Addicted (Ethan Frost #2)(4)

And that is what I’m going to do. What I have to do.

I walk to the sink, pull my hair into a ponytail using a hairband I’d left in Ethan’s drawer one of the nights I slept over. I use the toothbrush he gave me to brush my teeth, then splash cold water on my face—all still without looking in the mirror.

Then, squaring my shoulders, I reach into my pocket for my car keys. And end up with a handful of the platinum and diamond belly chain Ethan bought me after the first time we made love.

It’s the same belly chain I’d ripped off myself in the middle of our fight last night and it’s the same belly chain that threatens to shatter my resolve even as I struggle to cement it.

I won’t let it.

Not wanting yet another confrontation with Ethan—and I know there will be one if I try to give this back to him right now—I decide to leave it on the bathroom counter. Except it’s so much harder to relinquish than I thought it would be.

Maybe because in leaving it here, I’m letting go of so much more than a chain from Tiffany’s.

But I won’t think about that now, won’t think about anything but what I need to do to get out of here. Step by step by step.

Gritting my teeth, I force my fist to relax and watch as the jewelry slips through my fingers and lands in an elegant pile on the marble countertop. My stomach lurches sickly at the sight, and I turn away before I change my mind. Before I do something stupid. Something unforgivable.

Squaring my shoulders, I open the bathroom door, as prepared as I’m ever going to be for what I’m determined will be my last confrontation with Ethan Frost.

But he isn’t there to confront. The bedroom is as empty as I feel, only the rumpled covers of the bed—and the ache between my thighs—to remind me of how much better things were even an hour ago.

I’m not thinking about that, though. I’m not thinking about anything beyond getting out of here in one piece. I spend a minute looking for my shoes, but they’re nowhere to be found. I try to remember where I lost them last night—the foyer, the kitchen, somewhere in between—but I can’t remember. And since I have no interest in looking for them, I guess I’ll be driving home barefoot.

No big deal. It won’t be the first time.

Pulling my composure around me like a cloak, I head for the front door, looking neither left nor right. I keep waiting for Ethan to appear like a specter, to pop out from around every corner that I come to. He never does. I tell myself I’m relieved—and I am—but I’m also hurt. Also angry. Do I really mean so little to him?

It’s a ridiculous thought, considering I told him to leave me alone. But then, this is a ridiculous situation. Ridiculous and terrible and horrifying all rolled into one.

I plow through the house—a woman on a mission—and don’t stop until I get to the front door. I only pause then because I need a moment to compose myself. The doorbell stopped ringing a few minutes ago, which means one of two things. Ethan has invited Brandon in or he’s gone outside to talk to him. If it’s the latter, if they are both out there, then it’s going to be a long trip to my car. One where I refuse to so much as flinch.
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Praying I’m wrong, praying Ethan has his brother out on the terrace or in his office or in the living room—anywhere but on the driveway where I need to be—I pull the door open. And feel my heart sink as I see the two of them squared off, fists clenched and faces angry, next to a red convertible I can only assume is Brandon’s.

Shit.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s not like any other part of the last twelve hours has been easy. Why should this one be?

Head up, shoulders back, I ignore them as I march straight toward my car. I can feel Ethan’s eyes on me, can feel the concern and the worry radiating from him. For a moment, it threatens to melt my resolve, but then I remember that he could have told me this last night. He could have spared me—could have spared the both of us—from this.

My anger roars back to life.

I yank open my car door. Climb in. Put the key in the ignition. And then curse like a sailor inside my head when the car refuses to start.

Not now, damn it. Not now. Please. Any other time. In rush hour traffic. After a long day at work. In the morning when I’m running late for work. Any time other than right here, right now.

The car gods obviously don’t hear my plea, though—of course, they don’t—because the damn thing won’t turn over. I try a third time, a fourth time, but nothing happens.

By the fifth time I crank the starter, Ethan is opening the door. He doesn’t crowd me, doesn’t press against me in any way, but his presence is enough to make me feel hunted.

“Let me give you a ride home, Chloe.”

“I don’t need a ride home.” I try the ignition again. Nothing but the sick buzzing sound of a starter gone bad.

“Please, baby.” He still isn’t touching me, but he might as well be. Though I will it not to, my entire body responds to the dark hoarseness of his voice—which only upsets me more. My hands start to tremble despite my best intentions.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, grabbing my purse off the seat and ducking past him as I climb out of the car. It’s less than two miles to the condo I share with my best friend, Tori. I can be home in twenty minutes if I walk fast.

“Wow, times certainly have changed,” Brandon comments from where he’s lounging indolently against the side of his car. “It used to be a lot easier to talk her into a car. Then again, maybe you’re not the brother she wants.”