Write Me Home

by Crystal Walton

  The light behind the loser kept his face in the shadows, but Ethan didn’t need a clear shot to see the arrogance rolling off him. His stance alone sneered at him.

  “Oh, c’mon. At least show a little appreciation for my coming all the way up here. We can argue later,” he slurred.

  You gotta be kidding. Was he drunk?

  Jesse lurched forward and reached for her hair. “I always liked it when you were feisty.”

  This time, Sanders had to hold Ethan back.

  Cass slapped Jesse’s hand away from her and backed up. “How’d you know where to find me?”

  “Gomez and Sanchez said you came home.”

  Ethan clenched his jaw. So much for the sumo wrestler punks keeping their mouths shut.

  Jesse leaned a hand on Sandy’s head to steady his balance. “You shouldn’t have left. Your mom might still be good for information, but she’s not looking too hot these days.”

  Cass’s eyes constricted. “You stay away from my mom.”

  “Relax, doll. You know I don’t go for damaged merchandise.” He shuffled toward her again. “Only the untainted kind.”

  She shoved him back. “Get off my property.”

  Sandy barked as Jesse tottered on unsteady feet. “You kidding? My pleasure. Ten minutes in Timbuktu is long enough.” He splayed his arm out. “C’mon, Cass, look at this place. What are you doing, hiding out here? It’s time to go home. You belong in Astoria.”

  She paused so long, Ethan’s pulse hammered again. Did she believe that?

  She lifted her chin and crossed her arms, assurance teeming in every movement. “Not anymore.”

  Jesse’s mouth twitched. He grabbed her wrist, and something about the image twisted in the pit of Ethan’s stomach with a strange sense of recognition. “You’re coming with me.”

  Ethan’d stayed back long enough. He advanced and broke Jesse’s hold on her. “Back off, bro.”

  “Easy, DeLuca,” Sanders yelled.

  “DeLuca?” Jesse stared at him, wide eyes latching on to his.

  A pang of unease clipped into Ethan’s gut. Did he know him?

  Jesse’s look of shock slowly morphed into a devilish smirk and unleashed a booze-scented breath into Ethan’s face. “Wait, this is the guy you’re with now?” He folded in half, laughing without any sound. “Oh, this is too good.”

  Patience lost, Ethan grabbed his shirt. “You’ve got thirty seconds to leave before . . .”

  At this angle, the light finally lit his face and exposed a tiny scar above Jesse’s mouth. A scar left from a busted lip, like one he’d seen before. The sinking feeling in his stomach deepened.

  No. The scene from the night Izzy died collided with the one right in front of him. The guy who’d stumbled into him, running away from the fire . . . Those dark eyes . . . The cut on his lip.

  His shirt slipped from Ethan’s hands. “You.” He backed up. It couldn’t be.

  Jesse’s smirk drifted toward Cass and back to Ethan. “How does it feel, knowing you’re in love with the girl responsible for your sister’s death?”

  Cass’s arms came undone. “What?”

  “You don’t remember hearing about this in the news? I followed that junk for weeks, making sure they didn’t trace anything to us.” Jesse moved closer to her the farther Ethan backed away.

  She trembled. “What are you talking about?”

  “Jeez, Cass. You knocked the cigarette from my mouth when you hit me. How do you think that fire started?”

  Ethan’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. All other sound died. The heat from the flames that night compressed around him from every angle. Sweat soaked into his collar. It couldn’t be true. Not Cassidy. Anyone but her.

  She blinked, tears already streaming. He couldn’t face her. He gripped Jesse by the shirt, dragged him to his Mazda, and hurled him against the car. He turned toward Sanders. “Call the cops.”

  Still laughing, Jesse dropped his keys and stumbled to the ground.

  Ethan glared at him. “Don’t even think about it.” He stalked around the bumper and texted Jesse’s license plate number to Harris. Drunk driving should be enough to lock him up for the night.

  The car door slammed. Ethan shot his head up in time to see the car swerving toward him. He jumped back before it clipped his legs. The Mazda squealed in a half circle and careened down the driveway.

  Jesse’s taillights illuminated the cloud of dust left behind until the engine’s throttle finally faded.

  An electric stillness settled around them. Ethan’s chest rose and fell, but he couldn’t get air to his lungs. Sandy looked between him and Cass and yelped.

  She reached for him. “Ethan . . . ?”

  He slinked away from her touch. “I can’t.” He handed Ti Cass’s keys, climbed into the Jeep, and cranked the engine.

  “DeLuca,” Sanders called after him while Sandy chased his truck, barking.

  Down the driveway, Ethan fought to see his way through the darkness and the hazy visions of the couple fighting on the street that night in the Bronx.

  Jesse’s haunting laugh pummeled him again and again, but nothing compared to the image of the redheaded girl who’d started the one fire that never went out.

  Cass ran after him to the top of the bend. Hand on her head, she begged his brake lights to cut through the shadows like last time. She hadn’t deserved it then, either, but he’d come back. Despite everything, he hadn’t left. Please.

  His Jeep reached the end of the driveway and disappeared around the corner without ever slowing. Sandy bounded up the slope toward her. Whimpering, he burrowed his nose under her hand and leaned his warm body against her thigh.

  She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Jesse had to be wrong. She’d run all the way to the subway after punching him that night. No turning back. She’d just wanted to get out of there, to get away from it all. How could one cigarette start a fire? No one else was even around. There had to be a mistake.

  Ti came up beside her. “Cass, I’m so sorry.”

  Sorry wasn’t enough. She swiped the keys from Ti. “I have to talk to him.” At the door to her Passat, she rifled through the keys for the right one but couldn’t steady the tremor in her hands. The key shook against the lock and fell to the gravel.

  Ti scooped them up. “You can’t drive right now. Not like this.”

  “Then drive me. I can’t just let him leave.” Cass raked her fingers through her hair.

  Ti rested a hand on her arm and turned Cass around. “He’s gonna need some time.”

  Time to hate her more? “No.” Cass pushed back. “I have to explain. I have to make it right.” Emotions spiraled. Panic, confusion, fear. They clawed through her muscles and raced for her eyes. She fought back the tears, fought to pull away, but Ti wouldn’t let her.

  She grabbed Cass’s hands. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  The moment Ti closed her arms around her, Cass broke. Remorse took over and buckled her knees. Tears pouring, she balled Ti’s jacket in her fingers to keep from falling. “I didn’t know . . .”

  Ti rubbed her back. “It’s not your fault.”

  Didn’t she hear what Jesse’d told them? The hurt on Ethan’s face . . . She pressed her lashes together to shut it out.

  Beside them, Sanders’s keys clinked together. “I’ll go check on him.”

  Ti kept her arms around Cass and nodded toward him. “You’re coming back, though, right? If Jesse tries anything . . .”

  Sanders stood tall and erect like a soldier. “He’s not gonna get anywhere near here again. Not on my watch or Ethan’s.” He looked down the driveway. “Knowing Ethan, he’s probably tailing him right now, but I’ll make sure.” He set a hand on Ti’s shoulder. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

  His engine started in the background, the rumble of tires soon following. While his car drifted out of view, Ti cupped Cass’s shoulder and led her inside and down the hall.

  It wouldn’t matter if Sanders were able to talk to Ethan. H
ow could he face her now without seeing anything but pain? He was just beginning to heal. All night, he’d been so brave, so forgiving. But this was too much. It ran too deep. She couldn’t expect him ever to look at her the same.

  In her room, she crumbled onto the mattress and cradled her legs to her stomach. As many times as she’d slept alone, her bed had never felt emptier.

  Jax jumped on the bed, pranced right up to her face, and rubbed his head under her chin. She nuzzled him back, smiling through another round of tears. “How do you always know when I need you?”

  He pawed over her side and curled up against the crook of her legs as he’d done with Ethan last night. She buried a pillow in her arms and held on to the memory, knowing she might have to let go of hope for anything more.

  chapter twenty-three

  Blank Pages

  The afternoon heat rolled down Ethan’s chest the same way it’d done the last eight days that he’d been working in Nonna’s backyard.

  He sat on his heels and dragged his collar over his face. At least sweat meant progress. If he pushed hard enough, he’d get these stairs mended before the sun went down today.

  He did a double take at his shirt. Shoulders sinking, he brushed off a splinter of wood. For a second, he’d thought it was a strand of Cass’s hair.

  A high-pitched buzz swarmed around his ear. He swatted the bug away. Stupid mosquitoes. Hadn’t they sucked enough life out of him already?

  Nonna came through the back door, carrying two glasses of ice water. Though her shuffle seemed a little slower than it had before her fall, she’d worked out most of the stiffness over the last week. He couldn’t fault her stubborn genes for some things. Without them, she might not have gotten out of bed at all.

  She handed him a glass and set hers on the deck railing. Her stare practically drilled a hole into the top of his head. He didn’t even have to look up. He’d sat under her weighted silence enough times to know the exact look she was brandishing above him.

  He moved the glass aside and shoved his hammer’s claw under a nail. “I already know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Whatever it is you’re not saying.” He pried the nail free and tossed it into a jar on the grass.

  She unfolded her arms from the rail. “Oh, I doubt that, sweetie, or you wouldn’t still be here.”

  Not again. Releasing a hard breath, he grabbed the corners of the wooden board and yanked it up. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to work. The wood chafed against his palms and crumbled where it’d rotted.

  He chucked it onto the pile with the others to clean up later. If life were as easy to deal with, then maybe they’d have something to talk about.

  Ice-cold water splashed over his head, followed by ice cubes hitting the steps. He lurched to his feet, jumped backward, and shook out his wet hair. An impish grin beamed at him through the streaks running down his eyes.

  “That ought to cool you off a bit.” She set her empty glass down. “Now, maybe you can screw your head on straight.”

  He wrung out the bottom of his soaked T-shirt and waited for his gut response to drain with the water.

  She eased down the stairs to the last one before the drop-off. “You’ve been slaving around here all week. Mowing, trimming, fixing everything in sight. Except what really matters.”

  He snagged a new two-by-four propped against the deck and dropped to his knees in front of the steps again. “I have to finish.”

  “You’re darn right you do. You’re not a quitter, Ethan James. Don’t you run away just ‘cause things get hard.”

  Blood pressure rising, he clamped his hand around the hammer. “You don’t understand.”

  “Hogwash.” She leaned far enough to grab his collar and lugged him to his feet. “Just ‘cause we weren’t there when Isabella died doesn’t mean you’re the only one who feels her loss.” She cupped his cheeks. “If you hold on to your grief, you’ll never leave that car.”

  He pulled back.

  Her arms drifted to her sides. “Did you hear anything I told you the night I fell?”

  He drew a nail from the pouch on his tool belt, grabbed his hammer, and knelt to the wood. He didn’t want to replay that night over again. Not after reliving it all week.

  Without saying anything, she hung her head and plodded up the stairs. At the back door, she turned one last time. “You’re quick to judge your mama for letting pride blind her. Yet here you are, being ruled by your own. So much so, you’re behind bars, too, and don’t even know it.”

  He swung the hammer and drove the nail’s head all the way to the wood. Water dripped off his hair onto the grains, but he didn’t look up until the door shut behind her.

  Something pricked his skin. He slapped the back of his neck and flicked away the dead mosquito. He didn’t have anything left to give. Didn’t they get that? Didn’t she get it? What did she want him to do? Pretend he and Cass both weren’t responsible for Izzy’s death?

  The door creaked open again. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Never thought I’d hear those words come out of a guy’s mouth.”

  Ethan glanced up toward Ti, standing on the deck with some type of book in her hands. Great. Just what he needed. A tag team. He positioned a nail over the next mark. “You need something?”

  “Not as badly as you do.”

  Yeah, like a little peace and quiet. If she only knew. He hammered the nail into place and reached for the next one.

  “You know, if you came home, you’d actually get to use a razor. Or are you purposely going for the Chewbacca look?” She sauntered down the stairs in the most normal looking outfit he’d ever seen her in, sat in his way, and cradled the book in her lap.

  He sighed. Apparently, peace and quiet were out of the question.

  She waved a hand over his workstation. “So, how’s this working out for you?”

  He trudged to the garbage pile and loaded the torn-up beams into his arms. “Just fine when I don’t have any distractions.”

  She flitted over. “Well, that’s kind of ironic, coming from the guy who’s been hiding behind distractions all week.”

  He dumped the heap into the trashcan and glowered at her. Like she, of all people, could talk. He winced at the inward jab. What was his problem? He faced the sky and exhaled. “I’m sorry, Ti. I’m really not the best company right now.”

  “What do you think I’m doing here, Sherlock?” She tapped his arm with her book. “Come here. I want to show you something.”

  She pulled him by the shirt back to the stairs and sat him down. Beside him, she leaned a shoulder into his. “When we were here the night Nonna fell, I noticed a picture on the mantle of you as a kid.” She placed the book in his lap. “The same boy who’s in a picture Cass’s grandpa has in his office.”

  A photo of a group of campers looked up at him from what must’ve been a scrapbook she’d put together.

  She pointed to his five-year-old reflection. “You didn’t just meet Cass this month.” Her finger moved to a redheaded girl with curly pigtails directly beside him. “You’ve always been connected, Ethan. Even when you didn’t know it.”

  While everyone else’s attention was on the camera, his was on Cass, as if he’d been drawn to her even then. How did he not remember this? They’d been connected this whole time. Through the camp, their grandparents, even the fire.

  “You can’t change the past. Only the future.” That was what they’d both thought. But what if he couldn’t separate one from the other?

  Ti opened the book to page after page filled with photos and inscriptions of moments she’d captured this summer. Memories that were a part of him—a part he didn’t want to lose.

  She towed herself up by the rail. “Love’s enough to heal wounds, Ethan. But only if you let it.”

  He caught her hand before she turned. “How is she?”

  “As work-driven as you are.” She laughed. “The poor girl hasn’t stopped moving since you left.”

  Tha
t sounded about right. She likely had her hair swept up in that silly bandana with dirt marks smudged over her freckles, turned into a workhorse like she always did when she was brooding.

  The thought tightened his stomach. She was probably going crazy with questions. Or worse, guilt. And he was the source.

  He’d walked out without giving her the chance to argue. No chance to explain. And instead of pushing, she’d given him time and space. Way more than he deserved.

  He let go of Ti’s hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. She and Nonna were right. He’d been hiding. From Cass, from regrets. But more than anything, from himself.

  Ti climbed up the steps. “You at least gotta come by to get Sandy. I’m not taking him with me.”

  “With you?” He sprang to his feet. “You’re leaving?”

  “You didn’t think I’d actually make it in the sticks, did you?” She tilted her head. “No offense.”

  Of course not.

  “You’re going back to London?”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “I never liked the modeling life.”

  “So, where to, then?”

  “The last place I ever thought I’d go.” She pointed to a tear in one of her fluorescent orange New Balances. “When the soles of your sneakers start to wear through, it’s probably a good sign you need to stop running.” Her laugh faded into a pensive expression. “I’ve run away my whole life. It’s time to go home.”

  “To Queens?”

  “Yeah.” Her smile held a sense of purpose. “I’m gonna open an art studio for kids in our old neighborhood. Make it sort of an outlet for them. Lord knows they need one.”

  Ethan held the scrapbook to his side and returned her smile. “It sounds perfect.”

  “I think so, too.” She backed up one more step. “I leave in two weeks, so don’t forget about Sandy.”

  Two weeks? If Sandy couldn’t stay at the camp, did that mean . . . ? His hands turned clammy. He didn’t want to ask, but the question trekked up his throat. “Did Cass find a buyer?”

  She shook her head. “Didn’t need to. Her mom finally found the courage to call her dad and fill him in on everything. He’s paying off both liens.”