My breath stilled. She knew.
Of course she knew.
Her expression turned sad. “You’re punishing yourself enough for everyone in this house. You don’t need to add Lily’s grief to your guilt.”
I rested my hands on the counter, grounding myself. “I just… I just need a minute. A break. Something.”
“Then take one,” Emma said, squeezing my arm. “Go out. Pick up some things on the list. Get out, breathe. I’ll sit with her.”
I hesitated, guilt clawing at me. “You sure?”
She raised a brow. “Ethan. Go.”
I nodded, grabbed my keys, and slipped out before I could lose my nerve.
Chapter 16
Ethan
I got into the truck and drove without thinking about where I was going. The roads were familiar in a way that made my chest ache. My hands remembering the turns before my mind did. Houses I’d passed a thousand times growing up. Fields that hadn’t changed much at all.
The quiet inside the cab felt heavy.
I told myself I was fine. That this was normal. That anyone would feel overwhelmed after the last few days. That lasted a few minutes.
Then I saw the pub.
It sat just off the road, squat and unassuming, wood siding dark with age. Warm light spilled through the windows, it made the inside look warm and inviting.
I slowed without meaning to.
I hadn’t planned on drinking. I knew better than that. I knew exactly who I became when alcohol stopped being casual and started being necessary. I’d found the bottom of that road once, and I wasn’t interested in going back.
But today felt different, I told myself.
Today wasn’t about escape. It was about taking the edge off. One beer. Just enough to quiet the noise.
I turned into the gravel lot before I could talk myself out of it.
The pub was busier than I expected for a Wednesday. Groups at tables, a few people at the bar, conversation overlapping in that comfortable way that meant no one was paying too much attention to anyone else.
The place smelled like old wood, beer, and fried food. The walls were dark, the lighting low but warm. It felt lived-in. Familiar. Like it had been there forever and planned to stay that way.
My shoulders loosened a fraction.
I slid onto a stool at the bar and kept my gaze down. I didn’t want small talk. I didn’t want to be recognized. I just wanted to forget.
The bartender came over after finishing with a group of guys down the counter. He looked about my age, maybe a little older. Long dark brown hair pulled back, a thick beard, solid build. He wiped his hands on a towel as he stopped in front of me.
“What’ll it be?” he asked.
“I’ll take whatever’s on tap,” I said.
He nodded and turned away without comment, which I appreciated.
I listened to the room while I waited. The clink of glasses. A burst of laughter. Someone arguing half-heartedly about sports. It grounded me in a way that nothing could.
The bartender came back and set the beer in front of me. As he did, he paused.
