Page 18

Past: One Year Before the Accident—Nineteen Years Old

The journal exchange and text messages have stopped.

On top of losing what could’ve been a promising relationship, what pains me the most is losing what I had with Keeper and Delaney.

Over the last year, I’ve looked forward to our weekly journal entries, to figuring out the next literary riddle, and uncovering the hidden messages behind the book choices.

I’ve treasured the small mementos he leaves behind—the note cards with poetry, a rare stamp he found because he knew I had dreams of traveling to exotic locales, photos of hummingbirds in flight—a nod to the stain glass window in Ravenswood.

You remind me of them—hummingbirds.

Always in motion, a blur of energy,

Blinding me with your brilliance.

Sunlight dances on your wings,

Golden rays glinting against soft feathers.

Melodies unheard of, yet your lyrics speak to my soul.

With bated breath, I watch you ascend.

Taking flight—effortless, untouchable,

Soaring in the skies.

Leaving me grounded,

How I wish you were mine.

I trace his words with my fingers—feeling the paper dip where his pen stopped.

My feelings are complicated when it comes to him—the initial anger at him pulling away and yet understanding his reasoning.

Through his letters, I know he’s always felt out of place in his life and Liam accepts and understands him.

I have brothers and I’ve seen the unique bond.

I also respect how he wants to stay true to his word—a promise is sacred.

That’s a rare quality these days.

I’m also frustrated.

Liam loves us both—he might be angry when he finds out, but he’ll forgive us eventually.

Ultimately, I want a man who’ll give up everything for me.

I’m worth that. I won’t beg him to be with me.

But I miss him.

The longing cinches my chest as I reread the free verse poem.

He didn’t write the name of the author, but I know it’s him.

How can someone capable of writing such heartfelt, romantic poems believe he isn’t capable of loving someone?

How can he be so blind?

I put the note card away and head to the coffee shop next to Ravenswood Library for our fourth tutoring session.

The last two sessions alternated between his apartment—and Liam’s always there, dammit—or Central Park.

He didn’t bring up the neck kiss, and I didn’t push him.

But I’d catch the way he stared at me when he thought I wasn’t aware.

His eyes roved over my face, like he was taking inventory of every freckle on my skin.

Sometimes, I’d see him reaching out, like he wanted to touch my nose or my hair, like that day in the library when he kissed me.

While he didn’t cross any lines—whatever imaginary boundaries he thought he had because I was Liam’s sister—I felt the barriers fading away.

It’ll be a matter of time before he caved to the chemistry between us .

Smiling at the future where he and I would finally be together, I quicken my pace.

The biting wind ruffles my hair and I admire the multicolored leaves twirling in the air as fall bids us farewell in early November.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I fish it out, finding an incoming text notification.

Dayton

Hey. How are you doing?

I drove by UNYC the other day and thought of you.

Miss you. Can we chat?

Dayton

By the way, this may be an odd ask, but when you mailed back my stuff back then, did you come across the hard drive?

I forgot to grab some stuff off it.

My brows pinch at his messages, and I remember the drive he tossed me with the photos that I backed up to my own backup drive.

Shit, I think it’s still at my place.

While Dayton and I hadn’t parted on the best terms, we still shared a lot of good memories together.

The last I heard, he took over his family’s fledging business after he graduated from Columbia.

The quaint cafe with its redwood exterior and gold lettering on windows, beckons me from the distance as a few raindrops land on my nose.

I glance up, noticing the low-hanging clouds and the quickly darkening skies.

I hurry to the door, yank it open, and am met with a gust of warm air and the smell of freshly baked breads and cinnamon buns.

Scanning the small space, my feet come to an abrupt halt when I see him.

With a beautiful woman.

Svelte, shiny mahogany hair, leggy, with more curves than I could ever hope for.

She looks like she just stepped out of a Vogue centerfold.

He’s smiling at her, a dimple flashing on his cheek .

She giggles the way beautiful models do—womanly, sultry, and sexy all rolled into one and Ethan shakes his head in clear amusement.

An ugly, corrosive sensation moves through me and my jaw tightens.

I march forward and drop my bag into the empty chair next to him as they look at me.

“Ethan, I didn’t know you were early. You should’ve told me.” I give him my sweetest smile before leaning in to give him a quick peck.

His breath stalls and I bite back a grin before pulling back.

Then I make a show at eyeing the woman who seems like she wants to dig her perfectly manicured nails into my skin and draw blood.

“Hi, I’m Alexis Vaughn, and you are?”

Her eyes widen at the last name and a pinch of guilt slices through me.

I don’t like name dropping but dammit, I’m petty today.

Ethan slides away from me, that little motion a slap in the face.

“Alexis, this is Cleo Marchetti. She’s a…friend.”

“More than friends, I think?” She smiles adoringly at him and touches his arm.

She’s his ex. I’m sure of it.

The woman he talked about in his letters.

The wonderful, beautiful ex-girlfriend who loved him.

The woman who’d kissed him, touched him, slept with him before.

She doesn’t move her hand, her fingers absentmindedly tracing a vein on his forearm.

I want to slap it away, but I hold myself back.

I’m better than this.

“I ran into Cleo after I sat down.” Ethan shifts in his seat and pulls his arm away, clearly uncomfortable with the female version of the dick-measuring contest.

“No need to explain, Dels.” His eyes widen at my usage of his middle name.

“I love meeting your friends .”

“I was thinking how lucky I ran into Ethan here today. My agency is hosting a fundraising ball for the holidays to raise funds for literacy programs. The first person I thought of was him, of course, since he loves books so much. And if he attends as an Anderson, we can shine a lot of attention to the cause. ”

Ethan flushes and kneads the back of his neck.

“You still remembered.”

The green monster is pounding its grubby hands on my chest.

She knows he likes books too?

Does he write her love poems too?

“So, what do you think? It’s in three weeks. Come to the event?” With me?

The words are unsaid, but I hear them loud and clear.

She glances at me and I can see the gears working in her head.

Who am I to Ethan Anderson?

Damn good question.

“I’ll check my schedule and contact you.” Ethan stands, a signal to Cleo, which she smartly accepts.

“It’s nice seeing you again. You look great.” He gives her a hug.

Anger churns through me at his soft voice and how he lets her cling on to him for a few seconds longer than friendly.

But what hold do I have on him?

We’re nothing. Stupid Lexy, why would you think a kiss or a few poems and letters would mean as much to him as they did to you?

A flash of pain tunnels through my chest and I look away, barely mustering a smile when Cleo glides out of the cafe and Ethan sits back down.

“Let’s begin.” He takes out his notepad.

The anger boils over and I grab his glass of water and chug down a few gulps.

“Seriously? You aren’t going to address that?” I point toward the door.

“What that? There’s nothing to address. Cleo and I are friends, and even if we aren’t, it’s none of your business. Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

“You asshole!” Stubborn, beautiful, infuriating asshole.

I take a deep breath.

Blowing up won’t help anything.

I turn toward him, finding his face annoyingly calm.

“What are we doing, Ethan?”

“I’m helping you with your finance class as a favor to your brother.”

“You’re using Liam as an excuse now? ”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” He arches his brow, an arrogant glint in his eyes.

“Why else would I spend my rare downtime helping a college student?”

A college student.

My mouth drops open.

How dare he?

I’ve never thought of Ethan as one of those rich guys from my family’s circles—cocky, entitled, convinced they own the world simply by existing.

But right now, he’s certainly acting like one.

A fucking Anderson unfurling his wings and looking down on us mere mortals.

I never imagined my gentle keeper, my soulful Delaney, would have this side to him.

“You wouldn’t have agreed to tutor me unless you wanted to.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re my best friend’s sister, and that’s why I’m helping you.”

My phone buzzes in my bag.

I ignore it and instead lean closer to him.

“Really? That’s all there is to it?”

His nostrils flare as I shorten our distance.

He grows rigid but doesn’t back up or move away from me.

Damn stubborn man.

“So you won’t care if I see anyone?”

His eyes darken and a vein in his temple pulses.

“Kiss anyone?” I continue, my thigh pressed against his under the table.

His breath hitches.

Then I graze my lips against his ear.

“Fuck anyone?”

He growls, the deep rumbly sound making me smile.

I pull back, finding his face mottled with anger, his hands clenched on top of his lap.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

My phone buzzes and this time, I pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Lexy. It’s Dayton. I sent you a message earlier but thought I should call instead. You free this weekend? Want to grab a coffee?”

“Hey, Dayton!” Keeping my eyes on Ethan, I watch his countenance darkening.

“Don’t you dare,” he mouths.

I grin broadly. I win, Ethan Anderson.

“Sure, Dayton. What time were you thinking? I’ll bring the drive you left at my place. ”

Ethan hisses under his breath, and I bite back a smile.

Sitting back, I twirl a lock of hair, admiring the handiwork I’ve made of the cocky man from a few moments ago.

His tall frame is twitching with fury.

He grabs his water and chugs it down before slamming the glass back on the table, drawing attention to us.

He flags down a waiter for another glass.

And when he gets it, he downs that one too.

“You have it?” Dayton murmurs.

“Awesome. It’ll be great to see you…” Dayton chatters on about logistics.

If Ethan can be friends with Cleo, why can’t I be friends with Dayton?

“Sure, sounds like a plan. See you Saturday afternoon then.”

I hang up and turn my attention to my furious keeper next to me.

“And you were saying?”

He glares at me and I smile.

It takes two to tango and I’m a dancer, Ethan Anderson.

You don’t know what hit you.