Page 64 of Run
“Dad!” I start. “He’s gonna—”
“Ethan,” he chastises, “mind your own business.”
“But if he thinks she’s lying he’s going to hurt her!”
“Drop it.” He starts to stalk off, but stops and says, without turning back to look at me, “Some people you can’t help, son. It’s time you learn that.”
CHAPTER 22
ARI
Iwake with a start, and it takes me a minute to get my bearings before I remember Ethan bringing me to bed. Rolling onto my stomach, I stretch my limbs—well, my arms, at least—and my face smushes into the pillow.
What the hell is that smell?!
I push myself up so my face is away from the bed, then slowly lower it back toward the pillow in disbelief. I sniff twice and am assaulted by the smell of sweat and dirty gym socks, but dare I say I am also comforted by the familiarity of it.
Shimmying to the edge of the bed and throwing my legs over the side, I see my crutches resting against the nightstand and smile, knowing Ethan must have put them there for me. Using them to get myself to the door, I reach for the knob but see itturn. The door slowly creaks open, and I see Fonz’s forehead and eyeballs as he peers in.
“Fonz,” I start, but he throws a finger in front of his lips and whispers, “Shhhh …” then points down the hallway.
He takes my elbow and slowly leads me down the hall and through the small dining space. A Luke Bryan song plays loudly as we approach the kitchen, and when we get to the entryway, Fonz and I peek around the corner and giggle as we see a shirtless, barefoot Adonis with his back to us, standing in front of the stove, singing into a spatula. We spy as Ethan goes into full dance mode, swinging his hips and shimmying his shoulders.
My laughter subsides as I take in his form. His shoulder blades, back, and sides are taut and rippled with defined muscle. And I’d bet a year’s salary that underneath those sweats is the tightest ass on the face of the planet.
Ethan sings even louder and gyrates his hips some more. “Good to see some things haven’t changed,” I whisper to Fonz, who is hunched over me in the doorway, looking on.
“I actually haven’t seen him like this in a long time.”
We continue to watch as Ethan scoops up some pancakes and adds them to a plate that already has a tower of flapjacks piled up. “Is he expecting company?” I ask. “How many pancakes is he going to make?”
“Nah, he just eats like a monster.”
“There’s no way a man who looks like that eats carbs,” I challenge. “I’m guessing he drinks protein shakes and the blood of baby snakes.”
Fonz snorts. “Maybe.”
Ethan circles his hips as he sings out and does a jump-spin so he’s facing us. “I can hear you guys, you know!” He points the spatula at us.
Fonz and I break into laughter as we shuffle into the kitchen. “Sorry, man.” Fonz slaps Ethan on the back and heads towardthe fridge. “That was too good to miss out on.” I hobble my way toward the island on shaky legs, arms nestled into my crutches, to where Fonz pulls out a stool and pats it before crossing over to the cabinets on the other side and pulling out a couple of plates and glasses.
Ethan turns from the stove and places the plate with the tower of pancakes on the center of the island. “Morning, Red.” He bends and kisses me on the top of the head—as if it’s something he’s done a million times—then returns to the last of the pancakes cooking on the griddle.
“Uh, morning, Ethan.”
“Sleep OK?” he asks over his shoulder as Fonz puts a jug of orange juice on the countertop.
“Like a rock.” I pick up a pancake with my fingers and start ripping pieces from it and eating it dry. “Although, I woke to the horrific, putrid smell that is your bed. Or, more specifically, your pillow.”
“HA!” Fonz barks out. “I told you, man! You stink after you work out. You can’t just flop in bed like that.”
“I like to shower in the morning!” Ethan argues back, pulling out a stool next to me. He grabs the bottle of syrup and squeezes a big puddle onto his plate, reaches over, and takes a pancake off the top of the stack. He folds it in half like a taco, dunks it aggressively into the syrup, and rips half of it off with his teeth. Around a mouthful, he continues, “What’s the point in showering at night if I’m just gonna shower again in the morning anyway?” He tosses the second half of the pancake in his mouth and reaches for another.
“The point,” Fonz starts in, pointing a fork at Ethan, “is so your room doesn’t stink like a fucking cheese shop.”
“Yes!” I throw my hand up to my mouth as I practically spit out pancake. “That’s the smell! Stinky cheese. It smells like stinky cheese!”
Ethan looks at me with horror and, if I’m not mistaken, embarrassment. “Oh, cut it. It’s not that bad.” Fonz and I make wide eyes at each other. “OK, you know what?” Ethan takes another pancake and again eats it in two bites. “I’m a little bit pissed that the two of you are like two peas in a pod, and I’ve been in the dark all this time.”
