The Club: Ethan

by Jenna Elliot

  “She’s got to make the five o’clock flight to Paris,” Emme volunteers.

  “Please thank Eugene for me, will you?” I ask, and my stupid throat is suddenly tight. “And thank you. I appreciate all the work you did on my Jeep. And for your help while I was working at the shop. Glad the boss didn’t go ballistic on you.”

  He surprises me by stepping forward and wrapping me in a big bear hug that almost lifts me off the ground. “You be safe, little lady.”

  And I know right then and there that if he and his brother did hear me screaming out numbers, they’ve decided to politely forget. I kiss his cheek. “You take care, too, Raymond.”

  Then, Emme and I are on our way. I wave as the pickup pulls away from us, and we follow out of the circle drive. No longer my home.

  Emotion is still a sticky lump in my throat, so I lean back in my seat and close my eyes.

  All I see is Ethan.

  “Stop thinking about him.” she says. She knows me so well.

  “You don’t understand.” I don’t understand.

  “What I don’t understand is why a clean break is best,” Emme says. “Why are you leaving if you’re so into this guy?”

  Ethan isn’t the kind of guy one gets emotionally invested in. Even if he does have a tortured, broken side that softens all his hard edges.

  He wants a pet who’ll say, “Yes, sir!” and lose herself to him and his exquisite orgasms. He doesn’t want an independent woman who’s tired of being pushed around.

  “He’s a going-away present, Emme. Not a potential boyfriend. You said so yourself.”

  She frowns. No arguments there. “Are you running away from Ethan because of something he did?”

  I sigh. “No, something I did.”

  “What could you possibly do that’s so bad you have to run to another continent?”

  The moment of truth. How can I possibly admit my fears to Emme? But as I stare through the window at the strip plazas rushing by, the bigger question is: How can I keep them to myself?

  “When I’m with Ethan, I lose myself, Emme. I’m not me.”

  She considers that for a second. “Because of the sex, you mean?”

  I only shake my head, unable to drag my gaze from the window.

  “Maybe you’re actually finding yourself, Amelia. Have you considered that? Maybe this is the real you. Not the you who’s only a shadow of what your parents want you to be. And what Dylan wanted.” She gives a dramatic twitch that I can’t miss in my periphery.

  “What’s that for?”

  She shifts her eyes off the road for a second, and our gazes meet. “Dylan. Have I mentioned lately how glad I am you didn’t marry him?”

  That makes me feel like smiling a little. “Thank you for putting up with him for so long. He never had a clue you couldn’t stand him.”

  “He wouldn’t have cared. He couldn’t stand me, either.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Her snort of disgust says everything. I didn’t realize they were both playing nice for my sake. Well, I knew Dylan was trying to distance me from her every chance he got, but I thought he just wanted me all to himself. Emme was probably praying for me to come to my senses before she had to spring for a taffeta gown that she’d never wear again.

  But I was basically clueless. Just going through the motions, trying to do what everyone expected of me. Which is probably why I didn’t know just how much Emme disliked Dylan. She’s a real friend who puts my best interests first.

  She’s the only kind of friend I want in my future, and that determination makes it easier to admit, “But what if I don’t like what I’m finding?”

  “Oh, sweetie. You are the best friend I have. The sister I chose, remember? I love you, and I have extremely good taste.”

  Okay, a real smile now. “Even if I can square the sex, it still doesn’t change the fact that Ethan isn’t interested.”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “He hasn’t been around the club at all.”

  “He hasn’t had time because I booked all those rush jobs while he was away.” I stop. I stare. My mouth is ahead of my brain. “How do you know he hasn’t been at the club?”

  Her expression transforms into what can only be called a shit-eating grin. “Because I’ve been there.”

  “To the club?”

  She nods, eyes sparkling. “I’m a new member.”

  I close my eyes and hold out my hand to stop her from saying anything else while I try to wrap my brain around what she’s said. “You joined the club? Seriously?”

  “How could I not? The place is a trip, and I was on the guest list, compliments of Ethan.” Her hand slides off the steering wheel and she pats my leg. “I was going to tell you before you left. This isn’t something I’d trust to an e-mail.”

  “No shit,” is all I can think to say. No one in their right mind would commit something like that to print.

  My darling Emme. I’ve always known she has an adventurous side—way more adventurous than mine—but she’s blowing my mind. “All that kinky stuff . . . You like it?”

  “Don’t judge,” she warns.

  I grimace. She knows better than that. “What about all the dark, twisted stuff?”

  “It’s no big deal, Amelia. There are safe words. I can say ‘no’ to anything I’m not into. Club rules.”

  Ethan taught me all about safe words. My problem is I never reached red. But Emme doesn’t seem to think that’s unusual. Maybe it’s just because she isn’t afraid. She has confidence in herself. She trusts herself to control herself.

  “You like it.” Not a question.

  “It’s exciting. I treat myself to a visit after prepping for classes. One helluva motivator to get my homework done.”

  Only Emme. No apologies. I’ve always admired that about her. “How are you affording it? It has to be expensive.”

  She rests back against the head rest with a groan. “You are not kidding. But there are different levels of membership. Kind of like the different levels of the club. Remember what Jack told us about Level Three?

  “Jack?”

  “The bartender.” She prompts. “The first night we visited.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Like how could I possibly forget the guy pouring drinks by my head while Ethan fingered me against the bar?

  “Well, it’s like that. There are different levels with limited access and blackout dates. I’ve got a basic membership. I just redirected the money I spend for my membership at the rock-climbing gym.”

  “You won’t be able to survive without bouldering, honey. Or look nearly so buff.”

  “My tuition pays for the health club on campus. Might as well use it.” She shrugs. “I’m having a good time. If I decide I can’t live without my climbing buddies, I’ll quit Command Performance and go back to the gym. Or, better yet, I’ll finish my degree and get a decent job so I can afford both.”

  I like this about her, too. I always have. She lives in the moment. She doesn’t waste energy stressing about the future, or about things she can’t control. I’ve always thought this ability is a direct result of being number Four of Seven. Only so much she can control in a family with so many people. She’s used to a life of loosely-organized chaos.

  “What airline again?” she asks.

  I’m realize we’re at the airport. “American.”

  She maneuvers lanes and says, “I don’t want to drop you off at the terminal, Amelia. There’s a Starbucks inside. You’ve got a little time. We can grab a quick cup and sob over our lattes.”

  That damned lump is back in my throat. “I don’t have time. We were pushing it even before Raymond showed up.” I smile. “And I don’t want to part with any money to pay for your parking.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  I sigh. My eyes are starting to prickle behind my eyelids. “If you’re there, I won’t get on the plane.”

  “If you’re still so conflicted, are you sure this is the right thing to do?”

  It’s
the only thing to do. “What’s the worst that can happen? I get there and hate it. I bought a round-trip ticket. I won’t be stuck. I’ll just come back.”

  She only nods, distracted by the sudden chaos of lanes at the terminal. There’s airport security directing traffic, and by the time we pull to a stop, there’s no time for a long goodbye. Exactly what I was counting on.

  We get out and grab my stuff. Then she bursts into tears and hugs me. That’s the end of me. Any restraint I have is gone. I cling to her, memorizing everything about her, telling myself she’ll only be a social media chat away.

  The security guard eyes us pointedly.

  “Go and have lots of fun adventures,” she says, forcing a smile through her tears. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Miss you, more. I’ll expect you to visit on spring break. If all goes according to plan, I should be fluent by then. We’ll drink café au lait, eat croissants, and walk down the Champs Élysées.”

  “I can’t wait,” she says. “Snapchat a lot. And we can Skype, too. Every few days. Promise?”

  “Promise. There are Internet cafes everywhere.” My heart is aching and yet, there’s promise in the way I feel, too. No matter what my future holds, no matter how long I’m away, this change needs to happen. It’ll be a change for the good.

  The security guard finally loses his patience and waves at Emme to move her car. She scowls and gives me one last hug. I barely hold it together as she drives away.

  A glance at the time forces me to get myself together. I check my bag and go through security in a daze. It takes forever, so I don’t even get a Starbucks before I head to the gate because my plane is already boarding.

  I’m glad. Less time to obsess on the chills running down my spine. And no latte means I shouldn’t have to pee until we’re forty-thousand feet over the Atlantic.

  No changing my mind then.

  I remind myself that I’m on a European adventure. I’m saying, au revoir to the old me and bonjour to the new me. And I’m going to discover the new me is flexible and unafraid to take chances and finds pleasure in lots of things.

  Not just sex.

  Clutching my boarding pass and passport, I sling my backpack over my shoulder and head toward the attendant.

  And do a double take.

  Standing between me and my plane is Ethan.

  26

  Ethan

  THERE SHE IS. Mia. More gorgeous than she was the last time I saw her—before the wedding and the following week spent working my ass off because she can’t follow simple instructions.

  She’s shocked to see me, but there’s so much more in her pretty face. Wariness, confusion, excitement? And what I see calms the beast inside.

  I’ve got a shot here.

  I flash my most devastating grin, the one she calls my wolf grin, and hold up two tickets. “Upgraded us to business class.”

  She pulls up in front of me and drops her backpack. “Ethan, oh my God.” Her gaze takes in everything at once, my tan, my suit, and the backpack slung over my shoulder.

  I take in the jumble of emotions playing out over her features as if she is on a movie screen. Surprise. Relief. Fear.

  Pleasure.

  That’s there, too, as if she’s been waiting forever to see me. We’re good. I just have to convince her to admit it, to take a chance on me.

  I’m not used to asking, but I can do this. I like challenges.

  “What are you doing here? How did you find me?” The questions start tumbling from that mouth of hers. The mouth I alternately want to kiss or shut up.

  “You upgraded our tickets? You’re on this flight? My flight? How did this happen?”

  “Dirty called, told me you were taking a trip.”

  She blinks. “I just left Raymond a little while ago.”

  I shrug. “I haven’t had time to unpack from my trip yet, thanks to my demanding schedule this week, so I threw in a few more things and drove straight here.”

  A blush starts a slow burn into her cheeks at the mention of my schedule. I hook my finger under her chin and tilt her face up toward me, resist the urge to drop a kiss onto her lips.

  “It’s okay, I forgive you, babe. Now we have things to talk about.”

  She works hard to make her expression blank, and she sounds so fucking professional when she says, “No, Ethan. We don’t.”

  Will she ever cooperate? Or will she always make things way harder than they have to be? For a moment, I consider that she might really not want to see me. I know she came on purpose, so I would end us. Her way of saying goodbye.

  Did she really mean it?

  She looks so serious, and I feel the first cracks in my confidence. What if she really means it?

  I don’t have an answer to that one. But I do have a long flight to change her mind.

  The flight attendant issues a final boarding call. She picks up her backpack and seems surprised when I follow her.

  “Are you really on this flight?” she asks.

  I hand the attendant our tickets and usher Mia into the walkway with a hand on her elbow. “I am trying to ride in like your fucking knight in shining armor, babe. They wouldn’t let me ride my bike to the gate.”

  That gets a little better response. The tiniest hint of a grin tugs at her mouth. If we were alone, I’d pull her onto my lap . . . If I could just get my hands on her I could get past all the defenses.

  She doesn’t resist when I lead her to our seats and order drinks. Scotch for the both of us. We’ll need it.

  She just settles in, doesn’t say a word. I’m not deterred. She wants me. No question. That’s a place to start. So, I plan my moment. I wait until after takeoff, when we are on our second drinks. I pop a heated nut into my mouth. She opens a flight magazine and flips the pages distractedly.

  Oh, yeah, she wants me, but there’s steel in her that I haven’t seen before. She’s determined to ignore me.

  “You want to know why I’m here, babe?”

  “I figure you like long flights.”

  Oh, God, that mouth. Even her sarcasm makes me hard. “I’ll talk. You listen.”

  She shuts the magazine and sets it aside.

  “I want you.”

  There’s a flicker deep in her eyes, but her tone is all business when she says, “I can’t be your pet, Ethan.”

  “Just hear me out,” I say. Now I’m the one struggling to sound matter-of-fact, talking about something I can’t think about, let alone put into words. But so much rides on Mia understanding . . .

  “I had a girl. Her name was Callie. We were in the army together. I painted camouflage on trucks, tanks, anything that rolled. She was a medic. Total bleeding heart. Cared about everyone and everything. Even me. When we were getting to the end of our hitch, we decided to check out and live a real life away from sand and bombs and crazy-ass motherfuckers who think blowing up people is the solution to their problems. We bought a house together. She never got to live there. She died.”

  Mia’s expression visibly melts. Suddenly, I see every goddamned emotion she has on her face. “I’m so sorry, Ethan.”

  Her whisper lingers in the air between us for a long time. I finally say, “Yeah, me, too.” Then I swig my scotch again.

  “Are your nightmares about her?” she asks.

  I nod. Take a deep breath. Push through the fucking ache in my chest. “I was coming back from mail call. She’d gone into the tent where my team painted to find me. We thought . . .” I suck in another deep breath. I can’t get the fucking words out. “We thought she might be pregnant. She came to tell me she was. Doc had confirmed it. Unexpected but, Jesus, we were thrilled. It was like luck was shining on all our plans. She wouldn’t be too far along when we headed stateside. She’d cut loose about a month before me. She was heading home to the good old US of A . . . to our house . . . to safety. We thought we had the whole world by the balls.”

  She reaches over and takes my hand in hers. “Oh, Ethan.”

  I hear the tears in her v
oice, and I can’t look up, can’t meet her gaze. I just stare at the way our hands clasp together as though made to fit. The silence is somehow worse than the telling. I need this over.

  “It was a suicide bomber. I watched him go inside the tent. I tried to get there, but I didn’t make it . . .”

  I just close my eyes. I still see the tent and everyone in it blowing sky high, still feel the blast of heat against my flesh, singing fabric and hair to my skin.

  Through the swell of memory, I feel Mia lift my hand, press her lips to my skin, so gently, tears moist on her mouth. That mouth I want to kiss as I fall asleep, awake to.

  “It returns when I sleep,” I say. “Every time I fucking close my eyes. Except when we slept together, Mia. You banished the nightmare. The screams. The guilt. The horror. With you, I feel alive again.”

  I finally look at her again, see what’s in her beautiful face.

  Such sorrow.

  She cares. I know it when I see her eyes. Whether she is ready to admit it or not. She cares.

  And it’s knowing how much that fuels me through the rest. Because, until she understands, she can’t be convinced to be a part of making my days worth living again.

  That’s what I want. To live again.

  “I’m finally healing, Mia.”

  “I don’t understand.” Her gaze never wavers, and she’s still holding my hand.

  “I’ve used sex to chase away the past. It’s healthier than booze or dope. After I went to the island, I realized I was trying to control my nightmares, control the sex and control you . . . All to take away the pain of the past.”

  “When you had no control?”

  “Exactly.”

  She’s the one who lowers her gaze. “That’s who you are, Ethan. That’s why I had to leave.”

  I reach for her chin, tip her face toward me again, will her to see that I mean every word I say. “That’s who I was. Not who I am now.”

  “I don’t under—”

  I press a finger to her lips. Words and feelings that I’ve bottled up inside pour out. “You’ve changed me, healed me. You’re different. Ever since we met. That’s why I brought you to the shop, to my place. I don’t bring pets home. Not home. I brought you because you are different. You make me crazy insane—in a good way.”