Page 3 of Ethan (Pecan Pines #7)

Dean

Later that evening, I lay in the unfamiliar bed assigned to me, staring up at the wooden ceiling beams. The room smelled like clean linen, old pine, and a faint trace of herbs.

Probably something the last person burned to relax. I didn’t bother turning on the lamp. The dusk filtering in through the curtains was enough.

My whole body ached. Every muscle felt bruised and strained, from my ribs to my jaw to the knuckles that had taken the worst of Griffin’s face.

It was a familiar sensation. Being banged up and sore, muscles thrumming with the dull echo of a fight. I’d been in this exact state at least a hundred times back in Thornebane.

But this time was… different.

Not because of the fight. Not because it happened on new territory. Not even because I might’ve just screwed up my one shot at a fresh start.

No. What lingered wasn’t pain. It was Ethan. I couldn’t stop picturing the look on his face when he crouched beside me earlier, equal parts irritation and concern.

Like he was annoyed I’d gotten hurt, but still didn’t hesitate to help. Like he cared, even if he didn’t want to. I’d never had that before. Thornebane didn’t have a healer.

Not because we didn’t need one. Heck, we probably needed one more than most packs, but because healers didn’t go near our territory.

We were the kind of wolves people crossed the road to avoid. No one came to help us. No one stayed to fix what we broke. And I’d sure as hell never been touched like that before. Gently. Steadily. With care.

I could still feel the afterglow of Ethan’s magic, warm and quiet, like it had soaked into my bones and decided to stay awhile. It hadn’t felt like power or dominance.

It hadn’t demanded anything of me. It just… was. Steady and soothing and strong. A kind of strength I wasn’t used to recognizing.

He’d spoken in clipped tones. Efficient. Professional. A little annoyed. But his touch had betrayed him. His hands had been careful, intentional.

Like I mattered enough not to be handled roughly, even if I didn’t deserve it. I let out a breath and scrubbed my hand over my face, wincing as my bruised cheek protested.

What the hell was I even doing? Thinking about Ethan like this, like I wanted something from him. Not just healing. Not just help. Him.

It was ridiculous. I didn’t even know the guy. He probably hated me already after the disaster I made of my arrival.

I’d started a fight in the middle of his pack house, bled all over the floor, and then stared at him like a lunatic when he was just trying to patch me up. Still… I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

The quiet way he moved. The calm in his voice even when he was irritated. The way he looked at me like I was real.

I rolled onto my side, ignoring the protest of my ribs, and stared at the blank wall. Were all healers like that? Was it just part of the magic, the training? Or was it just… Ethan?

Maybe it was because I was attracted to him. Maybe it was just the novelty of being treated with a little decency for once in my life.

But I didn’t think it was that simple.

There was something about him that felt anchored. Like no matter how chaotic things got around him, he stayed grounded. Calm. Unshaken.

I’d never been that kind of person. I tore through life like a storm. But being near Ethan made me want to try to be better. That was probably the scariest part of all.

I snorted softly into the quiet room, half amused, half annoyed with myself.

Not like Ethan felt the same way. I was just another name on his list of bruised-up idiots to patch together. Another walking headache. Still…

Maybe I could do something. Something small. Something to prove I wasn’t just the troublemaker Carter made me out to be.

Something to make Ethan look at me with a little less irritation next time. Maybe, if I tried hard enough, he might start liking me, even just a little.

Maybe he’d start seeing the version of me I hadn’t figured out how to be yet. I turned back onto my back with a groan, one arm resting over my eyes.

My body hurt, but it was the ache in my chest that kept me awake longer than I wanted. Eventually, sleep crept in, slow and heavy.

And as I drifted off, all I could think about was Ethan. His hands, his scent, those striking eyes. And how badly I wanted a second chance to make a better impression.

The next morning, I woke up earlier than I expected. I was aching, sore, and unable to stop thinking about Ethan. It wasn’t the bruises keeping me up. I’d slept through worse. It was him.

I rubbed my face, sat up slowly, and winced at the pull in my ribs. Every muscle in my body protested, but I forced myself to my feet anyway.

Maybe moving around would get my head on straight.

Or maybe I just needed caffeine before I overthought myself into another spiral. I threw on a clean shirt. One without dried blood or rips, and made my way to the pack’s dining hall.

The place was already buzzing with low chatter, the scent of food, and shifters moving through their routines.

I ignored the muttered “Hey!” from someone I cut off in line and made a beeline for the coffee machine like my life depended on it. Which, honestly, it kind of did.

But once I got there, I froze.

The thing looked more like a spaceship than a machine. Sleek buttons. A digital screen. Multiple nozzles. I stared at it like it had personally insulted me.

And then, like an idiot, I thought: Ethan probably drinks coffee. Of course he did. He worked with the injured and the emotionally unstable, like me. If anyone needed caffeine, it was him.

I scanned the options and pressed something that looked like it might resemble a mocha latte. He struck me as the mocha latte type. A little sweet, a little smooth.

Then I hesitated, glanced around, and dumped in… maybe too much sugar. I panicked, okay? I didn’t know how sweet he liked things, but he looked like someone who liked a little indulgence.

Or maybe I was just projecting.

Either way, the cup was full, steaming, and I was definitely running late.

Griffin was expecting me out in the yard for some basic combat training. The kind of “we don’t trust you yet but let’s see how you move” test.

I should’ve been rushing over there, but my brain kept flashing to the way Ethan had sprinted toward Griffin yesterday.

How his voice had sounded tight with concern. I gritted my teeth as I walked. Was there something going on between them?

It shouldn’t have bothered me. But it did. Griffin had that calm, unshakable enforcer thing going for him. Ethan might like that. I mean, why wouldn’t he?

Still, it wasn’t like I could do anything about it. Not until I had some facts.

So instead of heading straight to the yard, I made a detour to the clinic. The halls were quieter here. Sterile but not cold.

I figured Ethan might be there, restocking supplies or doing whatever it was a healer did between emergencies.

What I didn’t expect was a scrawny kid. He was maybe eight or nine and sitting behind the front desk with a half-unwrapped crayon in one hand and a sheet of paper covered in messy scribbles.

He looked up as I walked in.

“Hey, kid,” I said, nodding at him. “Ethan around?”

He blinked at me. Then immediately went back to coloring.

“Hey. I’m talking to you,” I said.

The kid froze. Slowly looked up. “My mom says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. Especially bad men who look like they get in trouble a lot.”

I blinked. Wait. What did this squirt just call me? “Trouble? Me?”

He raised his eyebrows in a very adult way that kind of made me want to sit down and reevaluate my life.

Before I could argue with a third grader, my nose twitched and I caught that wonderful scent. Pine. Stone. Sweetness. And something warm and earthy underneath. Ethan.

He appeared from the side hallway, shirt wrinkled and hair pushed back like he’d already had a long morning. His green eyes locked onto mine, unimpressed.

“So early in the morning and you’re already scaring the pups,” he said dryly, folding his arms. “Micah, your mom’s looking for you.”

Micah, because of course the kid had a name and I’d missed it, hopped off the chair and scampered past me without a second glance.

I scratched the back of my neck, trying to look casual.

“I, uh, brought you something.” I held out the cup like it might explode. “This is for you. I wanted to thank you. You know. For yesterday.”

Ethan raised one eyebrow but took the coffee. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

My palms were sweating. I shoved them in my pockets before I did something humiliating like wipe them on my jeans. Get it together, I told myself.

“I figured,” I added quickly, “you’d need it. After patching me up. And clearly having an early morning. So caffeine.”

He stared at the cup like it might bite him. Then he took a cautious sip. And immediately started coughing.

I moved toward him instinctively. “You okay?”

He held out a hand, stopping me. “How much sugar did you put in this?”

“I… uh…” I scratched my neck again. “Thought a sweet thing like you would want something sweet and?—”

Oh no.

I heard it. I heard myself say it. His eyes widened slightly, and I wanted to disappear into the floor.

“I’ll do better next time,” I finished lamely.

Ethan cleared his throat and set the cup down with exaggerated care.

A beat passed. I forced my shoulders to relax and took a step forward, trying again.

“So, uh. Like I was saying, since I’m new and all, I thought maybe, if you’re free you could show me around town? You know. If you wanted to,” I said.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at me. Not with annoyance, not exactly. More like suspicion mixed with interest.

Like he was trying to figure out if I was messing with him or if I was actually this much of a mess all the time.

“Well,” he said slowly, “you’ve already given me a sugar coma and traumatized a child before breakfast. Might as well see what other chaos you bring.”

My heart did a strange, hopeful little flip. “So that’s a yes?”

“I’ll think about it,” he said.