Page 11 of Off Season

It’s been me and Alex against the world for just over three years, since our grandparents passed away within weeks of one another. They had raised us ever since that knock on the door from the police, letting them know our parents had been in a fatal accident. I was ten years old, and I still remember it vividly. My grandma’s sobs, my grandpa’s choked voice as he thanked the police. Alex was only seven. He couldn’t understand what was going on or why they weren’t coming home, and it was that night I vowed to my parents, wherever the afterlife had taken them, that I would take care of him and ensure he was always happy.

I’ve always prioritized Alex, even now that he’s twenty-five and more than capable of taking care of himself. He’ll always be my baby brother.

My lifeline. My anchor. My purpose.

I might put on a brave face and pretend that everything is sunshine and roses, but I refuse to let him see the grief that often rocks me to my core.

“Also, remember, Aria is helping out a few extra days, and I’ve got Daniel,” I reassure him. “Between the three of us, we’ll manage just fine.”

Alex chews on his bottom lip, eyeing me with a hint of suspicion. Thankfully, Daniel inadvertently saves me by calling for Alex to help him out front.

“You promise me you’ll tell me the second you need me?” he pleads.

“Of course; you have my word.” I nod, although it would take something drastic for me to call him back from his vacation.

He’s already missed out on so much in his life; I won’t be the reason he misses out on anything else.

“Jacob!” Alex calls out an hour later. “Someone’s here to see you.”

I glance up as Ethan appears in the doorway, wearing a somewhat sheepish smile on his face. A rush of excitement washes through me at the sight of him, like it always does. I allow my eyes to roam over his wide-set shoulders, noticing the way his broad chest is testing the fabric of his olive green t-shirt. When he shoves his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans, my gaze instantly falls to those tree-trunk thighs.

It should be illegal for someone to be so hot. He should come with a warning label—I may scowl, but I’m hotter than the sun.

His hulking form makes the kitchen feel tiny.

I swallow, trying to dampen my suddenly dry mouth to speak. “Hey, Ethan.”

“Hey, Jacob.” He smiles, taking a step forward, and leans against the counter. The way he says my name in that deep baritone voice causes goosebumps to ripple across my skin.

“Can I get you a drink?”

He shakes his head.

“Something to eat?”

“No, thank you.”

I frown.

He always does this—shows up out of the blue, never wanting to eat or drink anything. Not that I’m complaining, but being around Ethan frazzles my brain cells. All the blood rushes to my extremities whenever I’m in his presence, and I become a fumbling disaster.

I want to shake him and demand he tell me why he’shere before I lose my mind. He isn’t usually one for small talk, which can only mean…

Shit.

“Did I miss a payment?”

He shakes his head again, his lips twitching with a smile. “No, you didn’t, and even if you did, I wouldn’t come knocking.”

“True.” I scrunch up my nose.

Ethan shifts from foot to foot, clearly nervous. The uncertain body language is so uncharacteristic that worry begins to bubble in the pit of my stomach. The frown line between his brows grows a little deeper, and when he speaks, my heart plummets into my stomach. “Maybe you should sit down.”

Wait,what?

A chill runs down my spine. Is he going to tell me our agreement is over? My palms start sweating. I wipe them over the front of my apron, and I hate how shaky my voice is as I say, “Ethan, you’re kinda making me nervous.”

I do as I’m told, though, and take a seat on one of the stools. Folding my hands in my lap to stop him from seeing the effect he has on me, I press my lips together and stare at him. Willing him to hurry up and speak.

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