Page 90 of Paging Dr. Hart
“You mentioned it once, remember? Plus, when you went missing, I asked around, trying to find anyone who had seen you. Eventually, a worker at the hotel said a pretty redhead was arguing with a dude three times her size. With that description, I knew it was you.”
The hotel worker who had been clearing off the breakfast buffet. It must have been him.
Ethan’s still talking. “He heard something about a place that started with the word star. I put two and two together.”
“Ethan,” I begin. “I want to explain about what Rafe said. About everything.”
Dropping his head into his hands, Ethan sighs wearily. “I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it.”
“Well, too bad, because I have to tell you.” So I do. I tell him all about my childhood, about my mom, Brandi, Shelly, Mr. Chen, and Rafe. I tell him about myself. The good and the bad. When I was strong and the many times I was weak. It hurts to talk about it all. Several times I need to stop because I’m crying.
Even my tears don’t bring Ethan over to my side.
When my tale is done, he says, “I don’t know, Tiffany. I don’t know what to say.” He sounds exhausted. His fingers stroke the scar in his eyebrow, rubbing it so hard the skin reddens.
The use of my full name is a pickax to my heart. “Please, Ethan. I know it’s bad. At the time, I couldn’t see another way out.”
“It’s not that. It’s not the photos on the Strip or even the robbery. Iunderstand all of that. You were a child placed in an impossible situation.” His voice has been a monotone, but now it rises. “The part I don’t get is how you never toldmeany of this. All the time I was talking to you, telling you about my family, my past. You said nothing. I told you things I’ve never spoken aloud before.Never. And you just sat there, holding all these secrets. You didn’t trust me enough to let me in.That’swhat I can’t understand.”
My tears fall freely. With a trembling hand, I dash them away. “I should have told you. I’m sorry. So sorry I didn’t. Please.” I can’t breathe. This can’t be happening. It’s another nightmare.
Ethan stands and goes to stare out the window into the night. The many lights of the Las Vegas Strip twinkle through the sheer curtains. It maddens me to see those lights. How dare they shine when my world is going dark?
Without looking away from the window, he says, “Let’s go to bed. It’s late. We can talk about it in the morning.”
He walks past me to the bathroom, giving me a wide berth. The click of the lock when he closes the door so he can brush his teeth is as loud as the Starlight’s explosion. That’s when I know he’s water slipping through my fingers, the ocean pulling away from the shore, the sun running from the moon.
I get it. If I’m being honest and our roles were reversed, would I be able to forgive him? I’m not sure I could. I would feel too misled, too betrayed. My temper and ego would stand between us, an enormous wall too high to climb. Is it really fair for me to expect Ethan to look past all my omissions when I wouldn’t be able to do the same?
We’ll talk about it in the morning.
Yeah, right.
Liar.
I heard it—the finality in his voice. He’s already gone, and I’ll never get him back. Because of my foolish insecurities and mistruths, I’ve lost Ethan. The worst part is I didn’t even get to tell him I love him.
72
We lay in bed, with our backs to each other. It’s been hours, but I can’t sleep. Ethan’s awake too, I can tell. We’ve spent so much time together in close quarters that I’m attuned to his breathing. How it deepens and evens out when he drifts off. I haven’t heard that tonight. In the darkness, he shifts restlessly. The sheets rustle as they slide over his body. He exhales. Kicks his legs under the covers, pulls the covers up, then pushes them down.
I hold still, paralyzed by the images that flash through my mind. Rafe. Diamonds. The Starlight as it fell. The one that replays the most is the split second of betrayal that crossed Ethan’s face when he realized that I hadn’t been honest with him. That wounded look is keeping me up. I can’t stand it, knowing I was the one to make him feel that pain.
I’m crying again, silently. It reminds me of all the times at Mr. Chen’s when I sobbed in bed next to my mother. How I learned to swallow the sound of my tears so I wouldn’t disturb her.
Somehow, Ethan hears me. The bed shakes as he rolls over so he’s facing my shuddering back. “Don’t cry, Tiffy. Please, don’t cry.” His whisper is so soft that for a moment I think it’s my imagination. Then I realize he’s talking to me. When he says my special nickname, it hurts so bad I whimper.
Strong arms slide under my neck and around my shoulder. Ethan pulls me back to him, reeling me into his chest. Spooning me. He presses me close and leans his cheek against my head.
“Shhh,” he soothes.
“I’m sorry. So sorry.” I’m choking on my tears, drowning in them.
He nestles closer, wrapping his leg around mine. “I’m sorry, too,” he breathes into my ear. I break free and roll over to face him. His arms findtheir place around me again. I stare into his amber eyes, hoping he can see that my regret is sincere.
“I should have told you,” I confide in a whisper. “I was just so scared.”
“It’s okay.” He brushes my hair off my cheek and tucks it behind my ear, the gesture reminding me of happier times.
