Page 26 of Ethan
He went on, quieter now. “It’s just not what I’m used to.”
I leaned slightly closer. “What are you used to?”
His mouth twisted, like the answer was hard to swallow. For a second, I thought he’d shut down again. But then his shoulders slumped.
“Pecan Pines… it’s different. Everything here is slower. Quieter. Makes me realize how rough it was back home. Even if I hated it, sometimes I miss it.”
He was quiet for a long moment, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the clinic walls. Then, almost to himself: “Is it strange? To miss it, I mean.”
The question hit like a stone dropped in still water. He gave a small, humorless chuckle. “It’s just… sometimes I don’t know where I fit here. Back at Thornebane, harsh as it was, at least I knew what to expect.”
There it was. Not the reckless troublemaker everyone saw, but someone caught between two worlds, one that had broken him and one he hadn’t yet learned to belong to.
Dean was trying, in his own way, to prove himself. To be something more than what Thornebane had made him.
Then, almost shyly, he added, “You know, when I was a kid, Carter used to make me these banana and mayo sandwiches.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Banana and mayo?”
Dean laughed, and this time it was real, warm enough to shake some of the weight off his face. “Yeah. Weird, right? I think at first it was supposed to punish me. I’d get into fights, and he thought giving me something gross might stop me. But every time, I’d eat it anyway. And somehow… it made things better.”
I couldn’t help it. The image of a younger Dean stubbornly gnawing on a disgusting sandwich was too absurd not to laugh. “That’s one way to end a fight.”
“Worked on me,” Dean said, grinning.
Dean slid off the exam table, but the second his feet hit the ground, a wince cut across his face. His hand brushed over his thigh as he shifted his weight.
“Dean,” I said sharply. “What else are you hiding?”
He froze, then sighed. “It’s nothing.”
I crossed my arms. “Try again.”
He groaned, muttered something I didn’t catch, and pulled up his pant leg. The bite mark was unmistakable, the skin around it swollen and red.
“Seriously?” I asked.
“It’s fine,” he said quickly, though the wince said otherwise.
“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered, crouching to inspect it. “You know, you’d save us both time if you came in when these happened instead of waiting until you’re half-dead.”
Dean gave a sheepish shrug. “Didn’t think it was that bad.”
“Dean,” I said, softer now as I reached for the ointment, “just come to me. Don’t wait. Don’t brush it off. Let me help.”
He nodded, his voice low, steady. “Okay.”
I glanced up, holding his gaze. “Promise?”
I clutched the paper bag tightly as I stepped into the gym. Growls, thuds, and sharp exhales from sparring echoed off the walls.
Scanning the room, I spotted Griffin and Dean off to one side, their corner lit by a strip of sunlight filtering through a high window.
Dean was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, his hair damp with sweat.
I approached, nodding at Griffin first, then at Dean. Dean stayed put, tugging up the hem of his shirt to wipe his face.
The movement drew my eyes to the sharp lines of his abs, muscles flexing under his skin. I had to swallow hard, quickly dragging my gaze back up before Griffin could notice.
