“Sounds exhausting.” I shrug. “It can be. And you? How’s work, life in general?” She chuckles, and it hits me right in the chest because it’s the same laugh I remember, just a little older and a bit rougher. “Same. Work is insane. Kids are nonstop. David and I—” She hesitates. Just for a beat. “We’ve got a good thing going on.” I catch it. Of course, I catch it. The pause. The way her voice shifts when she says his name, the way she grips her wineglass.
“So that’s us now,” she goeson, eyes flicking anywhere but mine. “Two functional grown-ups with solid jobs, families.”
“Living the dream,” I say, dry as hell.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” She looks at me with curiosity in her eyes. “What is?”
“This,” She gestures between us. “Us talking, being here. It feels like I walked into someone else’s life.” I nod slowly. “Yeah. I get that.” And I do. Standing here with her feels like my whole life tilted sideways, like I’m looking at a split screen, what is, and what could’ve been.
Something softens in her face, and for once, I don’t stop myself. “You look good, Liv,” And it comes out way too honest. Her eyes meet mine, and I feel it, that pull I’ve been pretending doesn’t exist. Sixteen years passed, and it’s still there. They were simple words, but they landed heavily on her. She smiles, just barely. “Was wondering how long it’d take you to say something like that.” I let out a breath of a laugh. “Still impatient, guess you haven’t changed that much either.”
I let my eyes drag over her, slower this time. I shouldn’t, but I do. “But you look steadier, though. Like you’re not trying so hard anymore.” Her brow lifts. “Wow. Compliment and insult in one sentence. Thanks, Ethan.” I grin, heat sparking low in my chest. “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
“No, but it sounded like it.” Her voice is sharper than her smile, and it knocks something loose in me. God, I’d forgotten how much I loved this. Her fire, her bite. The sound that slips out of me is a laugh I haven’t heard from myself in years. It’s too warm, too comfortable. I hatethat she still makes me feel this way, but I also loved that about her.
She doesn’t move. Neither do I. Her eyes soften, drop just a little. “You look good, too.” That stops me cold. My grin fades slowly. My chest tightens like a fist. “Yeah?” Is she flirting with me, or is she just being nice?
“Yeah.” Her voice dips lower. “You look like you belong somewhere. Like life fits now.” Her words cut deep, sharper than she knows. I want to tell her she’s wrong, that nothing has fit right since the day I lost her. Instead, I laugh, quiet, broken at the edges. “Guess that’s what getting older does.”
“Guess so.” Then it happens—that beat, that shift. The kind that changes everything without a word. She’s closer than I realized. Close enough, I can smell the wine on her breath, the faint sweetness of her shampoo. Underneath it, she must catch the whiskey on mine, the cologne she used to fall asleep against. The air between us hums. My pulse kicks. Her eyes hold mine, green pulling me under like they always have. My body leans before my brain can catch up. And she doesn’t move back.
For one wild second, it feels inevitable. Like sixteen years never happened, like this was always waiting. Heat rolls through me, heavy, hungry, and I don’t remember the last time I wanted anything this bad. I want to kiss her, to grab her in my arms and tell her everything I haven’t for the past almost two decades. Then it shatters, someone inside laughs too loudly, my name carries across the room, and the spell breaks.
I blink, jerk back a step, my throat goes dry. “Well, I should?—”
“Yeah. Of course.” We retreat, careful, like touching fire and pretending we didn’t get burned. She turns and walks away. My chest is pounding, pulse racing, like I just ran a mile. I should let her go. Hell, I have to let her go. But the words slip out anyway, low, before I can reel them back.
“Liv.” She freezes. Slowly turns. And there it is. Her face, her eyes, all that history slamming into me like it never left. My mouth curves into something that feels too close to a smile. “Still dangerous,” I tell her. It’s the truth. She always was. She always will be.
She holds my stare, and then God help me, because when she smiles at me, that’s it. That’s enough to gut me. And she walks away.
CHAPTER FIVE
OLIVIA
ThankGod this evening is finally over. I can’t take being in the same room as him one second longer.
That stare. Those eyes. Thosebrown eyes. The way he was looking at me, at my lips, at my body. Nope. Nope. Stop it, Olivia. He wasn’t looking at anything. You’re making shit up. You have a husband. Two kids. He has a wife. Two kids. A whole damn family.
A perfect wife, by the way. Not that I didn’t know that already. I stalked her Instagram seven years ago. And again, five years ago. And, for fuck’s sake, a week ago. Blonde-ish, green eyes, sweet smile. Of course, he picked someone who looks just like me. Like I wasn’t enough for him, but the idea of me was. And the worst part? I still care enough to notice, to compare us. To hate that it still stings me that she gets to have a life with him. Ugh!
I press my palms against my eyes, like I can block him out, erase the way my body lit up under his gaze. But it’suseless. Because I know the truth, I can’t say it out loud. Sixteen years later, Ethan Cole is still the most dangerous man in the room. And he dares to say I’m the dangerous one.
The house is quieter.Even the walls feel like they’re exhaling after all the chaos from today. Mom, Dad, and Anne are in the kitchen, voices low, talking about the service. I pause in the doorway, watching them. The three of them move around each other so easily that it almost looks normal. I’ll never understand it. But I guess I don’t have to.
I couldn’t imagine divorcing my husband because he cheated, watching him marry his mistress, and then opening the door to both of them like nothing happened. But my mom? She does it with grace. A saint, really. Julia’s beside me, rolling her eyes the second Anne laughs at something Dad says. I can’t help but laugh. “Quit it, Jules.”
“I just don’t get it,” she mutters. “We don’t have to,” I say. “If it works for them, that’s enough for me.” She shoots me a look. “Yeah, because you didn’t have to grow up with her.”
Ouch. That one stings. She’s not wrong. When I left, I left her behind. Both of them. God knows it still hurts to admit it, but I couldn’t stay here, not after everything.I exhale. “I know. I shouldn’t talk about something I didn’t live. But… she’s nice to Mom. She makes Dad happy. And sometimes in marriages, in relationships in general, that’s what it comes down to.” Julia huffs, crosses her arms. “I hate you.”
I bump her shoulder. “No, you don’t.” Her mouth twitches, then she nods, smiling in spite of herself. She knows I’m right. “You want a glass of wine?” I offer. She shakes her head. “You know what, I’m calling it. I’m exhausted.”
“You must be if you’re turning down wine.” We both chuckle, the tension breaking for now. I watch her head down the hall before I climb the stairs, the house too loud and too quiet all at once. I drag myself upstairs, slow, heavy, like my body’s fighting me. Change into an old sleep shirt and underwear, tug my hair down, and crawl into bed.
Sleep? Yeah, right. Not happening. ‘Still dangerous.’ The way Ethan said it, it’s on a loop in my head. I need to get him out of here.
I grab my phone and call David. His voice is steady and reliable, as always. We talk about the kids, dinner, bedtime, and some juice spilled on the couch—the usual stuff. I clutch onto it like a lifeline, like I can anchor myself in routine. But when we hang up, the quiet swallows me. And Ethan’s still there. In my head. Under my skin.Fuck.
