Chapter Seven-The Morning After
659 Words
Amara woke before Ethan.
For a moment, she lay still, listening to the soft rise and fall of his breathing. The same man who barked orders, glared holes into walls, and spoke like feelings were beneath him… now slept with the faintest crease between his brows, his features calm and unguarded for once.
Her mind replayed the night before—
The way he’d clung to her, trembling…
The way he whispered to his parents not to leave him…
Lucas had told her once, very briefly, that Ethan’s parents died in an accident. But he didn’t tell her this — the raw fear, the panic, the brokenness she saw last night.
She exhaled slowly and slipped out of bed, tying her robe and heading to the kitchen, trying to shake off the strange heaviness in her chest.
Upstairs, Ethan’s eyes snapped open.
He remembered everything —
The nightmare…
The sweating…
The way he clung to Amara like a child…
He scrubbed a hand over his face.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
It was the weekend. If he suddenly ran off to the office, Amara would know he was avoiding her — and that would make him look even more ridiculous.
So he grabbed onto the first excuse he could think of.
A meet-up with Daniel.
That sounded reasonable.
Still… why did he feel the need to explain himself to her?
He shook off the thought, changed into a casual outfit — a fitted T-shirt, black jeans, sneakers — simple, but he somehow still looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine.
He headed downstairs.
Amara was setting the table when she noticed him. She blinked, surprised to see him dressed casually.
She cleared her throat.
“Umm… breakfast is ready.”
Ethan turned, hand already on the door.
“Uh— I’m actually meeting with Michael.”
Amara raised her brow.
“Oh, Michael? He called the house line not long ago. He invited both of us to his place this evening. Said he couldn’t reach you.”
Ethan froze for half a second.
Then cursed under his breath.
Busted.
He forced a smile.
“…So. Breakfast it is.”
He joined her at the table. There was silence between them, broken only by the clink of their utensils.
Until Amara spoke.
“Do you want to talk about last night?”
Ethan’s body tensed instantly.
He didn’t talk about his nightmares. Ever. Only with Mrs. Beatrice — Lucas’s mother, who had quietly taken the role of a mother in his life.
He stabbed at his food.
“It was nothing,” he lied. “Just… something that shouldn’t be a bother.”
Amara studied him quietly.
He was lying. Badly.
“Well, good to know you’re fine,” she said, her tone sharp with sarcasm.
Ethan’s fork paused. He looked up at her, and what looked like guilt flickered in his eyes.
His hand slid across the table, resting gently on hers.
“I’m not ready to open up,” he said quietly. “That’s all.”
Her heart tugged. She didn’t know why… but it did.
She gave him a small smile.
“Okay.”
A beat of silence.
“About yesterday—” she began.
“I’m sorry,” Ethan cut in, the words almost stumbling out. “For not trusting you.”
Amara blinked.
A soft laugh escaped her.
“Look who finally apologized.”
She stood, leaned in, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.
Ethan froze.
She pulled away before he could react, gathering the dishes and carrying them to the sink as if nothing had happened.
Ethan stood slowly, his eyes lingering on her with a kind of quiet confusion.
He headed upstairs without a word, his heartbeat loud in his ears.
And somewhere between the clatter of dishes and footsteps fading…
Both of them realized something neither wanted to face.
They no longer knew what they were doing.
Or what they were becoming.
- Writer
