Chapter 9

For the first time in my life, I was giving Ethan the silent treatment.

Not that it was really a cold war — more like I was the only one fighting it. I refused to be pleasant, and he continued to be everything he always was. He cooked for me. He tried to make me laugh.

But the moment I thought about him being just as good to her, the anger came flooding back.

I refused to believe he didn't know exactly why I was furious.

And still he kept seeing her.

It only got worse.

...

Spring came. The city had been hit by one rainstorm after another, and the weather had turned unpredictable — cold, then warm, then cold again.

Ethan got sick.

A high fever that wouldn't break for a week.

I told myself I wasn't going to deal with it.

But then I stood in his doorway, watching him struggle to reach the glass of water on his nightstand, and my resolve caved completely.

The resentment that had been pressing against my chest deflated like a punctured balloon.

I walked in without warmth. Picked up the glass and handed it to him.

Ethan propped himself up slowly, gave me a small smile, and took a careful sip.

With him looking that pathetic, I couldn't even manage to scold him.

That night, I wrung out a cool cloth, kicked his door open with a deliberately loud bang, and walked in.

"Are you still feeling terrible?" I said, tone dry. "Put this on your forehead. I'll come swap it out every five minutes."

"You don't have to go through all that trouble."

"Stop arguing."

I dropped the cloth on his forehead and turned to leave.

But I didn't go far. I stood right outside his door.

Which is why I heard the sounds from inside the moment they started.

I pushed the door open again. "What are you doing? You're burning up. You can't just get out of bed — if you need something, call me. I'll get it."

"It's not that."

He looked at me, slightly uncomfortable. "She called. She wants me to pick her up from the airport."

Something ignited inside me, white-hot, searing straight through to the back of my eyes.

"Are you out of your mind? You know what your own body is like right now. She wants you to pick her up? Does she not have two pennies to rub together for a cab? I'll Venmo her. Right now. How much does she need?"

"Don't be like that, Zoe."

His voice was hoarse but steady, cutting clean through the room.

"It's late. She's on her own. Being nervous about taking a cab alone at this hour is understandable."

He patted my hand.

I shook him off hard.

He managed a tired half-smile.

Then he pushed himself upright, feverish and unsteady, and made his way downstairs.

Time seemed to stop.

Every sound, every breath of air — gone.

I stood exactly where I was, like I'd been nailed to the floor.

I couldn't feel myself breathing. Couldn't feel my heartbeat. I'd lost all sense of my own limbs.

The world kept shrinking. Shrinking. Down to the small patch of floor I was standing on.

I couldn't have told you what I was thinking, or whether I was thinking at all.

Every feeling that should have been there had been force-frozen into one vast, motionless blankness.

A long time passed.

Long enough for the clock on the wall to move ahead another notch.

Then sounds drifted up from downstairs.

Something in my blood began to move again, bringing a rush of dizziness and a sharp, prickling ache.

I looked toward the staircase.

And my pupils contracted.

Ethan's forehead was scraped. He was walking unsteadily, each step uncertain.

"What happened?"

I moved to him quickly.

His expression was strained with embarrassment.

"On the way back, I misjudged the curb and walked into a hedge... it's nothing."

"Where is she? She didn't go with you to the hospital?"

"She was exhausted. She took a cab home."

He met my eyes briefly. "I'm fine. I'm not made of glass. It's just a minor scrape — not worth a hospital trip."

My whole body was shaking. But I forced myself to hold it together.

I got the first-aid kit and sat down to clean his wound.

Then I pressed deliberately, firmly into it.

"You had a car accident, and then she was suddenly fine taking a cab? Even a stranger wouldn't leave someone stranded on the side of the road."

"I can understand why she did—"

Again. That sentence again.

I pressed harder, no longer sure whether I was cleaning the wound or punishing him for it.

"You really like her that much?"

"I..."

His thick lashes trembled. He was clearly in pain.

"I don't know."

"You either like someone or you don't. I don't know is not an answer."

I gripped his jaw and forced his head up.

"I think she seems... suitable. I'm at the age where I should be thinking about marriage."

Marriage.

That word, again.

I felt my last thread of rational thought burn away completely.

"Who gave you a marriage deadline? Do you honestly think getting married will make your life better than it is now?"

"I... don't know."

"Let me tell you something — it won't."

I threw down the cotton swab, jaw locked.

"Find someone else. Not her. I won't accept her."

"But..." He hesitated. "We've already been building this for a while. Starting over with someone new seems... exhausting."