Cutting himself off, he shakes his head like he doesn’t know the words to finish that sentence.
“It’s okay,” I assure him, stopping a few feet away. “You don’t need to explain anything to me.”
Whatever this is about, it has nothing to do with us spending the night in the same bed or nearly kissing when we woke up. I can’t say I understand what’s going on, but I sense that there is some serious underlying family drama that Ethan isn’t ready to talk about. Maybe something happened to his brother. Maybe he’s still too upset to talk about it.
Emma’s been tight-lipped about Garrett and Ethan’s oldest brother. I get it; it’s not her story to tell. And clearly, it’s more serious than I realized.
“Are you going to be okay?” I repeat.
Ethan nods, his jaw tense and his eyes glassy.
It seems like he doesn’t want me here, which is perfectly understandable. Despite his outgoing personality, Ethan North is a very private man. It’s hard to scratch beneath the surface of his friendly demeanor. I’ve had glimpses of what’s underneath over the last two years, but whatever this is, it runs deep.
“Margot,” he says, “Thanks for your help last night.”
I shake my head dismissively. “It was no problem.”
Ethan’s jaw flexes as he looks at me, the pain in his eyes apparent. “I need to ask you one more favor.”
“Okay.”
“I need you to leave.”
The words sting a little after what happened earlier, but I try not to let it show. The last thing Ethan needs right now is another problem. I’ll do whatever I can to help him through this.
So, I do exactly what he asks: I leave.
12
Ethan
Memories of the weekend haunt me, playing on repeat in my head while I stare blankly at my computer on Monday morning. Sophia’s tiny voice echoes so convincingly in my mind that I occasionally look up expecting to see her there, rushing over to greet me again. Mistaking me for my brother, the man she now calls her father.
I was prepared for Sophia not to remember me. It’s been years since she’s seen me, and she was so young back then. I had braced myself for her to forget. Convinced myself it wasn’t just a possibility, it was inevitable.
Then she called me daddy.
Deep down, I knew the words weren’t really meant for me. The excitement on her face belonged to someone else. But for the briefest moment, I let myself believe otherwise. It was like seeing the first ray of sunlight after a bad storm, and I let myself bask in it. I let it thaw an icy part of my heart. A moment later, when Sophia realized her mistake and retreated, that freshy thawed piece of my heart was too tender and raw to take the pain.
I hate that our first interaction in years was marred by my emotional outburst. I hate that Sophia was finally standing right in front of me, and the first thing I did was rush out of the room. This is supposed to be the start of a new chapter, so why does it feel so painfully familiar?
When I returned, Rachel apologized. “You and Sy look a lot alike. She’s asked about her dad a few times, so I’ve shown her some photos.”
Sy—her nickname for my brother.
Of the three North brothers, Silas and I look the most alike… at least when he’s not on a bender of his current drug of choice.
After that first encounter, the rest of the morning went as well as I could have hoped. Despite the long absence from ech other’s lives, there are no lingering feelings, good or bad, between Rachel and me. It was sort of like running into a distant relative you barely recognize at the grocery store. Slightly awkward, overly polite, and curiously unremarkable. Any apprehension I felt over being back in each other’s lives faded away the moment I saw her and confirmed what I already knew: that I think of her like a sister-in-law now. Nothing more and nothing less.
Sophia quickly got over mistaking me for Silas and was excited to see her new bedroom. The penguin bedding was a big hit. She already named the stuffed animal French Fry for reasons that I don’t quite understand.
I’ve wanted to tell Margot that all morning, but my first words to her after that almost-kiss can’t be:The penguin is named French Fry.
Technically, I guess my first words to her after the almost-kiss wereplease leave, which is infinitely worse.
We haven’t spoken all morning. We need to talk about what happened, but I’m not sure what to say. Worse, I’m not sure it should be said here at work. I crossed a line by almost kissingher, and I need to tell her it was a mistake. But first, I need to convince myself that’s true.
Margot rounds the corner clutching a fresh cup of coffee. She turns toward my office briefly as she takes a seat at her desk, but her eyes stay locked on the steaming cup. I watch her through the huge pane of glass, raking a hand through my hair and blowing out a deep breath.