CHAPTER TWO

Elena's pov

The moment I got into my room I called Micah.

I paced restlessly, phone pressed to my ear, my gaze fixed on absolutely nothing as my brain rerouted memories of Ethan, like a broken, repeating video file.

The line connected.

“Hey Elena,” Micah said, too jovial and too oblivious to the destruction he had just rendered to my entire life.

“Explain.”

There was a beat of silence before he replied. “That’s a pretty direct opening.”

“There’s a man in your apartment.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“…Yes,” he said, slowly.

“I know his name, I know his face. I know that I want him out of here.” I whispered.

“Ah.”

“That’s ‘ah’ because you knew.”

Micah sighed. “I mean…”

“Don’t ‘mean’ me,” I stopped pacing and sat on the bed. “Why is Ethan here?”

Micah sighed again, guiltily. “I was going to tell you.”

“When?”

“When you were less inclined to murder him on sight.”

“I am still inclined.”

“Noted.”

I sighed. “Talk.”

I heard a door open and close before he continued. “The truth is… Ethan needed a new environment to stay for a little while. Apparently, fans haven't really been subtle with him since your… accident.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And you offered him your apartment?”

“I offered him my bedroom,” he replied.

I stared at the wall as though it had personally offended me. “And you didn’t think to let me know before I got on a plane and flew across the country?”

“I did,” he said.

“You did not.”

Then, faintly, he spoke. “I may have… hinted at it in a general sense.”

My grip tightened on the phone. “You hinted that my ex would be staying with me.”

“He’s your ex not your boyfriend.” Micah quickly said.

“Yeah, I know.” I air, flatly.

“Right, right.”

I let out a sharp breath. “Why didn’t you tell me it was him?”

“I didn’t think it mattered anymore.”

Then I said, softly, “It matters to me.”

Micah didn't respond immediately. When he finally did, his voice was softer now. “He said he’d keep to himself. That anyone would barely notice him.”

I let out a short, bitter laugh. “That man is incapable of not being noticed. He's a famous F1 racer.”

“Fair enough.”

“And you trust him?”

“He promised to take care of you when you arrived,” Micah's voice softened. “and I trust him to be respectful about that.”

I glanced toward the door, as though it might combust. “I don’t.”

“Elena…”

“I’m not going to discuss this with you anymore.” I hung up. And instantly regretted not smashing the phone against the wall.

****

That night I avoided the living room, the kitchen, and any possible space that might house him, which was ridiculous in an apartment that wasn’t exactly a palace so I locked myself in the bathroom.

I leaned my head back in the jacuzzi, staring at the ceiling, and trying desperately to convince myself that I was safe and that I was not sharing oxygen with the universe's cruelest joke.

I stayed too long; the water eventually turned lukewarm, and my thoughts grew too loud.

When I finally got out, wrapped in a towel, I was too consumed by the need to retreat to my room and disappear under the covers to think about anything else. It was a sensible plan. A perfect plan if you ask me.

I'd barely taken two steps ahead when I pumped directly in Ethan.

It happened too quickly and too soon.

I stumbled back, instinctively tightening my grip on the towel as my eyes met his.

“What’s your problem?” I snapped instantly.

He blinked, as though I’d interrupted something vital. “I was walking.”

“Walk slower.”

“And defeat the point?”

I stepped around him, annoyed, and then something on his collar caught my eye.

It was a necklace. A simple, silver chain shaped like an E.

My stomach twisted before my brain even caught up. I recognized that necklace. I had given it to him years ago.

I looked away too fast and muttered under my breath. “Watch where you’re going,”

Then I pushed past him and rushed to my room.

That night I went to bed thinking about the forever we couldn't have and that same night I had a nightmare.

I was dancing under the fluorescent lights, gliding around the ice. My arms up as I relished the chanting of my name. I was close to winning. At least that's what I told myself until I slipped.

My head hit the ice and the world tilted around me. Panicked screams filled the air and so did a familiar metallic scent. My blood.

I'm jerked out of the nightmare by my own scream.

The bed sheets were tangled around my legs, my heart was hammering like I’d fallen just then.

I sat up too quickly, disoriented, and breath ragged. The room was dark, utterly dark.

Warm hands pulled me close, patting my back softly. “You're safe now.”

I prayed with my eyes open. The lights were on and someone was sitting beside me.

Short dark hair and grey eyes.

“Ethan?” I started, my voice breaking slightly.

He didn’t respond right away, just looked at me. Then he spoke in a quiet voice. “You were screaming.”

He wasn't lying about that.

I'd woken up like this every night three months after the accident. I usually snapped out of it but tonight, Ethan must've heard me through the walls.

He handed me a glass of water and with a shaky hand, I took it.

“Were dreaming about the accident?” He asked.

“No,” I lied. I couldn't let him see me like this. Couldn't admit being weak.

“Okay.” He didn't pray like I'd thought he probably knew I was lying. “Get some rest.”

He rose to his feet to leave and for some ridiculous reason, something inside my chest tightened.

Before I could even think about stopping myself I spoke up. “I'm okay, Ethan”

He stopped but didn't turn around. “I’m glad you are.” Then he left and I hated the relief that flooded my chest instantly.

Morning arrived far too soon.

I got dressed without overthinking. Thinking too much lately was a dangerous game.

Today was my first official day back on the ice since the accident. After spending a whole year at Saint-Pierre's Rehabilitation Centre, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Although, I hadn't been skating. I exercised on crashmats, tried ballet, swimming and basically everything possible to keep myself in shape.

When I zip up my sweater, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, trying to fight the memories pulling me back to one year ago.

I swallowed the thick lump in my throat and muttered my daily affirmation.

You can do this. You're a queen.

Then I exhale softly and grab my bag. When I opened my bedroom door, it was the smell that got me first.

Food.

I paused at the top of the stairs to hear kitchen noises, sizzling pan, and light clatter of cutlery.

Someone was making breakfast.

I walked down slowly, already suspicious and then I saw him. Ethan stood there, looking strangely at home in my kitchen as if this was perfectly normal. He turned his head as I heard him and smiled.

“Morning,” he said, his voice relaxed.

There was a plate waiting for me on the counter. A plate of pancakes neatly stacked with berries on top. My favourites.

I looked at the pancakes, then at him. “What's this?”

He gestured loosely with his free hand. “Breakfast.”

“I can see that.”

“I made them.”

“I can also see that.”

He rested against the counter. "Try them.”

I blinked and then I said, flatly. “I don't like pancakes.”

That was a fat lie.

His expression didn't change much. He knew I was lying. Again.

I turned away, almost instantly. “Thanks for the effort though.”

Behind me, I heard him say that nickname. “El.”

I didn't stop. I just walked out of the room, because I really didn't understand why my chest felt tighter than it should have and I certainly had no clue why avoiding him was suddenly the only thing I was managing well.