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His chest tightened so hard it hurt even to breathe. He pressed his eyes shut, but the cold stare of Evie’s face still burned in his mind. The way her face had looked as she delivered blow after blow. How she had stood over him while he lay sprawled on his back across the wet rocks, completely wrecked.

Her words had gutted him, but the look in her eyes was something he couldn't shake. There had been sadness there. Desperation, even. As if she were trying to break him on purpose, anything to get him to leave.

And then there were the tears.

Oh god. I fucking cried in front of her.

Ethan always knew he was an emotional guy. Wearing his heart on his sleeve and getting hurt wasn't foreign to him. But he’d never wanted Evie to see him like that. Shattered on the ground, tears streaming down his face as she stood there watching. But the things she’d said to him, the pure venom of her words—it just wasn’t the girl he knew.

It couldn’t be.

Teddy pawed at his leg, pulling him back from his spiral. Lifting her into his arms, he cradled her warmth against his chest. The tiny rumble of her purring was a much-needed anchor.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered. “ I’m getting up.”

Ethan swung his legs over the side of the bed, pausing as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He gripped his bedpost, steadying himself while he waited for the world to stop spinning. When it finally subsided, he stood cautiously, half-expecting his body to betray him again.

Great, still not over whatever the hell is wrong with me.

Though in reality, today was the best he’d felt in weeks, despite the crippling heartache, of course. All of the exhaustion he’d been experiencing wasn't quite as suffocating this morning, and the heaviness he’d been feeling when trying to breathe seemed less constricting. Of course, it wasn't saying much when the bar for “feeling good” was currently in the bowels of hell.

Looking down at himself, he realized he hadn't even fully undressed last night as he tugged at his shirt and jeans. They were both stiff and crusted with dried salt water. His shirt was wrinkled beyond any hope of being saved, and his jeans were covered in dirt. The smell of the sand and seaweed still lingered, churning his stomach.

Ethan shook his head as he quickly stripped off his clothes, tossing them into the growing pile in the corner with the rest of last night’s wreckage. He pulled on sweatpants and an old Nirvana t-shirt that had seen better days and shuffled toward the kitchen, Teddy trailed behind him with her tail held high.

Shower later. Coffee first. Don’t think about her…

Except he couldn't not think about her. That had been the problem from the day he met Evie. There hadn't been a single day she hadn't occupied some corner of his mind.

Her smile.

Her laugh.

The way her eyes scared him in the best way possible, how he’d get lost in them and forget where he was.

Her lips. The taste of them on the Ferris wheel.

Ethan clenched his jaw.

Goddamnit, come on.

Ethan filled Teddy’s bowl with food, then started the coffee maker, letting the smell of his favorite local roast fill the apartment. He had hoped the mechanical motions would help ground him, one task at a time, one foot in front of the other.

He carried his mug over to his writing desk by the window and sat down, practically inhaling his coffee, as if it would wash away all the mental trash that currently littered his thoughts.

Despite everything that had happened, he’d actually slept through the night for once. The nightmares he’d been having every night—for whatever reason—gave him a much-needed night off.

Probably because the nightmare happened while I was awake this time. Thanks for the hall pass, universe.

Ethan jumped as his phone buzzed on the desk. He picked it up, reading the reminder notification that glared back at him.

Willows Yacht Party - Bell Harbor Marina - Tomorrow

He groaned and rubbed his face. He’d completely forgotten about it.

The absolute last thing on Ethan’s mind was having to fulfill this work obligation. The thought of making small talk with Preston’s smug face, while pretending to enjoy conversations with people who were only there to kiss his ass, made him sick.

He could already picture it—the forced laughter and smiles. Preston, raising a glass of overpriced champagne, holding court as if he owned the world. Which, in Seattle at least, his family kind of did.