I didn’t need to see his face to know who it was.
Ethan. The realization left me lightheaded.
He stood there like a wall, tall and still, blocking my view of Brandon entirely. Brandon, slumped on the couch, squinted up at him, clearly trying to understand how a stranger had appeared in our apartment.
“Who the hell are you?” Brandon asked.
Ethan didn’t answer him.
He turned his head slightly, just enough to look back at me. His voice was low, steady. “Claire, go outside.”
I stared at him, trying to catch up. How he was here. When he’d come in. Why my chest felt so tight.
Before I could say anything, Brandon snorted. “Oh. So, this is Ethan.”
He stood up, unsteady but determined, moving toward us. I could see the anger sharpening as recognition set in.
“Finally get to meet the infamous ex,” Brandon said, his mouth twisting. “The one whose house you keep hanging around.”
Ethan didn’t move. Didn’t turn.
“Claire,” he said again, more urgent now. “Leave. Before I do something, you don’t want to see.”
That’s when Brandon seemed to understand what Ethan was saying.
“Who do you think you are?” he snapped. “Telling her to leave? I’m her boyfriend. Even if she doesn’t act like it, I’m still the boyfriend.”
At this, Ethan turned to him.
His voice dropped even lower, cold and flat in a way that made my skin prickle. I recognized it instantly, the tone he only ever used when he was close to losing control.
“You might want to stop talking,” he said. “Right now.”
The room felt charged, tight with something dangerous. I knew, that if I didn’t step in, this was going to turn physical.
“Brandon,” I said quickly, forcing calm into my voice. “You’re drunk. We’ll talk tomorrow when you’re sober.”
Then I turned to Ethan. “I’m not leaving my own apartment,” I said, heatedly. “Not with him like this. I’m not going to leave him here alone to burn the place down.”
“I’m not leaving you with him,” Ethan shot back, heat finally breaking through his control.
Before either of us could say more, Brandon laughed bitterly.
“I’ll solve the problem,” Brandon said, swaying slightly on his feet. “Give the lovebirds some privacy.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I snapped, the edge in my voice cutting through his sarcasm. “We’re not doing this tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow. When you’re sober.”
He scoffed, grabbing his jacket off the chair. “Yeah. Sure. Tomorrow.”
I couldn’t see Ethan’s face, but I could hear the faintest hint of a smirk in his voice when he spoke. “Don’t worry,” he said, eyes still locked on Brandon. “I’ll take care of Claire.”
That did it.
Brandon’s mouth twisted into a sneer. He hesitated like he wanted to say something else, then thought better of it, or maybe just couldn’t find the words.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered.
He yanked the door open and stumbled out into the night.
