Exposed (Ethan Frost 3)

“I know.”

My eyes dart to hers. “Do you?”

“Yes. There’s a part of me that feels the same way.”

“He destroyed your life. You have every right to feel that way.”

“And he worked hard to destroy your life, too. He hurt the people you care most about in the world. You’re allowed to not be okay with that.”

“I know.” I swallow convulsively, look back at the courtyard walls. And nearly whisper, “I wished him dead. The day they found his body…I’d been dealing with his shit all day, trying to get out from under it, trying to find a way to protect you. And I remember thinking that if he was dead this wouldn’t be a problem anymore. If he was dead, everything would be better. And then he was. He is. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” She wraps her arms around me again, holds me so tight that I can feel her heart beating against her chest. “You didn’t cause this. This isn’t your fault.”

“It feels like my fault.”

“I know.” She presses a kiss to my cheek. “It’s probably going to feel like that for a while. But that doesn’t make it true.”

“I’m lost,” I admit because she’s my wife and I can tell her things I’ll never be able to tell another soul. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“That’s okay,” she tells me, taking my hand in hers. “Because I do.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. And it starts with putting one foot in front of the other and walking out of this place.” She puts her arm around me, urges me toward the gate at the back of the shaded courtyard.

“And then what?” I ask.

“And then,” she says as she pushes open the gate. “Then we wing it.”

“I don’t wing anything.”

“You do now, baby. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s that when things go to shit around you? Sometimes it’s best to just make a whole new path.”

She grabs my hand and pulls me out into the warmth of the late summer sun. And it’s never felt so good.

Chapter 27

“Remind me why we decided to have this party at our house?” Ethan asks me as we both stand to the side and watch as the catering assistants string lights and set up food stations all over our patio.

“Because it’s more intimate this way.” He slings an arm around my shoulder and I lean into him, turning my head so that my cheek is nuzzling into his shoulder. For long seconds, I just stand there like that, drinking him in. Relishing the fact that we’re here, together, after everything that has happened. After everything that we’ve been through.

“More intimate,” he says with a laugh. “What you mean to say is that it keeps the guest list down.”

“Umm, exactly. I mean, if by down you’re talking about three hundred people. Because that’s how many people have RSVP’d that they will be here tonight. Three hundred and eight people, to be exact.” My mind still boggles. How can Ethan know three hundred and eight people well enough to invite them into his home? Our home? God knows, he’d culled the list down from the fifteen hundred he had originally planned to invite when he suggested holding the party on the grounds of the Hotel del Coronado.

Thank God I’d been able to talk him out of that. The hotel is beautiful, and throwing a party there would probably be a lot of fun—if I was into that sort of thing. But fifteen hundred people? Come on. That’s not a party. That’s a festival, especially considering Et

han wanted live music.

When he saw how much the idea of it was freaking me out, though, he totally backed off. But if I’m being honest, I think his easy acquiescence had as much to do with the fact that it felt odd to hold a party of that magnitude so soon after Brandon’s death as it had to do with me. After all, no matter how we felt about him, no matter what he’d done, he was Ethan’s brother. And his death had shaken him all the way to his bones.

Ethan has spent the last few weeks alternating between anger and grief—and trying not to hate himself for the fact that he does grieve for his brother. He’s also worked really hard to hide his feelings from me and that’s something I’m trying really hard to convince him he doesn’t have to do.

We’ve had numerous talks about the fact that he doesn’t have to worry about me or how I feel, that whatever he is feeling is perfectly legitimate and that I’ll never judge him for it. But on the days when the grief and the guilt are stronger than the anger, he still shuts down a little. Still tries to keep it from me. Still tries to protect me even though I no longer need protection. Not from Brandon, not from what he did to me, and certainly not from the fact that my husband is a wonderful, kind man who feels too much.

I’ll never be sorry about that, never need protection from the fact that Ethan is the best man I know.

Some days I still can’t believe that he’s mine. That I made it through all the horrible things that happened to me only to end up here. With him. I’d never choose to go through what happened with Brandon or my classmates or my parents, and I’ll never forget my past. But being with Ethan, loving him and being loved by him, makes it all so much more bearable. Makes it all worth it if, in the end, I get to have him. And to keep him.