"I know it's not."
"Then give me something better. Because right now I'm sitting across from youagain—afteranothercrisis and being your safe personagain—and I need to know this isn't just the pattern recycling with better lighting."
His hands were gripping the armrests. This was the Ethan underneath—the one who'd been shoved against his own bed by someone he trusted and was still, five weeks later, deciding whether that trust had been earned back.
I sat with it. Didn't deflect. Didn't reach for a Harrington answer. Just sat in the ugliest version of myself that Ethan was holding up and looked at it.
"What's different," I said slowly, "is that I see it. The pattern. I saw it that night with Liam—not in the moment, but after."
Ethan was watching. Not giving me anything. Making me earn every inch.
"And what's different is that I'm telling you this sober. Sitting up. Not falling apart on your bed at midnight." I looked at him. "I know that doesn't fix what I did to you. Nothing fixes that. But I'm not here because you're the nearest body, Ethan. I'm here because you're the only person who would tell me the truth."
He was quiet for a long time. His coffee cup between his hands. Not looking at me.
"Okay," he said. Not warmth. Not forgiveness. Just the door staying open a crack instead of slamming shut.
The silence stretched. He wasn't going to ask. Wasn't going to make this easier by pulling the story out of me. That was fair. He didn't owe me easy.
So I kept going.
"I woke up sober. Remembered everything I'd said. And instead of dealing with it, I started a fight. Threw everything I could at him until he left."
Ethan's jaw tightened. Still not looking at me. "Instead of dealing with yourself."
"Yeah."
"Because being honest drunk is easy. Being honest sober is—"
"Terrifying."
"And you'd rather destroy something than be terrified."
The words landed. Not like an accusation. Like a mirror held at an angle I couldn't look away from.
"He called me on it," I said. "Said I let him in and shut the door. Every time. That he's chosen me over and over and I'm the one who keeps deciding it's over."
Ethan looked at me then. Something hard in his expression. "Is he wrong?"
"No."
"You do this, Alex. You get close to someone. They see you. And you burn it down because being seen is worse than being alone."
"I know."
"So what do you want?"
"Him. I want him."
"Then stop sitting in this chair talking to me about it and go tell him."
"I don't know how to be honest without falling apart first—"
"Then learn. Right now. Today." He set his coffee down. "You stop reaching for people when you're falling apart. You reach for them when you're standing up. Go to Liam sober. Clear-headed. And you say the things you said drunk."
"What if he doesn't want to hear it?"
"Then he doesn't. But at least it came from the real you."
