Chapter 48: bonus chapter | mr perfectly fine (19-21)

author's note:

HELLO! this is odd. it's been so long since I wrote one of these. but well, since you asked !

loved writing this in a way I hadn't expected to. though, having to go back and read through my own old writing was... interesting, to say the least. it did make me smile, but also kind of wanting to get a big red pen out and start crossing things out. I miss these characters, often. and I love them. so so much. and I love you. thank you, for being here, all these years.

it was really nice to get to spend some time with these characters again, and I hope you'll feel the same way. I would like to point out that all of them does feature in some capacity in COMING UP FOR AIR if you've yet to read that one!

as for me, I know I've been gone from here for a while. I do pop by to say hi and to read stories and your comments. I've been writing offline lately (after struggling with creative burnout for a couple of years) and I am pursuing publishing my writing sometime in the future, so if you'd like to follow along on that journey whenever it happens, do consider following me on instagram (@/linnwrites) or if you'd like to hear me yap from time to time on X (/cmiladunne)

OKAY so with that out of the way, this is a brand new bonus chapter told from Ethan's (third person) point of view. it was a little bit humbling to have to stay true to the dialogue and structure I wrote four years ago, but I think it turned out pretty good. the timeframe mainly spans chapters 19-21. or as I affectionally refer to them in my notes-app: the break-up chapters. enjoy, I guess?

one last thing, this chapter is REALLY long (like really long), and slightly unedited, because I had too much too cover and occasionally too much wine while writing it and overall was also way too happy while writing this so feel free to take breaks.

♡♡♡

TIMELINE: CHAPTERS 19-21

"Would you just call her?"

Ethan twists in his seat, his finger easily sliding to the lock-button on his phone as he glares back at Jake, finding the boy with his arms slung over the backrest, halfway over it instead of being sat in his own. If the bus breaks he'll be slung right across it. "Would you sit down?"

Jake shoves his way out of his seat, past a half-asleep Matthew Puckett, nudging Ethan's bag out of the way with his knee as he collapses into the seat next to him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Absolutely not."

"Call her."

"And say what, exactly?"

Jake's lips twists up. "That I'm tired of your miserable, sulking act and need her to work whatever magic she wields on you?"

"Funny."

"Not joking. You miss her, she misses you—what's the hold-up?"

"Don't ask dumb questions," Ethan leans his back against the window, glances around the bus to make sure no one of his teammates are listening. "Especially not here. And she doesn't."

"Doesn't what?"

"Miss me."

"But you miss her."

Ethan presses his lips together. Jake shoots him a look, Ethan simply raises his brows in return. Of course he misses her. He's never not missing her. He can't get her out of his head, no matter how hard he tries. Ever since that last day on the beach—the week they went back to school, when neither of them could bring themselves to say goodbye—she's all he can think about. Even tonight, as they won their first game of the season, all he wanted was to go find her.

She's... everywhere. And it's exhausting.

He can't even wake up in peace anymore. Every morning he's greeted by the ocean, and all he can hear is her laughter as the water splashed up her legs sprinting into it. Not that it's any better at night, the waves glimmering underneath the moonlight in the darkness, reminding him of the night of the bonfire. If he closes his eyes he can still go back there, the way he kept crossing some invisible line in the sand, pushed a little further than he ever had before, teased her about seeking him out, the strange flush to his skin as he realized she kept circling around the girls he may or may have not been interested in before. He'd wondered, before, but it wasn't until that night he realized she'd might have felt something too—all those times they found themselves next to one another, at parties, school gatherings or at the office. A strange, unspoken spark. And then she kissed him.

And now she's everywhere.

He hadn't realized it'd be this way, hadn't realized he'd keep looking for her in every room, on every trail—hoping for just a glimpse of blonde hair, a condensed cup of iced chai, neon-colored running shoes. Their town has turned into a map threatening to unravel him at any given moment.

The pain is the worst. It's never not there. It's nestled into his chest—a ball squeezed with his every move, a deep ache with nowhere to go. There's no way to rid himself off it. No matter how hard he has tried to busy himself with something else, anything else. He hadn't expected it'd hurt this way, hadn't realized it'd knock him off balance every time he thinks of her. He should've known.

After all, he'd been falling in love with her.

"Stupid. Foolish. Idiot."

"I really hope you're talking about yourself."

Ethan blinks. "What?"

Jake's lips twist up in a far too wide smile. "While I don't completely oppose to being called an idiot, at this time I do want to say it seems unwarranted. If, however–" He makes a circular gesture with his hand. "We're talking about you—then, well yeah, sounds about right."

"I–..." Ethan rubs his knuckles across his brow, as if that'd help soothe the slight dizziness of his mind. "Shut up."

"Very mature."

Ethan shifts in his seat, glances out the window at the shadows of trees as they whizz by in the dark. He wonders what Avery's doing right now—maybe she's reading. He misses hearing about what she's reading. The ever-present ache in his chest flares and he sighs, shaking his head. Stupid.

He can't go down this path. It doesn't matter he wants what they had back. He can't. They can't. Because Avery doesn't want that. And all he wants is for her to be happy.

"Okay," Jake plucks the phone out of his hand, easily unlocking it. He taps his way across the screen, finds an instagram post, then turns it for Ethan to see. "Look."

The air's knocked out of him. Waters. In her yellow dress, beaming towards the camera against the backdrop of a bonfire—the bonfire. Then, the caption: i do have that summertime sadness

"Don't wave that around."

He snatches the phone back. But he can't bring himself to lock it, instead his gaze zeroes in on the photo, his lips twitching up at the sight of her smile—as if she's mid-laugh. There's a red cup in her hand, nearly horizontal in her grip, a nudge away from spilling over. A slender, tan, bracelet-clad arm reaches for her from out-of-frame.

"What are you thinking about?"

Ethan's gaze flickers momentarily to Jake, who's looking far too amused for his liking, but is soon back on the photo. His brows faintly pull together as he studies it.

He can't help but to search for clues of the time it was taken. Of course, there's nothing. There's no way to tell by the shade of the darkness of the sky, or the cup in Avery's hand, or the flush in her cheeks. He wants to know. He needs to know if the wide, beaming smile is reserved for whoever's behind the camera or if it's–

He shakes his head. No. He can't go down this path, again. His heart beats hard, fingers gripped tight around the phone. He needs something to busy his mind with. Something. Anything.

Okay... running. Yes, he'll think about running. He should go for a light jog tomorrow, to move his body and wind down from tonight's game. That's a plan. A good plan. He'll fight the urge to scowl at the ocean as he wakes up, and he'll get out of the house and he'll turn left by the ice cream parlor for the newer, shorter path. The one passing the row of Bed & Breakfasts. The one Avery showed him that one July–

A disgruntled sound lodges in his throat. Okay. So he can't think about running. That's fine.

... Ella. Yes, Ella. He should spend some time with Ella. They need to do something fun. Just the two of them. They could go shopping, she'd like that. He'll take her to get those pencils. The ones with fluffy balls in black-and-white on top, mimicking soccer balls. The ones she told Avery about.

Oh for–

Football. Good. He needs to speak to his coach next practice, ask if he's heard anything more about any recruiters planning to come watch them play. If there's anything he should be doing differently, now's the time to know. It'd be great if some recruiters showed at the game in a couple of weeks, actually. The energy is always different when they play against West. The stakes are higher, the crowd bigger. Every single player on the field becomes just a little bit better. It's fun. And Avery will be there, in the stands, and maybe they'll catch sight of each other once she makes it down to the field at the end of the game and–

It takes everything in him not to fling the phone across the bus. He continues to stare at the photo. Reads the caption again. Of all the photos, she chose this one. That night. It doesn't have to mean anything—it probably doesn't mean anything. It's a great photo. She looks great. She always looks great. Even in those pink, worn sweatpants she wears around her house. Especially in those pink, worn sweatpants, actually. And–

He groans. Loud enough to turn the heads of at least half of the bus. He scoots sideways, sinks into his friend's side. "Jake. I need you to take my phone."

"What? Why?"

"Because if you don't I'll do something really, really stupid."

"Hah! I knew it."

"Jake."

"Okay, okay," Jake eases the phone out of his hand, locks it and drops it into his pocket. "There. Gone."

A second later the bus comes to a halting stop. People get up, begin to file their way out the door.

Brows drawn together, Ethan looks out the window only to realize they're back in the parking lot at East.

"You want your phone back yet?"

"Nope."

Behind them, Matthew startles awake. "Time to party!" He slaps Ethan's shoulder, then Jake's head as he gets out of his seat. "Come on babes, we're heading to the beach."

Ethan winces, a tightness to his chest. Suddenly, the air on the bus seems suffocating. He grabs his bag and motions for Jake to move.

They've just stepped off and out into the windy, humid night as Jake whirls around to look at him. He studies him for a beat, frowning slightly. "You really are miserable, aren't you?"

Doing his best shove away the headache coming on, Ethan rubs his free hand through his hair and pivots for Jake's car, where Matthew's already waiting, bouncing on his toes. "I'm perfectly fine."

♡♡♡

"I'm about to leave for the office now. It'll be fine, we'll figure it out," Anna's voice travels down the stairs along with her footsteps, far too bright and determined this early in the morning. "Well yes, I know, but what can I–"

Anna comes to a stop as she reaches the first floor, a stack of folders held to her chest, a funny expression passing over her face as she catches sight of Ethan—propped up on a sea of throw pillows, buried underneath a duvet—on the couch. He makes a point of not acknowledging her.

"Violet, I'll have to call you back."

Ethan shifts slightly, pulling his duvet further up as his gaze zeroes in on the TV. Not that it helps, his mom appears before the screen, effectively blocking his view.

"You're not in school."

"Nope."

Anna regards him, hands on her hips. She gives a small nod. "Noted."

The duvet falls to the fuzzy rug as Ethan straightens into a seat. The surprise must show on his face because Anna laughs.

"Wait–" He rubs his hand across his face. "Really?"

"Everyone needs a day off every now and then," As Kristen Bell's voice fills their living room, she swivels to look at the TV, stumbling backwards to sink into a seat in one of the cream armchairs. "Are you watching Veronica Mars?"

Ethan reaches for his duvet and settles back against the throw pillows. "I thought you were going to the office?"

"I have some time," She sets the pile of folders down on the floor, eyes still on the screen of the TV. "Have you had anything to eat yet?"

"I'm not hungry."

"I'll be right back."

A somewhat strangled sound leaves Ethan's throat as Anna pauses the TV. With a sigh, he gets up and trails after his mom into the kitchen. She's already pouring orange juice into two glasses as he slides into a seat at the island, elbows propped on the counter, letting his cheek fall into his palm. "I'm really not that hungry."

After the night he's had—dreaming of Avery twirling around in the rain only to wake up to the rude awakening of glaring morning sun, alone, he's not really in the mood for anything. Besides, maybe, hiding underneath his duvet watching early 2000s shows all day. All week. All year.

"You have to eat."

"You should go to work. I heard you on the phone, something's up."

Anna waves his words away—which would be slightly more comforting if she wasn't currently wielding a bread-knife. She pops a couple of slices into the toaster, then reaches for the jar of honey.

Ethan's mouth curves, if ever so faintly. "I haven't had honey on toast since–... forever ago."

"That sounds like your problem," Anna leans back against the counter, waiting for the bread to toast. "Trust me, there's nothing one of these can't fix."

Silence stretches between them, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Anna glances around the kitchen, brows knitting together. She walks over to one of the shelves, drags a finger along it. "Did you clean the house?"

"Oh," Ethan straightens, stretches his arms over his head. "Yeah."

"When?"

"Last night. Couldn't sleep."

The tick-tock fills the space once more. Another minute he's spending not knowing what Avery's doing—how she's doing, if she's thinking about him too.

Holding back a groan, he shakes his head in an attempt to disperse the thought. He wishes he could wipe everything he knows about her from his mind. Only, he doesn't. Not really. Somehow this ache, knowing what he could've had if things had been different, is better than to have never known her at all.

"Hey," Anna sets the plates of toast down on a tray alongside two cups of tea and a pitcher of orange juice. She makes for the living room. "Back to the couch."

"I thought you were going to work?"

"And let you watch Veronica Mars without me? Don't think so."

♡♡♡

"What if you came with me to work tomorrow?" Anna asks as her hand drifts from Ethan's hair to his forehead, picks at a bump in his skin. "I'm sure the book club would be thrilled to see you."

That catches his attention. He sits up, spinning so he's sat leant against the backrest. "Book club's tomorrow?"

"Are you coming with?"

"No."

But there is one thing he should do, even if he rather wouldn't. His fingers brush over the base of his throat, lightly touches the painful ache simmering there as if it's trying to stop his next words. He swallows past it.

"I've got one of Avery's cardigans. And I think... Well, I know she's probably missing it. It's her favorite and–" And he's rambling. He clears his throat. "Could you take it with you? Sarah's going to be there, right?"

Anna props her elbow up atop the couch pillow as she studies him. "Maybe you should bring it to her."

"Mom."

"I'm just saying."

"I can't– That's not a good..." Ethan presses his lips together. "You have to take it with you. I need you to do that."

"... Ethan."

"Please."

Uncertainty flashes across his mom's face, but to his relief she nods. "Okay."

"Thank you."

"You know," Anna props a few throw pillows against the armrest, scoots back against them. "When I first met your dad–"

Ethan flickers his gaze back to the TV. "Could we not?"

"I had a hard time letting people in, and when I met Bradley I couldn't handle how much I liked him, so I tried to push him away. It would've been easier for him to just let go, but he knew what I didn't—and then everything fell into place."

"I've heard the story."

Anna speaks slowly, careful in her tone and choice of words. "You are very much, incredibly so, alike your dad. But I think—and sometimes worry," As Ethan rolls his eyes she lightly kicks him in the side, brows knitting together. "That when it comes to people, you take after me."

"Mom, you're a textbook extrovert."

"I'm sociable, yeah. Letting people in? That's more difficult—especially when they've been taken away from you before."

Ethan gazes up at the ceiling. "I'm really not in the mood to talk about dad right now."

"Well, I'm talking about me. And you."

"No," Ethan swallows, hard. "You're talking about dad. And that has nothing to do with any of this. So could we not?"

"It's got a little bit to do with all of this."

"No. It's– it's this town, and... it's a lot of things. And I don't want to talk about it. I just want to watch Veronica try to solve Lilly Kane's murder, okay? In silence."

"I could tell you who did it."

"I know who did it—I've watched the show before. With you."

Anna pulls a grimace. "You're stingy. We should go for a walk. Get some air."

"I don't want air."

"You need air. Come on, just a short walk on the beach," Anna's already on her feet. "Ten minutes. We don't even have to talk—no talking."

"No talking?"

"No talking. Even though I'm right. And we both know it."

Ethan makes a show of getting to his feet, leading the way toward the patio doors. "You're not not right," A gust of salt air hits him in the face as he steps out onto the porch. "But there's more to it than that."

"I'm sure there is," Anna links their arms together. "Now, which way are we walking?"

"That's all? You've got nothing more you want to get off your chest?"

"I mean, we did say no talking. Come on, let's go this way."

♡♡♡

He doesn't want to be here.

But if he doesn't get it together soon enough, people will start to ask questions. Or start rumors. There's already one going around saying he hasn't been showing up to practice—or school, for that matter—due to a bad knee. According to Jake, there's speculation he won't start any more games this season. Which is not true. And he can't risk those kind of speculations reaching any potential recruiters. His knees are, thankfully, perfectly fine. He'll be back at practice next week, when he has bounced back from the cold.

A cold that doesn't exist.

But one can't exactly call up their coach and ask for time off to nurse a broken heart.

It's been three weeks since he watched Avery walk away that last day on the beach. This has officially become pathetic. He's pathetic. And he's not only thinking so because Ella's taken up the habit of looking at him with the most pitying eyes he's ever come across. This afternoon she even offered for him to come along and play soccer with her friends. Which is exactly why he agreed to show up at Beans & Bagels, spending time with his own age-appropriate friends.

His mind drifts to Avery. She's probably off somewhere having fun—not pathetically hung up on the two of them three weeks after the fact—while he's already exhausted by having to keep up his end of the conversation with Matthew. He's not even sure what they're talking about anymore. Puzzles, he thinks. How on earth did they get to talking about puzzles?

Matthew dunks his palm against Ethan's shoulder just as they trail behind the group through the glass doors of the coffee shop. "Anyways, about time you're coming back next week. Coach is all wired up about the upcoming game against West."

Ethan rolls his lips together, silently begging his mind not to spin out at the mere mention of a place he associate with– No. He's got to get it together.

He flashes what he hopes is an amused smile, turns to walk sideways as he looks over at Matthew. "As if you're not."

"No. No I'm fairly convinced we have it in the bag. Especially now that I know your knee's not busted," They beeline for a table already seating a few people from East—Ethan holds back a sigh as he realizes Jake's yet to join them. Then, he has to muster up the energy for at least a feigned laugh as Matthew launches into another story with, "Oh! I have to tell you about what happened Tuesday. Okay, so it all started when Coach..."

♡♡♡

Avery's not off having the time of her life. She's at a table in the opposite corner of Beans & Bagels—the one with the sofa—with her friends, and she looks miserable.

To see him, that is. She looks miserable to see him here. As in on-the-verge-of-crying-kind-of-miserable.

Ethan nearly wishes Jake hadn't told him about having seen her upon walking in. Now that he knows, he can't look away. Because after weeks of looking for her everywhere, here she is. Only, she's not.

This isn't the Avery he's been imagining. The talks-too-much, makes faces as she's reading, scowls through the most adorable laugh as he steals her chair at the office Avery. Her lips aren't in a wide smile, showing off her dimple—the one that urges him to do the most foolish things, like diving off a cliff or eat ten ice cream cones in under a minute just to impress her, or at least make her laugh. Her warmth doesn't radiate through the space, having everyone around falling heads over heels in love with her.

No, the Avery staring back at him from across the room is sad. Obviously, painstakingly sad. Reminiscent of the girl he dragged along to the beach the day he found her crying outside the offices. The one who picked a stack of chocolate chip cookies apart to busy herself the night they were sat on her kitchen floor and she told him about her dad. But it's not the same. In this sadness, there's less fire to her. There's no anger, no fight in her eyes. Only a shell of the girl he knows.

It breaks his heart, pierces through him in a nauseating way. For a horrid second he's sure his iced coffee is about to make it's way back up. Still, there's something else twirling through his ribs as well—a hint of softness, as if he can breathe a little easier now when they're finally in the same place.

Then, she averts her gaze. He's left blinking, the tightness in his chest coming back in full force as he slowly turns back to his friends. He tips his head back, pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting the way the ache spreads from his heart to his head.

Jake watches him from across the table, ignoring the conversation going on next to them. "Are you like actually sick? You look like you're about to throw up. Or faint."

"I'm fine."

"You're always fine," Jake breaks off a piece of Brianna's brownie, hands it to Ethan. "Do you want to leave?"

"No. Really, I'm–" He forgets whatever he was about to say as a familiar blonde blur dashes past the corner of his eye.

His brows etch together as he watches the way she strides across the space.

She's not okay.

The usual bounce to her step is nowhere to be seen, there's a squareness to her shoulders—as if she's trying to disappear into herself. She keeps tangling and untangling her hands. She's not even really looking where she's going, eyes on the floor rather than ahead of her. As she turns for the bathroom, he glimpses the rigid set of her jaw.

His heartbeat quickens as his gaze continues to linger on the door she just disappeared through.

He's not foolish enough to think whatever's going on is all about him. It could very well have nothing to do with him. Maybe she's caught a 24-hour bug and is puking this very moment, maybe he's gotten this all wrong and she's simply upset about the ending of the book she's been reading, but he can't just sit here knowing she's in there not okay.

A tan leg slides in front of his own. Brianna. "Don't even think about it."

Ethan's eyes snap to Jake, who's quick to raise his hands. "Wasn't me."

"I have a brain. And eyes," Brianna says, quickly glancing to the rest of their table to make sure they haven't caught wind of their conversation. "Whatever you're about to do, you can't."

Following Brianna's gaze, Ethan twists to look across the room—Avery's friends, all strewn about their table.

He tangles and untangles his hands, palms clammy, to have something to do as he flickers his gaze between Avery's table and the bathroom door. There's no way they won't be able to tell he's headed her way. Not to speak of everyone around his own table.

What if he simply talks to her through the door? No, people might notice him lingering.

His gaze falls to his phone. Of course. He'll have to settle for texting her, at least that way he'll know she's okay. Though... what if she's left her phone screen-up at the table? Or what if she's blocked him all together?

He makes to get out of his seat. He has no plan. He just needs to see her, and know she's okay. He's not sure he'll be able to breathe properly until he knows she's okay.

"Just think for a moment," Brianna urges. "Take one moment to think about what that could do to her."

Jake pulls a small, sympathetic smile. "Okay, but maybe–"

Brianna glares at him. "No."

She's right. Somewhere in the whirlwind of his mind, Ethan knows she's right, but he can't focus on anything other than the tug to get up, break down the door if he has to. It's as if he's tethered to her. It's unbearable to think they'll have to simply go on like this, to have to pretend he's fine acting like they're strangers only briefly having exchanged words at a bonfire or two.

If he stays here, he'll end up begging her to let him trough the door. And he can't do that to her.

He exhales roughly. "I can't just sit here."

Jake nods his head to the door. "Let's go."

Ethan gets up, then stops. Hesitates.

Brianna's features soften. "I'll stay."

The boys whirl around to look at her.

"Don't look so surprised. I've got you," Her mouth curves up. "If she's not back out here in another five minutes I'll even have some fun and break down the door."

♡♡♡

Avery's perched atop the armest of an armchair, grinning wide—at Luke.

They've been moving in circles all night. Not metaphorical circles. Actual circles. Rectangles, really. If Avery's at one end of Jake's house, Ethan's at the other. It's becoming ridiculous. And as the space continues to fill up with every high schooler in town, increasingly difficult.

Ethan shifts on his feet where he lingers on the threshold of the living room, sighing into the bottle held to his lips. He needs to get out of here, pivot for another room, find Jake or Matthew or anyone to distract himself for the rest of the night until people begin to filter out. He would leave, but he told his mom he'd stay here tonight. And he promised Jake he'd at least try to have fun.

Of course, that'd been before he knew he would be stabbed in the heart over and over again for hours on end.

He wishes he could walk over there and just... kiss her. He wants to kiss her. And if he doesn't stop staring at her from across the room anytime soon, everyone will figure him out.

Something twists between his ribs as Avery's smile turns even wider, shaking her head at something Luke says. Ethan knows it's nothing more but friendly banter, knows there's nothing he could do about it if it turned out to be something else entirely, but it's enough for him to finally glance away. If only for a moment.

Just as he's about to leave the room another girl—ginger curls wild and freckles smattered across her nose—slides into his view. "Hey! You're Ella's brother, right?" With a small laugh, she extends her hand. "I'm Paige. I taught Ella at soccer camp this summer."

"You're Paige," Ethan smiles, stepping back through the doorway into the living room to join her. A diversion from whatever's going on over in Avery's corner of the room is welcomed, even if it's the—slightly pathetic, especially for a party—topic of his eight-year old sister. "You're kind of famous at our dinner table."

"Oh heavens. Is that a good or bad?"

"Good. All good. She idolizes you. I'm Ethan, by the way."

"I know," Paige says, then grimaces. "Sorry, that was weird. It's just... difficult to live here and not know that."

"Right."

"Well I just– I saw you and I wanted to tell you Ella's a pretty great kid," Paige pauses, takes a sip of her drink. "She's actually kind of the reason I'm with my girlfriend now."

Ethan coughs to conceal a laugh. Of course. If there's one thing Ella can't do it's stay out of other people's lives. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah. She realized Hales and I were into each other way before anyone else did, us included."

Bottle held to his lips, Ethan's gaze flickers back across the room to where Avery's still perched atop the armrest. Her attention has shifted though, and she's now glancing up at Callie who's appeared at her side. She gets to her feet, trails after her friend as they make to leave the room

He's been watching her for too long. He has to look away. Only, he can't.

His heart stutters over itself as she slows, turns her head over her shoulder—as if feeling his eyes on her. The rest of the room blurs as she stares right back at him.

Next to him, Paige is still talking. "... Quite a matchmaker that one."

Ethan, still staring at Avery, nearly lets out a miserable laugh. "That she is."

♡♡♡

He's taken it upon himself to gather empty bottles and plastic cups.

The only way not to defer from the game plan—to not follow Avery upstairs and accidentally confess he thinks he might be in love with her in front of her friends—is to keep busy.

So, he's collecting trash.

As he passes Jake by the patio door, plucking a bottle out of his hand, he's soon pulled back by the elbow.

His best friend shoots him a funny look. "Are you doing okay?"

"I'm fine."

Jake rolls his eyes, slants his head to the side. "Have you tried talking to her?"

"No."

"Want me to kick them out?"

"No."

"Okay. I would though, if you wanted me to," Jake places a palm over his heart. "Anything for you."

Ethan shakes his head with the smallest of smiles, then beelines for another empty bottle on his way to the kitchen.

A huddle of girls in the corner glance up as he drops the armful of bottles and cups onto the counter, beginning to sort them into the trash.

The one with the bowl of popcorn studies him for a moment, then says, "Hi Ethan."

"Hey."

"Good game last week."

He drops a few bottles into a bag with a loud, clinking sound. "Thanks."

The girls go back to talking among themselves, and he continues to separate the cups from the bottles and cans as slowly as he possibly can. As he's done, he takes out his phone to busy himself a moment longer. A few text messages linger on the screen.

mom

Hello this is Ella.

Rachael is here too.

Mom gave us candy.

What's the movie?

The movie with the dog?

NOT THE SAD ONE!

We're watching Descendants now.

I want blue hair.

Mom said maybe.

Mom here! Going to bed. Have fun tonight. Call if you need anything. x.

He rolls his eyes, about to reply as the girls in the corner filters out. Their giggles echo down the hall as silence fills the room, still he can tell he's not alone. The energy's shifted. It's like his heart knows where she is before the rest of him does. He closes his eyes briefly against the ache fluttering through his ribcage. Well, there goes all the fight he has left in him. There's no more avoiding her. And he doesn't want to.

Of course it'd come to this. This house. This kitchen. It always comes back to this kitchen.

He nearly buckles over as she speaks, soft-spoken and on an exhale, as if she's letting out a breath of relief. "Hi."

God, he's missed her voice. His heart beats fast, and loud. So loud he's sure it can be heard bouncing between the green cabinets of this room. He takes a deep breath, attempting to stay cool.

Dropping the phone back into his pocket, he turns around.

She shifts slightly on her heels where she's stood just by the entrance, as if she's not entirely sure about whether to approach him or not.

He fights a smile, clenching his jaw. If only she knew all he's thought about these past weeks is being this close to her. "Hi."

Her mouth curves up as she glances about the kitchen, the smile rounding her cheeks. "Hi."

This time he can't fight the twitch of his own lips. "You said that already."

He reminds himself to remember to breathe as she walks further into the room, tries to hide his disappointment as she stops by the opposite side of the kitchen island. He wishes he could reach for her, but he can't tell her that.

Instead—like a moron—he says, "I see you got your sweater."

Surprise flickers over her face as she tugs at the fabric. "Yeah," She wraps her arms closer around herself and smiles, right at him. His heart twists. It's unbearable. "Thank you. It's my favorite."

"I know."

The words slip off his tongue so easily he doesn't even realize he's said them until they're already lingering in the space between them. He doesn't even know how she does it. Her mere presence has him feeling lighter, as if he can't do anything wrong. Or as if he can do everything wrong, but it'll be okay anyways.

A silence falls between them and for a moment he's scared she's going to leave. He knows this, them—this small pocket of time they'll spend together in this room—can't lead anywhere, but he's not ready for her to leave. Not yet.

Relief floods him as she takes a step forward, then turns into ice as she stumbles over herself, her hands shooting forward. "Whoa!"

He's by her side in seconds, catching her before she can crash to the floor.

Which turns out to be an incredulously stupid idea. Because now her hand is in his—warm and soft, and perfectly melted together with his own—and he knows it's wrong but he nearly wishes he would have let her taken the fall. There's no way he'll be able to let go of her now. Which means she's going to have to be the one to pull away. Again.

And this night will forever be coined as the party where Ethan Taylor sobbed like a baby in the kitchen.

When she looks up at him, he feels lightheaded. The floor seems to sway underneath his feet. Still, the uneasiness from mere moments ago shifts into faint amusement. Of course she'd trip over herself. In here of all places. "You okay?"

She nods, lips pressed together in a determined line. The sight has him smiling. Then she says, "Something about this kitchen."

"Or maybe you're just a klutz."

Her lips twitch up, only to immediately sour as her gaze falls to their intertwined fingers.

That's when he realizes he can't force her to be the one to let go. He can tell she's relishing in the easiness between them too, knows there are unresolved feelings swirling within her as well, and if he lets her be the one to draw a line again, it'll hurt her. And he's quite positive it'd kill him to know he's hurt her.

And so, steeling himself against the ache, he takes a step back and lets go.

He stops himself from twitching his fingers, the ghost of her touch still lingering against his skin, and run his hand through his hair instead. There's so many things he wants to say, so many things he's afraid he'll blurt if given the chance, still he simply clears his throat and asks, "How have you been?"

She pauses.

Ethan drags his teeth over his bottom lip, heart beating a little harder. Waits.

"Good."

There's a strange flutter to his chest, a pressure to the base of his throat. Avery's smile doesn't reach her eyes. She's lying. They're both lying. He can't do this—he can't go on like this. He has to say something. Whatever they tried to make this summer out to be, whatever they called it, it meant something. They both know it.

He'll just have to come out and say it. And if she denies him, at least then he'll know. Once and for all.

"That's..." He trails off, holds back the urge to groan as he loses his nerve. "–Good. That you've been good."

Briefly he considers banging his head into the door of the nearest cupboard.

Avery bites down on her lip, dragging his attention back to her very kissable mouth—a very kissable mouth he's been nowhere near in almost a month. He wonders how appropriate it'd be to ask her to stop.

"What about you?"

He blinks, lightly touches his fingers to his throat as if that'd help clear the words stocked there. She's giving him an opening, of sorts. This time he can tell her how he feels. He doesn't even know where to begin. It's been so many days since the last time they spoke to one another. There's so many things–

He wants to tell her how he nearly turned around the second he'd turned the corner the day he left Beans & Bagels, to kick down the bathroom door. How he kept reaching for his car keys the very same night, how he almost drove to her house, wanting to know she was okay.

He wonders how she'd react if he told her he could've ruined her life earlier tonight, when he came through the front door with his friends—right about when Jake attempted to trip him—and he spotted her standing there, watching them. For just a blink of an eye, he'd been about to stride right on over to her, just to be near her or kiss her, or pathetically beg her for a moment of her time, for everyone to see.

He wants to apologize for his barely-there greeting, explain he was fighting everything he really wanted to say. Foolish admissions about missing her, and wanting her. All to himself. In any way she'd let him have her.

And he wants to ask her if she knows her smiling at another guy has him feeling ill, even when it's her best friend—and that for one flickering moment tonight he wouldn't have been opposed to pushing said guy off a cliff. He wants to ask if she thinks about him, about them. The same way he wants to ask if the picture of her in the yellow dress was meant to send him a message, or if he's reading too much into it.

More than anything he wants her to know he just wants to talk to her. Forever. Sit on the floor with her, watch the spark in her green eyes as she talks through a smile. About everything. Anything. Remind her to breathe between the words. He'd be happy just to be next to her. And, god, he wants to her hear laugh—that high-pitched, melodic sound escaping her lips in a strangled-kind-of-way, as if she's trying to make it smaller. All he wants is to make her laugh.

He wants to tell her he's been looking for her in every place, simultaneously searching for and avoiding her at the same time. And he wants to run his fingers across her cheek, and tuck those errant strands of hair behind her ear, and he wants to kiss her and he wants to say to hell with expiration dates or pretending he doesn't miss her every second of every day, pretending he's not falling in love with her.

His mind spins as he holds her gaze, searching for some clarity as he weighs his options. He could tell her the truth and hope for the best.

Or... his truth could backfire. She could turn to leave, and this would be the last time she ever sought him out ever again.

Everything he wants to say is right there, at the tip of his tongue. He holds back a sigh—because he can't risk losing her, not more than he already has. He shakes his head a little, manages to push the words back down and simply says, "Good."

. . .

author's note (again):

hello! this chapter obviously doesn't span the entire kitchen scene of chapter 21, which more or less has to do with the fact I found it'd be too repetitive to write all the way to the end because I think with where this bonus chapter leaves off + the dialogue & actions in the rest of the scene it's pretty clear what's going on in Ethan's head. but do feel free to pop back to chapter 21 and read the rest of the scene in Ave's pov starting from Ethan's "Good" if that's something you want to do!

again, this was so much fun and even though I should be writing towards the goal of publishing "in the real world" I probably wouldn't mind popping back into this universe again. it was an oddly cathartic thing to do. so, feel free to wish for any bonus content  (this specific chapter took me four years to get around to but it's always been a requested one so who knows what I'll end up writing in the future).

I love you so so so so much. I hope you know that. I sincerely wouldn't be SO sure of wanting to pursue writing and storytelling in all its forms for a living if it wasn't for the ways you've all championed me through the years.

until next time, MUCH LOVE

yours, Linn