Page 10 of Ethan
He’d spoken in clipped tones. Efficient. Professional. A little annoyed. But his touch had betrayed him. His hands had been careful, intentional.
Like I mattered enough not to be handled roughly, even if I didn’t deserve it. I let out a breath and scrubbed my hand over my face, wincing as my bruised cheek protested.
What the hell was I even doing? Thinking about Ethan like this, like I wanted something from him. Not just healing. Not just help. Him.
It was ridiculous. I didn’t even know the guy. He probably hated me already after the disaster I made of my arrival.
I’d started a fight in the middle of his pack house, bled all over the floor, and then stared at him like a lunatic when he was just trying to patch me up. Still… I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
The quiet way he moved. The calm in his voice even when he was irritated. The way he looked at me like I was real.
I rolled onto my side, ignoring the protest of my ribs, and stared at the blank wall. Were all healers like that? Was it just part of the magic, the training? Or was it just… Ethan?
Maybe it was because I was attracted to him. Maybe it was just the novelty of being treated with a little decency for once in my life.
But I didn’t think it was that simple.
There was something about him that felt anchored. Like no matter how chaotic things got around him, he stayed grounded. Calm. Unshaken.
I’d never been that kind of person. I tore through life like a storm. But being near Ethan made me want to try to be better. That was probably the scariest part of all.
I snorted softly into the quiet room, half amused, half annoyed with myself.
Not like Ethan felt the same way. I was just another name on his list of bruised-up idiots to patch together. Another walking headache. Still…
Maybe I could do something. Something small. Something to prove I wasn’t just the troublemaker Carter made me out to be.
Something to make Ethan look at me with a little less irritation next time. Maybe, if I tried hard enough, he might start liking me, even just a little.
Maybe he’d start seeing the version of me I hadn’t figured out how to be yet. I turned back onto my back with a groan, one arm resting over my eyes.
My body hurt, but it was the ache in my chest that kept me awake longer than I wanted. Eventually, sleep crept in, slow and heavy.
And as I drifted off, all I could think about was Ethan. His hands, his scent, those striking eyes. And how badly I wanted a second chance to make a better impression.
The next morning, I woke up earlier than I expected. I was aching, sore, and unable to stop thinking about Ethan. It wasn’t the bruises keeping me up. I’d slept through worse. It was him.
I rubbed my face, sat up slowly, and winced at the pull in my ribs. Every muscle in my body protested, but I forced myself to my feet anyway.
Maybe moving around would get my head on straight.
Or maybe I just needed caffeine before I overthought myself into another spiral. I threw on a clean shirt. One without dried blood or rips, and made my way to the pack’s dining hall.
The place was already buzzing with low chatter, the scent of food, and shifters moving through their routines.
I ignored the muttered “Hey!” from someone I cut off in line and made a beeline for the coffee machine like my life depended on it. Which, honestly, it kind of did.
But once I got there, I froze.
The thing looked more like a spaceship than a machine. Sleek buttons. A digital screen. Multiple nozzles. I stared at it like it had personally insulted me.
And then, like an idiot, I thought: Ethan probably drinks coffee. Of course he did. He worked with the injured and the emotionally unstable, like me. If anyone needed caffeine, it was him.
I scanned the options and pressed something that looked like it might resemble a mocha latte. He struck me as the mocha latte type. A little sweet, a little smooth.
Then I hesitated, glanced around, and dumped in… maybe too much sugar. I panicked, okay? I didn’t know how sweet he liked things, but he looked like someone who liked a little indulgence.
Or maybe I was just projecting.
