Page 45 of Boss and Brat

Silence. A long one.

Then she sighed. “Ethan, you know how your father is. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Ethan pinched an unlit cigarette between his fingers, rolling it back and forth while the phone stayed pressed to his ear. His thumb kept flicking the lighter open and shut without sparking it, the metal clicked sharp in his ears.

“You didn’t want to make things worse for him,” he said, voice tight. “So, you knew where I was living. You knew I wasn’t staying with the workers.”

“That’s not fair,” she said, voice tightening. “I prayed for you every night.”

He let out a breath that felt like it scraped his ribs. “I didn’t need prayers. I needed you.”

Carter shifted beside him, not stepping in, just grounding him with his presence.

His mother’s voice softened, but not in a comforting way — more like she was smoothing wrinkles out of a tablecloth. “Sweetheart, you’re overreacting. And I told the ladies at church you’d be at service on Sunday. Everyone’s excited to see you.”

Ethan’s throat closed up. “I’m not going.”

“Of course you are,” she said, almost laughing. “Don’t be dramatic. There’s a potluck afterward. Mary’s mother said—”

“Mom, I’m not going back there.”

Her tone sharpened. “Ethan, you will go. You owe it to your community. To your family. To God.”

He felt heat rise in his chest — anger, hurt, all tangled. “I don’t owe them anything. I don’t owe you church attendance.”

“Watch your tone,” she snapped.

Ethan pulled his hair. Carter stepped closer, voice low enough only Ethan heard. “Steady. Keep your voice calm.” He placed his hand on Ethan’s shoulder.

Ethan took a breath. “Mom,” he said, “I’m not going. I’m working now. I’m living at the cabin. I’m doing my own thing.”

“You’re living with that ranch hand? Mr. Higgins?” she asked, voice dripping with disapproval. “Ethan, that’s not appropriate. People will talk.”

Ethan’s heart kicked hard. “I don’t care what people say.”

“Well, I do,” she said. “And you should too.”

He shook his head, eyes burning. “I’m not coming on Sunday. And you don’t get to make plans for me anymore.”

His mother went silent again—the kind of silence that used to make him fold. But he didn’t fold this time.

Finally she said, cold and clipped, “If that’s how you feel, I don’t know what else to say.”

Ethan swallowed. “Yeah. I guess not.”

“I’ll pray for you,” she said.

He almost laughed. “Okay.”

He hung up before she could say anything else. His hand dropped to his lap, the phone trembling between his fingers. He stared at the ground, breath trembling, chest tight in a way that hurt.

Carter didn’t speak right away. He just sat down beside him on the bench, close enough that Ethan felt the warmth of him.

“You did good,” Carter said.

Ethan let out a rough breath. “Didn’t feel good.”

“Doesn’t have to,” Carter said. “It just has to be honest.”