Page 90 of Boss and Brat

Carter reached over and brushed his fingers against Ethan’s thigh. “We’ll handle it.”

Ethan nodded, but the knot in his chest didn’t loosen.

When the Evans’ home came into view, a heavy, hollow weight settled low in Ethan’s chest. Trucks crowded the yard. Men hauled lumber. New fence posts dotted the ground like fresh markers on a training course. Cameras watched from their stands, silent and unblinking.

It didn’t look like home anymore.

Carter parked the truck in front of the house, the gravel crunching under the tires with a sharp, uneven grind that madeEthan think of something brittle being crushed under a boot. The sound tightened something low in his gut.

Ethan climbed out, palms damp, stomach knotted. He hadn’t been back since everything blew up, and the house looked exactly the same—perfect lawn, perfect porch, perfect lie. The kind of stillness that made his skin itch, like the place was pretending nothing had happened.

This is because of me. Because someone wanted to get to me.

“They’re doing this to protect you,” Carter said.

Ethan wasn’t sure he believed that, but he nodded anyway.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Ethan walked up the steps with Carter beside him, the key rough and too light in his hand, like it didn’t belong to anything real anymore. Muscle memory made him unlock the door without thinking. The hinges creaked the same way they always had. But before they stepped into the entranceway, his mother appeared as if she’d been coiled behind the door, waiting to strike the second he crossed the threshold. A faint tightness pulled across his ribs, the kind that came from bracing for impact.

“Mr. Higgins, why did you bring him here?” she demanded, arms crossed, standing in the middle entranceway.

Carter stopped behind him, a steady presence at his back.

“Checking my room out,” Ethan said, trying to keep his voice level.

“Ethan doesn’t have a home here. Mr. Higgins, get him out of here before I call the cops.” She never made eye contact with Ethan.

The words hit like a slap. Heat shot up Ethan’s neck. “What the hell are you talking about?” Ethan shouted before he could stop himself.

Carter’s hand closed around his arm, firm but gentle. “Let’s go,” he whispered.

“No, Carter.” Ethan yanked his arm free. His pulse hammered in his ears. “This is my home,” he metered out each word. “She will not throw me out of my home.”

His mother’s expression twisted, sharp and cold. “This happened because of my defiant son.” She continued to ignore Ethan. “His lifestyle has finally caught up with him, and now his actions led to what happened last night. And, Mr. Higgins, you should know better than to play house with my son.” Her voice rose, echoing off the high ceilings.

Ethan’s chest tightened. He hated that she said it in front of Carter. Hated that she said it at all.

Footsteps thundered down the stairs.

“Leave Ethan alone!” Sarah shouted.

She flew into him, arms wrapping tight around his ribs. Ethan held her back, burying his face in her hair for a second. She smelled like the vanilla lotion she always stole from their mom’s bathroom.

“I’m sorry this is happening,” she whispered. “It’s so wrong.”

“Love you, Sarah,” he murmured, throat thick.

Carter touched his back lightly. “We’re leaving, Ethan.”

Ethan kissed his sister on the cheek. “Have fun in Paris. I’ll miss you.”

She pulled back with tears in her eyes and nodded. “Visit me when I get back.”

Ethan looked around one last time—the chandelier, the framed family photos, the polished floors he used to slide across in socks. All of it suddenly turned into a museum exhibit of someone else’s childhood.

They turned away from the house, and the walk to the truck blurred into one long stretch of gravel. His feet moved as if on their own accord, his mind lagged a few steps behind. The door clicked shut behind them—soft, polite, way too final—and the sound followed him down the driveway like an echo he couldn’t shake.