Page 47 of The Ex-cavenger Hunt

Ethan

I spend almost seventy-two hours off the grid. When I arrive in Boston at three in the morning, the first place I want to be is at Lily’s side. The mission was a success, and right after the adrenaline of said mission was gone, I’ve been simmering on my own stupid move—sending Lily away without a word after what I think was a huge fight with her last ex-boyfriend, Derek.

It was one last step. Was I taken aback when I learned she was engaged? Obviously, but I really didn’t like to hear that the asshole wanted her to change her personality—calling it growing up.

She’s perfect the way she is. I don’t understand why not fitting into a mold is always called immaturity.

I had an entire speech to give to her, but then I got a call from Max. Liam, our other partner, were stuck in the jungle trying to rescue a group of tourists. The whole thing was time sensitive and . . . I should’ve said something more than ‘you were engaged’ to Lily.

Right after, I was shoving her into a car that drove her to the airport so one of our pilots could fly her home.

What the hell was I thinking?

I should be heading back to my place but my feet have a mind of their own. Before I know it, I’m back in my car, the engine roaring to life as I peel out of the parking lot.

The streets are empty, the city asleep, but I barely notice. My mind is consumed with thoughts of Lily, of the way her laughter fills the room, of the way her smile lights up my world. I press down on the accelerator, the speedometer climbing higher and higher. Am I breaking a few laws while driving way above the speed limit? Who the fuck cares? I need to get to her, to explain, to make things right.

If my father had done something similar to my mother, he’d be in a lot of trouble. I remember the fights they had, just because he took a call when they were having a conversation or . . . There was always something that would make them scream at each other. Now that I’m an adult, I understand that it was the way my mother would show that my father had hurt her—even when it was for simple things that could’ve been talked out, but what if I hurt Lily?

My heart pounds in my chest as I pull up to her apartment building, the tires screeching against the asphalt. I barely remember to put the car in Park before I’m out the door, my feet pounding against the pavement as I race toward the entrance. The cool night air whips against my face, but I don’t feel the chill. All I feel is the desperation, the need to see her, to hold her, to tell her everything I should have said before.

I take the stairs two at a time, my lungs burning with each step. My mind races, a million scenarios playing out in my head. Will she slam the door in my face? Will she even give me a chance to explain? I don’t know, but I have to try. I can’t lose her, not like this, not without a fight.

I reach her floor, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. I pause outside her door, my hand hovering over the wood, hesitation gripping me for a moment. But then I think of her face, and that’s enough to know what I have to do. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever comes next, and knock.

The door swings open, and there she is, her hair a wild mess of tangled curls, her eyes heavy with sleep. But even like this, with no makeup and wearing an oversized t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder, she takes my breath away. Her beauty is effortless, a natural radiance that shines from within.

“Ethan?” Her voice is soft, confusion etched into her delicate features. She blinks, her hand coming up to rub the sleep from her eyes. “What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. All the words I rehearsed on the way over, all the explanations and apologies, vanish from my mind. I’m left standing there, my heart in my throat, my palms sweaty. “Lily, I . . .” I start, my voice rough with emotion. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sent you away like that. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

I search her face, trying to gauge her reaction, but all I see is confusion. Her brows furrow, her head tilting to the side as she looks at me with those big, beautiful eyes. “What’s going on here?” she asks, her voice soft and uncertain.

I take a deep breath, my hands sliding down her arms to grasp her fingers. “I’m apologizing,” I repeat, my thumbs brushing over her knuckles.

She blinks, her lips parting slightly. “For working?” The confusion in her voice is palpable, and I can see the wheels turning in her head as she tries to make sense of my words.

I nod, my heart clenching in my chest. “I left you in the middle of our trip,” I explain, my voice rough with emotion. “I shouldn’t have done that. I should have been there with you until the end.”

She stares at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. She shakes her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “No, we were almost done with the trip,” she says, her voice gentle. “The last guy wasn’t important. You had work to do, and you didn’t abandon me.”

I frown, my mind racing. “But I?—”

She cuts me off, her finger pressing against my lips. “Shh,” she whispers, shaking her head. Her eyes search mine. “Have you slept at all?” she asks, her voice soft and filled with worry.

I blink, taken aback by her question. I expected anger, hurt, and maybe even tears. But instead, she’s worried about me, about my well-being. A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard. “Aren’t you supposed to be slamming the door in my face and telling me how terrible I am for leaving you during the worst moment of your life?” I ask, my voice rough with emotion.

She yawns, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. I can see the exhaustion in her eyes, the dark circles that mar her perfect skin. But even like this, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She takes my hand, her fingers joining mine, and gently tugs me inside.

I follow her into her studio, my eyes taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The cozy couch tucked in the corner, the small kitchen with its mismatched appliances, the bed that’s barely big enough for two. It’s a far cry from the luxurious hotel rooms and spacious apartments I’m used to, but somehow, it feels more like home than anywhere I’ve ever been.

She leads me to the couch, pushing me down onto the soft cushions. “Sit,” she commands, her voice firm but gentle. “I’ll make us some tea.”

I watch her as she moves around the kitchen, her movements graceful and efficient. She fills the kettle with water, sets it on the stove, and rummages through the cupboards for mugs and tea bags. I can’t take my eyes off her, can’t believe that she’s here, that she’s real.

“Can you explain to me why you’re expecting me to . . .” She glances toward the door and sighs. “What did you say I should do again?”

“When my father fails my mother, she makes an entire production about how terrible he is,” I begin to explain to her, my voice low and hesitant. I rub the back of my neck, my eyes darting away from hers. “I couldn’t help but listen to the conversation you had with Derek and . . .” I pause, taking a deep breath. “I wanted to be there for you.”

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