’m thinking a rash of shit about my haircut is en route to me, but then she holds a f
inger across her mouth. “Shush, you’ll wake them. Then I’ll have your father bugging me while I’m trying to make dinner again. According to Alan, I do everything culinary incorrectly.”
I bite back a grin, and shift my gaze in the direction she’s staring to find my dad and my brother-in-law Jacob each sprawled on a couch, sleeping.
“Sorry,” I say, moving my mouth with barely any sound coming out. “Didn’t mean to be loud. Don’t want Dad nagging you.”
Chrissie smiles and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Wasn’t expecting to see you for dinner. Should I have Kaley set another plate?” she whispers.
I reach in and grab a cucumber slice. “Depends.”
Her brows shoot up, then she frowns. Yep, she’s finally noticed my hair. “Your hair’s gone…what I mean to say is that I like it. It’s different. But nice different…I can see your face.”
One of her quirky expressions soon follows and the translation is: she hates it.
I shrug. “Just wanted something different.”
“Well, you got what you paid for. It is different.” She crinkles her nose. “Are you trying to tell us something with that change? Things not go well with the band?”
“They want me to replace Eric. The label has a contract for me to sign. And after finishing the new album, the band’s going out on tour again. Not sure I want to go back on the road. I haven’t decided yet. Taking things slow, Mom.”
“That’s how you and I roll, Ethan. We don’t make a move until we know it’s right for us. And damn anyone who tries to push us. Nothing wrong with that.” With her hip, she leans into the counter to face me. “Can I help?”
“Dunno, Mom. Still figuring things out.”
She ruffles the patch of longer hair on top of my head. “Well, figure it out and then do it. That’s the best you can do in life. That’s pretty much all life is. Figuring things out and doing them. It doesn’t change. Not at any age. I’m fifty-five and I’m still figuring things out.”
Nice try, Mom. You’re sixty-two. Instead of saying it, I drop a kiss on her golden hair. “You’re pretty cool, Mom. I think I was lucky to have you.”
She flushes. “What’d I do to deserve that?”
“Nothing, Mom. I just love you.”
She pats my back. “I love you, too.” Her head rest on my shoulder for a bit, then she grabs her knife and starts chopping again.
“Is Avery home? Do you know where she is?”
Chrissie’s bright blue gaze sharpens on me in her so that’s what’s going on look and I tense. Oh please, I don’t want to talk about this first with my mother. She won’t say anything that makes sense or is remotely useful, and it’ll take half a day. Yep, I should have shot Avery a text instead.
She points with the butcher knife in her hand at the elevator. “She’s in the theater with Khloe.”
I refrain from groaning. Not the news update I want.
That she’s with Khloe is a double dose of oh, fuck me. I seriously gotta pull my sister aside and have a chat about a few things, starting with the nightly clubbing and wardrobe makeover, and ending with back off, you’re in my way.
There’s a momentary bout of worry that Avery always being glued to Khloe is her way of walling me out and whether I’m going to be able to get rid of the wall today. Nothing short of picking my sister up and dumping her outside a locked room will get Khloe to leave us alone if Avery’s asked her not to. Baby sis is fiercely loyal in that annoying chick-world way and weirdly proprietary of anyone she gets her mitts into.
Don’t get me wrong, I like that my sister and Avery are tight. What I don’t like is the thought of Khloe being a nuisance when I’ve got important things to take care of. But I shrug it off and head for the stairs.
I quietly pull back the door to the theater and peek in, hoping to spot a glimpse of red hair above the top line of the seats.
My heart jumps.
Down in front.
First row.
Everything I want to be by my side as I move off the road I’ve traveled too long to my next, hopefully better journey.
Just seeing those auburn tresses makes me goddamn happy when nothing’s made me happy for months. Even with the dark storm cloud of black curls right beside it—fuck, it’s Khloe.
Their backs are to me and I try to figure out the least flammable way to get rid of my sister as I head down the aisle and settle in the row behind them.
I glance at the screen—oh great, it’s Gone with the Wind, Khloe’s favorite chick flick that never ends—but I can wait. I reach into the mini fridge built into the rest between the seats and grab a beer, more as something to keep my eyes occupied instead of staring at Avery which I want to do.
I twist off the top, the bottle-squirt sound making me cringe as I hold the beer away so I don’t get sprayed on my clothes. Either she heard fizzing or sensed me, but Avery’s face spins toward me, and out of the corner of my eye I find her watching me.
My heartbeat skips because I’m not sure what to make of the look on her face or in her eyes. Surprise or dread? Glad I’m here or wishing me away?
I hope she wants me here because even sitting a chair away with space from me to her feels better than anything else has for weeks. And having her studying me sends a blast through my body of something I’ve craved, something nice…something I want.
I want her. I stop thinking and worrying, settle back against the cushioned recliner, fix my gaze on the screen, and try to figure out what to do.
First obstacle: Khloe. How do I get rid of her without creating a stink? I run my hand over my head, hitting only imaginary hair, and then I’m pissed at myself again because my brother would have just told Khloe to get lost, but shit like that doesn’t work for me.
She’d laugh rudely in my face.
She’d ignore me.
Then she’d make it horrible.
A few minutes pass, and yep, they’re whispering between them and my mood sinks. Khloe’s not going anywhere this century.
Fine. Fuck it. Long chick movie for Ethan it is. When it’s over, they’ve gotta go past me to leave the theater, and I’ll nab Avery then.
I’m lost in my thoughts when the sensation of movement in the air draws my attention in time to spot Khloe marching up the aisle toward the door. I try not to make eye contact with my sister as she brushes by, but my damn gaze strays and she glares at me.
I answer her with a what the fuck arch of the brow and she shoots daggers at me.
Fine, I deserve that.
But it sends my pulse hammering since Khloe being annoyed while leaving means Avery sent her out of here, and hearing my sister slam the door behind her shoots hope into my veins.
I’m almost sure that means Avery wants to talk to me, Khloe doesn’t want her to, and Avery sent her packing anyway. Yep, pissed-off Khloe not having her advice adhered to is a good sign for Ethan.
I’ve still got a shot at being the guy in Avery’s life.
Fuck, now what do I do?
I wait a few moments for the dust to settle, my heartbeat to regulate, and my thoughts to organize. I press the button in the armrest to pause the film, and I roll onto my feet to go to Avery.
Chapter Thirty
“Ethan”
When a guy looks at a girl he’s crazy for, it can go either way: Cary Grant suave or broken-tongued fool. I’m the latter. Oh, I always know what I want to say. It’s right there, clear as day in my head: great gems, the kind girls love. But it never takes a smooth trek to my mouth and usually ends with my foot there instead.
My nervousness isn’t helped that Avery’s eyes don’t lift when I stop beside her chair. Worse, the taut set of her shoulders and tight posture of her body—legs tucked under her and body curled into the armrest away from me—looks so unnatural for her that it brings home how shabby I’ve treated her.
I point at the recliner vacated by Khloe. “Do you mind if I sit there?”
She shrugs. “It’s your theater. I’m confident that means you c
an sit anywhere you want without asking me.”
Clipped, sharp-edged voice. Yes, she’s fed up with me, rightly so. “That doesn’t matter. Not if you don’t want me here. But I’m hoping you do.”
Her mouth puckers and I can see her swallow before those gorgeous brown eyes lift to mine, their expression unrevealing. “You can sit. If you want to.”
Three quietly spoken words.
You can sit.
And everything inside me soars like it’s Christmas morning. I ease down on the edge of the seat, my elbows resting on my knees. “Can we talk while I sit?”
Her features remain grudging and ungiving. “I wish we would. Maybe you can explain how one second we’re wonderful together and then you’re acting like you hate me. I thought we were getting closer, turning into something, but you’ve been behaving like we’re not even friends. Worse, like you don’t even know me. It’s been awful, Ethan. Humiliating in front of your family. I don’t like it. I want it to stop.”
It feels like a bomb’s gone off and everything I’d harnessed into control is now twirling inside me. Her assessment, straight to the point as always, just like Avery, is probably a fair place to start from her perspective, but not for me.
“I’m in love with you, Avery. How did you expect me to act after what went down? To find you living here with my family and having to live with you every day after you hurt me in the worst way any girl could. The entire day before the concert at the Bowl you strung me along, yanking the chain, then drop-kicked me away. It hurt, Avery.”
Her flashing gaze searches my face, and I immediately want to take back those words. That wasn’t how I intended to launch into this. I’ve thrown all my chips in the pot the first hand, and Christ, it didn’t soothe things with her. It’s upset her more.
Her brows turn into a deep furrow of disbelief. “I hurt you? That’s what this is? Why you’ve been behaving like an asshole to me. You think I’ve done something to hurt you?”
She’s nearly out of her chair before I recover from what I hear in her voice to snap back, “Well, haven’t you?”
