Writing On The Wall (The King Brothers Duology #2)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ETHAN

The sky is a deep purple, the stars beginning their show as I pull up outside the restaurant to meet Ember, Colton and Ivy. I blow out my cheeks, unsure of what I’m walking into.

Ticking Ivy off again wasn’t the best idea. I know I should be playing nice for Ember and Colton’s sake, but it’s already getting exhausting, especially since it’s proving impossible to avoid her altogether. Ivy and I are like oil and water, which makes it even more amusing when I shake things up just to get a reaction out of her. But I’ll admit, it would make nights like tonight more bearable if we could tolerate each other’s company for more than two minutes.

I walk into the restaurant and immediately find Ivy and Ember with their heads huddled over a magazine while Colton sits across the table, watching them with a soft smile. There’s a faint tightening in my chest at seeing Ivy so at ease beside her friend. I slow my steps, trying to stretch the few seconds before I reach the table. It’s a strange phenomenon, getting to observe her without her scowl directed at me. For some crazy reason, I wonder what it’s like to be the person she’s smiling at for once .

“ Fratello .” I clap Colton on the shoulder, unable to prolong the moment any longer.

“Eth. Beer?” Colton asks, already flagging down a waitress.

“Yeah, sounds good. Hey, ladies.” I nod, watching as their shared giggles fade, only to be replaced by Ivy’s stiff smile. The stormy expression she wears contradicts the bright yellow ribbon glistening in her hair. I slide into the empty seat across from her, tapping the toe of her shoe with mine and earning a sharp glare.

“Boyfriend not joining us, Ivy?”

“ Boyfriend ?” Ember tilts her head, frowning at her friend.

“Oh…um…It’s new. And no.” She flashes those angry eyes in my direction. “Tonight is about Colton and Ember.”

“Okay, but hold up!” Ember raises a palm with a slow blink. “When the heck did you get a boyfriend? And who is he?”

“Recently?” Ivy answers like it’s a question. “And…it’s Toby.”

“You’re dating Toby ?”

“Mhmm.” Her eyes jump to each of us then back to Ember.

“But I thought you said he’s like?—”

“The sweetest. I know, he’s so sweet. Just…the sweetest.”

I release a short puff of air with the roll of my eyes. Gag .

“He’s sweet, you’re sweet, we’re all sweet. Can we order now?” There’s a slight edginess in my tone, making my irritation evident. I realize I sound rude, but I’m irritated about being irritated…about the memory of seeing Ivy and Toby together. And I don’t want to examine those feelings at all.

Colton catches my reaction, silently questioning me with a frown. I reply with a quick headshake, which he interprets using brotherly telepathy.

Ember’s brows crease for a second. I don’t look at Ivy. I don’t want to see the effects of my poor attitude etched on her face, especially not after Colton glances at her and immediately turns back to aim his big-brother glare in my direction. And he’s wielding the one when he doesn’t blink and only shows the slightest hint of a scowl at full strength.

His brow lifts, silently scolding me for being a giant ass and telling me I better tighten it up this time.

God must be smiling on me or giving me an out, because my phone rings, breaking the tension. “Sorry, I’ve gotta take this,” I announce, as I stand. “Get me the burger, Colt.”

Ivy

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the construction zone.” Ember scowls as Ethan stomps out of the restaurant doors.

The guy’s got something up his butt, that’s for sure.

The waitress takes our food orders, and as soon as she leaves, Ember unleashes an onslaught of questions regarding Toby. She’s so excited I can practically see the stars popping fireworks in her eyes.

“Em. I’m not marrying the man. We’re just hanging out.”

“But you could marry him.” She arches one brow.

I roll my eyes, but instead of drifting back to Ember, my gaze settles on Ethan as he rejoins the table wearing the same scowl. What is it with this dude? And what have I done to annoy him this time? Is it my breathing? Maybe he had a traumatic experience with heels in his past. I bet an enraged ex threw one at his face, and that’s why he’s such a poopyhead about it .

“Phone call not go well?” Colton asks, clearly reading Mr. Grumpy Pants’s face.

“It was great. The network wants me to fly to Frisco in a couple weeks to shoot a test episode.”

“And that’s not good?” Ember scrunches her nose.

“It’s great.”

Colton throws his hands up, letting them plop on the table as he shakes his head. “That makes perfect sense, since you look like someone just sat on your origami collection and all.”

“Colt, Don’t be the wigs from the Twilight movies. It’s good news. I’m happy. Let’s move on.” Ethan smiles more genuinely, seemingly returning to his usual relaxed state. I don’t know where the Kings get their weird analogies, but it’s definitely a family trait.

Maybe that heel to the head did permanent damage.

“By the way, I saw you chatting with Sandra on your way out today,” Colton pries. “She ask you out again?”

Ethan scratches the back of his neck with a sigh. “Yeah.”

“Did you say yes?”

“I was on the phone. I told her I couldn’t talk.”

“Interesting,” Colton replies.

“Can we stay on track?” Ember interrupts. “I need to give everyone their duties for the wedding day.” Colton apologizes, and she continues. “Seriously, I want to make this as small of an event as possible. And with our moms running the opposite direction, maybe it’ll end up being a regular-sized wedding.” Her elbows rest on the table as she massages her temples with a groan. “Are you sure we can’t elope?”

Colton shrugs. “I suggested that last week, baby. Just say the word.”

“I’m not ruling it out at this point. Ugh…okay. Let’s focus.” She pops her eyes open, determination in her posture. “Vee,” she hands me a pen and legal pad. “Can you take notes? ”

I slowly slide the pad closer, my heart rate climbing as my palms begin sweating. Ember is one of the only people who know I struggled with dyslexia as a child. But I’ve only briefly mentioned the challenges I face with mentally processing numbers and letters. It’s so much more than that, but it’s my own fault for leaving my best friend unaware of the depths of my battle.

I fiddle with the pen in my hand. “Can I type them on my phone?” I’m praying nobody thinks twice about my sudden paper aversion. Numbers aren’t my thing, but handwriting is another huge trigger. I can do it. It’s just that my terrible spelling gives me extreme anxiety, because I know it’ll end up looking like a note written by a five-year-old. At least I can blame the spelling errors on autocorrect when I use my phone .

There’s a reason I chose to teach second grade. So much of their learning at that age is hands-on, and the methods I get to use to teach them are easier for the kids and for me. Plus, there’s a teacher’s aide in the room, so I can often get away with delegating tasks that seem too tricky for me.

The silence around the table stretches for a fraction too long. This is exactly what I dread most—sensing someone’s confusion with my coping mechanisms and the tension that creates. Everyone is about to wonder why I’m being this weird about something so trivial, and these incidents usually lead to me overexplaining some lame reason as to why I’d rather not do the thing that should be so simple to do in the first place.

I’m about to pull a Michael Scott and start a sentence without knowing where it’s going when Ethan jumps in, sliding the notepad out from under my palm. Then I’m overwhelmed by my senses for a moment, and the only thing my mind can process is the rough graze of his calloused hand over mine.

“I’ll take notes,” he offers, his eyes flickering to mine before he clicks the pen and waits for instructions.

“Oh…okay.” Ember frowns at him for a second before she begins rattling off ideas and a very long to-do list consisting mostly of parental management/babysitting.

I bite my lip, trying to decipher the enigma of a man across from me. It’s the second time today he’s gone out of his way to help me like this. I can’t figure out his angle, and it’s nearly impossible to keep up with all his mood swings and the emotional whiplash they’re giving me.

Thankfully, the evening continues without any more hiccups. I’m also grateful when Colton insists on paying for dinner since I’m still broke, not to mention the thought of figuring out a split bill is enough to make me barf. I have no problems using an app on my phone to calculate tips. But unless someone is willing to tally my order for me, I’m a mess.

Then, just when we’re all walking out of the restaurant and I think I might escape peacefully, I hear Ethan assuring Ember that he’ll see me to my car.

I scoff internally. What does that even mean? Does he actually think I’m at risk of getting lost or forgetting where I parked?

I ignore Ethan’s hulking frame as he stomps behind me. But as soon as I unlock my car, he lunges over me to open the door and inspect the contents. I still haven’t gotten around to unloading the rest of my belongings. It’s been a busy day. I also discovered the water heater in my new house is a bust, so I had to live through the trauma of a cold shower this afternoon.

“Are you still living in your car?”

I step closer, squaring my shoulders, and the man is so freaking tall that it’s like trying to peer over the top of the Eiffel Tower. Even with my wedges, I barely reach his chest.

“Listen here, King,” I snarl at the giant. “You don’t need to take notes for me, or concern yourself with my shoes or the state of my car. Ember and Colton aren’t here, so we can stop pretending we actually get along.” I plop down into my hoarder-mobile and grip the door handle. “Leave. Me. Alone,” I say, ready to yank the door shut with dramatic effect. but Ethan puts a hand on the top, hindering me.

I’m fighting back a sob—the need to be alone is clawing at me. The vulnerability I’m feeling from whatever Ethan is beginning to figure out, whatever he saw that made him jump to my rescue at dinner—it’s too much. I can’t take all this exposure.

Then again, maybe it’s not the need to be alone that has me retreating, but the opposite. Ethan’s small acts of chivalry are shining a sudden, unwelcomed spotlight on my desire to be close to someone. I swallow hard, because if I’m being honest right now, I want nothing more than a hug. I want to have someone in my life that I can trust to pull me close and remind me that they’ll always have my back.

But that’s a fairytale. People let you down.

All of these thoughts spiral through my mind as Ethan steps closer, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly before he smiles.

“I don’t think I can do that, Marsh. Who’s gonna stop you from injuring yourself in those ridiculous shoes?”

And then he steps back with so much smugness as he shuts my door. I force myself not to glance back at him as I drive away, even though I desperately want to see him one more time.