Page 31 of Tides of Change (Seacliff Cove #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Garrett

When we reached Ethan’s door hours later, exhaustion dragged at every part of me—body, mind, and soul. The weight of the chase, the near-miss, and the mounting tension settled like a lead ball in my chest. Ethan’s shoulders sagged as he unlocked his door, his silence heavy with unspoken thoughts.

The shrill ring of my phone shattered the quiet. I snatched it from my pocket and answered with a clipped, “Whitlock.”

“Deputy Sheriff Banks, South County sheriff’s office,” came the professional voice on the other end. “Finch abandoned his car in a residential neighborhood. No sign of him, no witnesses.”

My stomach sank. “Fudge,” I muttered under my breath and pinched the bridge of my nose. “He probably stole another car that hasn’t been reported yet.”

“That’d be my guess,” Banks agreed. “I’d advise you to keep an eye out. I’ll update you if we get anything.”

I thanked him for the courtesy call and stabbed End , the tension in my body coiling tighter. A long, heavy sigh escaped me as I tucked the phone away.

“What?” Ethan’s voice cut through the silence, edged with concern.

I relayed the information and watched as his expression shifted from worry to something darker—fear, maybe, or frustration.

Or both. “No telling what Finch will do now that he’s cornered.

He could disappear entirely, try to hide.

Or he might become bolder, even more dangerous.

” I clenched my fist around the phone, the need to protect Ethan burning in my chest. “Pack an overnight bag.”

Ethan’s brows pulled together, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Why?”

“Because you’re staying with me. Or I’m staying with you.”

His jaw tightened. “But I’ve got a security system?—”

“It’s not good enough.” I cut him off, my voice firm. “I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”

For a moment, it looked like he might argue, his mouth opening as if to protest. But then his shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. “Come on in while I pack.”

We stepped into his house, the quiet stillness almost eerie.

The soft chime of the security system reassured me, but it wasn’t enough to ease the knot of anxiety in my chest. While Ethan moved through the house, packing a duffel bag and grabbing his laptop, I kept my eyes on the windows, the door, the shadows shifting in the corners.

At my place, the comforting normalcy of hanging our jackets and toeing off our shoes anchored me briefly, though the tension lingered beneath the surface. My stomach growled and broke the silence with almost comical timing.

“Chili okay for dinner?” I tried to keep things light. Normal.

“What can I do to help?” Ethan followed me into the small kitchen.

“I’ve got it.” I pulled ingredients from the fridge.

The simple rhythm of preparing dinner was a balm to my frayed nerves.

We chatted as I worked, Ethan sharing his favorite New York haunts—Central Park, a hole-in-the-wall pizza place in Brooklyn, the Cloisters.

I countered with stories of fishing trips and whale-watching tours, but we danced around the elephant in the room.

We wouldn’t be going to those places together after he left.

After dinner, Ethan settled at the kitchen table with his laptop, diving back into his writing while I relaxed with the third Jake Slate novel.

The quiet domesticity of it all—the soft tapping of his keyboard, the turning of pages, the hum of the heater—wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I wanted more evenings like this.

I was immersed in a heart-pounding action scene when Ethan swore, long and colorful enough to make me glance up sharply.

“What’s wrong?” My voice came out tense, my senses instantly on alert.

He rubbed his temple, his laptop still open in front of him. “Another email. From EyeSeeYou.” His throat worked as he swallowed hard. “It reads, This isn’t over. You stole my voice, so I’ll take yours .”

“What the heck does that mean?” I muttered, even though I was already trying to piece it together. “You stole his voice…?”

Ethan didn’t look at me. His fingers hovered uselessly over the mouse. “He used to write,” he said finally. “Not professionally, but in that writers’ group I told you about. He shared a few stories. A lot of rambling ideas. Nothing polished.”

“So maybe he thinks you took something?” I asked. “A plotline, a character?”

“I didn’t.” He shook his head. “Maybe we were inspired by similar events and people, but I never plagiarized him.”

I studied him for a moment. “He thinks you did. And now he’s talking about taking your voice. That could mean a few things, Ethan—and none of them are good.”

Ethan swallowed. “Like silencing me?”

“Yeah. Either professionally or…” I trailed off, jaw tightening.

Physically.

I didn’t say it, but we both felt the weight of it. The threat wasn’t veiled anymore. It was staring us dead in the face, written in black text on a glowing screen.

“Well,” I said, my voice low and grim, “one thing’s clear. He’s not gone into hiding. He’s getting desperate.” My stomach churned with the realization. “You’re in more danger now than ever. Forward that email to Ballard.” I rattled off his email address.

After a few strokes, Ethan snapped his laptop shut and abruptly pushed back from the table. He began pacing the living room, his steps quick and agitated. “There’s got to be something we can do. We’ve got to be proactive.”

The urgency in his voice set off alarm bells in my head. “Whatever you’re thinking, forget about it.”

He stopped pacing and turned to face me, his hands on his hips. “I can’t just sit around and wait for him to make a move. I can’t do nothing.”

“What you’re going to do is keep yourself safe while the sheriff’s department does its job,” I ordered, leaving no room for argument.

“But—”

“No.”

His mouth pressed into a tight line, frustration clear in the way his jaw worked and his hands flexed at his sides.

I sighed, the tension easing slightly as I softened my tone. “I don’t want to fight you on this, Ethan. I just want you safe.”

He dropped onto the couch beside me, his arms crossed defensively over his chest. His rigid weight pressed against my side.

I placed my hand on his thigh and squeezed gently. “I’ll keep you safe,” I promised. “No matter what it takes.”

Ethan didn’t reply, but his hand covered mine in a silent acknowledgment of the trust he placed in me.

I stifled a yawn. “It’s been a long, hard day. Let’s go to bed.” I pushed myself to my feet, my joints protesting.

Ethan remained seated; his shoulders slumped as if the strain of the evening had finally drained every ounce of fight from him. His face looked pale and drawn in the soft light, the spark in his eyes dulled by exhaustion and lingering anxiety.

“Do you have an extra blanket and pillow?” he asked tentatively.

“Why?” I tilted my head, my brows drawing together.

“So I can make up the couch,” he said, a faint crease forming on his forehead, confusion in his expression.

I studied him for a moment, his question striking me as almost absurd. “You’re sleeping with me,” I said, the words firm but calm. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

His mouth fell open, his surprise flickering into something softer, more vulnerable. “Are you…? Are you sure you’re ready for that?” His tone was cautious, like he was treading on fragile ground, unsure of where we stood.

I stepped closer, my gaze steady on his, trying to reassure him. “I’m sure I’m ready to sleep,” I said with a faint smile, letting a bit of humor creep into my voice to ease the tension. “Anything else, well…” I allowed the sentence to hang for a beat before finishing with a wink. “We’ll see.”

Ethan blinked, and his lips twitched into a hint of a smile.

“C’mon.” I led Ethan to my bedroom. He followed, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“You can use the bathroom first,” I offered and nodded toward the cramped ensuite.

Ethan rummaged in his bag and pulled out a neatly folded pair of flannel pants and a T-shirt, then disappeared into the bathroom. The door clicked shut, and a moment later, the sound of running water filled the quiet bedroom.

I exhaled, ran a hand through my hair, and pulled open my dresser drawer. I traded the boxer briefs I usually slept in for a pair of soft sleep pants. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I thought about Ethan’s reaction if I chose otherwise.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Ethan stepped out, mint toothpaste scenting the air.

He wore flannel pants similar to mine and a faded T-shirt that clung to his frame, worn from years of washes.

The sight of him, casual and unguarded, made my chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

I cleared my throat, slipped into the bathroom, and closed the door behind me.

Leaning on the counter, I caught my reflection in the mirror, and my gaze locked on the shadow of stubble along my jawline.

Determination set my features. Tonight, I’d ask for what I wanted—for more.

And if Ethan said no, I’d take it in stride. No pressure, no harm, no foul.

I finished my routine and returned to the bedroom.

Ethan stood at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips, studying the neatly turned-down covers. “Which side is yours?” He glanced at me with an almost shy smile.

I gestured to the left. “Closest to the door. Easier for Noah to find me when he has a bad dream.”

Ethan nodded, his face softening. “Makes sense,” he murmured. He circled the bed and slipped beneath the covers with a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul.

I turned off the light and slid into bed beside him, the cool sheets quickly warming as I settled on my side. I hesitated for a beat, my heart thundering, then shifted closer and spooned him. “This okay?” I asked hesitantly.

For a moment, he didn’t reply, and I wondered if I’d overstepped. But then he relaxed against me, his body melting into mine, and he murmured, “Mm-hmm.”

The soft sound of his approval sent a rush of relief through me. He snuggled closer, pressed his ass against my hard groin, and let out a soft moan.

I had my answer. He wanted more, too.

I kissed the nape of his neck, and he stretched to give me better access.

I slid my hand from his waist to the hem of his T-shirt and slipped it underneath.

Warm, firm abs tightened beneath my touch.

My hand roamed to a pebbled nipple, which I tweaked between my thumb and forefinger. He hissed in pleasure.

“Are we wearing too many clothes?” I whispered in his ear.

In answer, he sat up, whipped off his T-shirt, and tossed it…somewhere. His pants and boxer briefs followed, freeing his hard cock.

The sight in the dim light made my dick ache, and all I could think about was my mouth on his erection. I’d never done that before, but heat pooled in my belly. I wanted to try. For him.

And selfishly, for me.

I shucked my clothes in record time to the music of Ethan’s chuckle.

I pushed him flat on his back, my gaze on his dick. I licked my lips. “I’ve never sucked a guy before, but can I try it? I’ll do my best to make it good for you.”

He groaned and stroked himself. “Just watch your teeth, and you can’t do it wrong.”

I batted his hand away. “Mine.” I spread his legs, settled between his thighs, and lightly gripped his penis.

I tenderly licked around the head and blew on the damp skin.

He pulled in a sharp breath. Empowered, I sucked, licked, stroked, and gently pulled on his balls until he was making nonsensical noises and fucking my mouth.

I gagged, and he backed off, but I could tell the effort to keep still cost him.

He clenched his fists at his sides and panted.

“Oh God, Garrett,” he moaned. “You’re doing so good,” he praised. “Pull off. I’m gonna…” He tapped my shoulder.

I doubled down, wanting him to come in my mouth. Wanting the intimacy. The connection. A moment later, he spurted onto my tongue, the taste salty and slightly bitter.

I couldn’t stand the pressure in my balls anymore. I quickly pulled off his dick, rose to my knees, and jacked myself. I came in long ropes onto his stomach. “ Fudge. ” I collapsed onto my elbows, gasping. “That was…”

He ran his hands along my shoulders. “I know.”

I felt like I’d run a marathon, but I climbed off the bed.

I cleaned myself up in the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water.

I returned to the bedroom and took care of Ethan, finding satisfaction in the act.

I threw the cloth toward the hamper and climbed back into bed, spooning him once again.

The soft sound of his approval sent a rush through me. He cuddled closer, his shoulders pressing against my chest. I tightened my arm around him and held him there.

Despite the fear and uncertainty that still loomed over us, in this moment, we were together. And that was enough for the night.