Page 64 of Hearts on the Line

I eventually peel myself out of bed and shuffle over to the refrigerator and discover he made cold brew, and I pour myself as big a coffee as I can in his old Story Land souvenir cup.

“Now what, Wally?”

He ignores me, too busy making Betty White squeak while I stand here completely undone by my… roommate? My friend?

No, I knew what I was doing last night. I was a willing participant, and he was a generous orgasm donor, and now I have this flutter in my chest that I’m afraid to self-diagnose via Google because I’m either having a heart attack or I’m in way over my head with Ethan.

Again.

I make avocado toast, thankful to find a jar of chili crisp in the fridge, and then attempt yoga in the kitchen. But I’m too distracted to do that either. With a big exhale, I push up to a handstand, focusing on Wally to steady myself. I think I can hold it until my phone vibrates on the counter.

Ethan: Last night was a warm-up. We’re not done yet.

He can’t just text that. He’s not even on land. It’s not fair.

I’m fine.

Okay, I’m lying to myself. I have been since he walked back into my life, soaked through and looking at me like I was still his.

Ethan has always been a little more than a crush. He was a friend, and more importantly, my brother’s best friend. We spent summers together for years before I attended high school here in Merritt Point, where I went from being marked as that rich out-of-towner summer tourist to a year-round resident. It wasn’t easy, especially as Jimmy Arden’s daughter.

My dad held clinics for the local high school team. I used to watch Ethan, his brother Jack, and my brother skate for hours between practice and games.

There’s a lot of history between us, more than I care to admit. We circled around each other for years before we kissed, before we decided it would be better to keep our relationship secret. It’s easier to say it was only a crush. Easier to brush it off and pretend I haven’t thought of him since I’ve been gone. It’s never been easy to forget our last day together though. He hasn’t said as much, but I swear it’s this invisible wall between us, even now.

I know it’s easier to ignore, but there’s a part of me that wants to push through. My life is falling apart, and I have no idea if anything will be okay, but I can’t leave again not knowing what’s between us.

I’m cleaning up the dining room, paying extra attention to my dad’s photo on the wall. I wonder what he would think of me back here? It’s been seven years since he died, and I’m used to it now, the painful lump that suddenly consumes me. Grief isn’t gentle or tidy. It’s messy and still strikes me at the weirdest times.

“I’m trying, Dad,” I whisper.

I wipe at my face, then drag a chair away from the table to clean down the navy vinyl when I spot a group gathering across the street.

Wally’s ears perk up. June bumps her scooter against the front door.

“Sloane, can you believe it?” Her eyes narrow on me, and for a minute, I think she can see the faint hickey on my neck that I’ve hidden under concealer.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s no newspaper today. There’s always a paper on Thursdays.”

“That’s why everyone’s upset?”

“We don’t have any news. There were supposed to be minutes in there about the library budget meeting. I can’t work that Facebook. Too complicated.”

I bite back my smile. “Right, well has anyone talked to Ruth?”

“That’s the weirdest part. The office is closed, and she’s not answering her phone. No one knows where she is.”

Thirty minutes and three phone calls later, I rush into the hospital with my heart in my throat. Even though Ruth’s been rude to me, we have history, and I can’t help but want to help her. Ruth’s family isn’t local.

About ten feet down the hallway, I’m instantly reminded just how much I hate hospitals. I spent a lot of time in them before Dad died. The fluorescent lights and the smell of bleach makes my skin crawl.

Ruth’s door is cracked, and I knock on it. She doesn’t answer, so I knock a little louder.

“You have a visitor,” I say.

“I don’t want one,” she snaps back.