The front door opens, and Ethan appears, his expression shifting from casual to concerned the moment he sees my face.
“What happened?” He's at my side in three steps. “Are you okay? Who do I need to kill?”
“No one needs killing.” I take his hand. “I just had a difficult conversation with my mother.”
“About what?”
“Brody. She gave him my phone number again.”
His jaw tightens dangerously. “She did what?”
“It's fine. I handled it.”
“It's not fine. That's harassment. He has no right to keep contacting you, and she has no right to help him.”
“I know. I told her that.” I squeeze his hand. “I hung up on her. I think that's the first time I've ever done that.”
“Good.” He pulls me into his arms.
I bury my face in his chest and breathe him in.
Danna excuses herself, leaving us alone on the porch. We sit on the swing together, with my head on his shoulder and his arm around my waist.
“I need to tell you something,” he says.
I sit up to look at him. “What is it?”
“There’s this problem,” he starts, not looking at me, but at the backyard. “My physical therapist…”
All the worry melts from my body. “Oh?” I chuckle. “What’s the problem?”
He lets out a heavy breath, and then his eyes meet mine. My smile fades at the seriousness in his eyes. “The problem is that I’m falling in love with her and I don’t really know how to tell her.”
My pulse quickens. I swallow hard. “You should tell her how you feel,” I whisper. “I’m sure she feels the same.”
His eyes search mine. “You think so?”
I nod. “I know so.” I cradle his face in my hands. “How could she not be head over heels in love with you?”
His smile is soft, one full of relief. And next thing I know, his lips are on mine. It’s not a kiss driven by passion or lust, but one of love and devotion. The kind that makes you feel safe.
We break apart, and I rest my head on his shoulder, while he slowly rocks us in the swing. We sit there for a long time, not saying much. It’s so peaceful. I wish we didn’t have to go back home.
19
Natalie
It's been two weeks since we returned from Wisconsin, and so much has changed.
Ethan's recovery has taken off, his strength and mobility improving faster than anyone anticipated. But the real transformation is between us. Something unlocked during those days with his family.
The caution we carried before had dissolved. After Wisconsin, I stopped seeing Ethan Ward, the hockey player. I started seeing just Ethan. And he started seeing just me, as opposed to the PT he was sleeping with.
Ken is seated across from me in my office, flipping through Ethan's file with an approving nod. “His range of motion has improved significantly. Strength is up twenty percent from last month. He's ahead of schedule.”
“He's been putting in the work,” I say. “Extra sessions and he’s following the home program religiously. He's motivated.”
“I can see that.” Ken closes the file and sets it on my desk. “At this rate, he could be cleared for light skating within the next few weeks. Full contact by the start of the season isn't out of the question.”
