Page 58 of Run
A horn beeps and a car pulls up with the Uber sign in the window. “That’s my ride.” I take a wobbly step with my crutches toward it.
“No, screw that. I’ll take you home. We are so not done with this conversation.”
I roll my head to the side and look at him from under my eyebrows, then nod toward the helmet in his hand. “I assume you have that because you drive a motorcycle?” He looks at me and shrugs. “Of course you do … Look, I can’t exactly ride in this condition, so, I’ll just see you around.”
“I’ll follow you,” he blurts out. “Actually, why don’t you follow me back to my house? I can drive you home in the Jeep later.”
My protest is halted by my phone vibrating. Leaning my forearms on the crutches and pulling out my phone, a text from Sophie lights up the screen.
So … how’s it going???
My response is quick.
You are a dead woman
I see a bunch of emojis come through as I slide the phone back into my purse. “That was Sophie.”
“The friend?”
“Yes. She’s my former foster sister.” My vibrating phone snags my attention again. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“Who is it now?”
“Fonz.”
“Fonz? How come he isn’t texting me? How come no one is worried about me being murdered?” Ethan looks over my shoulder as I open the text. “What’s he saying?”
Don’t be upset
“How come he’s not worried if I’m upset?” Ethan mumbles beside me.
I slide the phone back into my purse and start to wobble toward the Uber that’s been patiently waiting. Ethan steps up and gingerly takes my elbow, guiding me toward the car. “Look, either you follow me to my house, or I ride with you to yours. We’ve got a lot to unpack and it’s not waiting a day longer.” He opens the car door for me. “What’s it going to be?”
“Fine.”
“Good.” Ethan helps me into the car and passes me the crutches, then leans in and addresses the driver. “Just follow me, OK?”
Watching Ethan ride his motorcycle in front of us is mind-boggling. How the hell did he get so big? Seeing the denim shirt stretched tight over his massive shoulders, how it doesn’t just rip down the center is beyond me. When he makes a turn, I get a view of his side—his bent leg in fitted black jeans tucked into an Army boot, hugging the bike. After we arrive at a white ranch-style house and the Uber driver departs, Ethan helps me enter through the garage.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he says with arms spread wide before reaching down to unlace and discard his boots. “This”—he waves a hand around the room we’re in—“is obviously the kitchen. I recently had it renovated.”
I look around at the hunter green lower cabinets and white upper ones. White and gray swirled marble stretches across the countertops, while butcher block tops the island of cabinets that sits in the middle of the kitchen.
I follow him into a little formal dining area that opens up to the living room, taking in the square, natural wood colored table, which is surrounded by white walls with wainscoting on the lower half, giving it just a touch of character.
The living room has a big gray sectional couch resting under a window that looks out over the front lawn. Across from it is possibly the largest television I have ever seen. Looking over to Ethan, I hike one eyebrow up … way up.
He grins. “It’s a bachelor pad. I have to have a big TV.”
“Speaking of bachelors,” I look around. “Where’s Fonz?”
“He and his dad have poker night with a few of the guys they work with a couple nights a month. He won’t be back till late. Or he may even stay at his parents’ tonight.”
Ethan points over his shoulder toward a short hallway. “The bathroom and bedrooms are down the hall, FYI, but why don’t we just sit?” He gives me a nudge toward the couch. My pride takes a hit because he must be able to tell my legs are tired, but I take the out.
Making my way over to the corner of the couch where the chaise lounge makes an L, I flop down and toe out of my flats, letting them fall to the floor with a soft thud. One at a time, I pull each leg up so they’re bent at the knee, my feet flat on the cushion in front of me.
“What can I get you to drink?” Ethan asks as he walks backward toward the kitchen. “Beer? Wine? I think I might have some rum if you want to mix it up?”
