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

Chapter 27

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

IVY

We drive for only two blocks before Ethan abruptly slams on the brakes and pulls over beside a public park. The blues and purples of late evening cast a magical glow across the ground, but the beauty is lost on me as my mouth turns down in confusion. When I look over to ask Ethan why we’ve stopped, I find him glowering, his jaw clenched tightly as he stares straight ahead. His chest rises with heavy breaths, and his hands grip the steering wheel like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“Are…are you okay?” I inch closer, trying to figure out if he’s having a medical emergency. “Did you get hurt?”

He finally turns his head toward me, still silent, and the tension in the air sharpens. My heart races, the adrenaline from the fall still surging through me, amplifying everything around us. The sound of my pulse fills the space, merging with the steady rhythm of Ethan’s breathing, making his truck feel like it’s echoing with the intensity of this moment.

“Ethan…What’s happening right now?”

His eyes take their time sweeping over my face, and then he’s moving closer, bringing his delicious scent with him. It’s his usual spicy fragrance, now intermingled with the lingering sweetness of root beer. But before my thoughts can catch up, Ethan’s cupping my jaw with both hands and pressing his warm lips to mine. He backs away slightly before returning for another long kiss, except this time I involuntarily grasp at his chest, my fingers twisting into his damp T-shirt.

He pulls away from the kiss, leaning his forehead against mine, eyes closed.

Wow. That came out of nowhere. The air is still weighty, an invisible fuzziness coating our heavy breaths. It feels like he’s just released a giant slingshot after it’s been pulled back for so long. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. His lips are still so close.

“Don’t be,” I tell him, unable to stop myself from smiling.

“Right.”

He clears his throat as he releases me and shifts into his seat, then he steers the truck back onto the road.

The strained silence continues. I guess we’re not going to talk about what just happened, then.

While the feeling of Ethan’s big hands cupping my jaw and his lips caressing mine were all exceptionally nice, twisting into him just now also managed to draw my attention to a stinging in my side, one that begins to throb more painfully as his truck rumbles along.

My brows pull together, and I stifle a wince when a sharp stabbing hits me below my ribs. The spot might have only been a dull ache when I first fell, but now it’s throwing a tantrum. Meanwhile, Ethan is pouting on the other side of the cab like someone’s just told him tool belts are for sissies, so I withhold drawing attention to my pain.

I don’t get it. One minute, the man is pulling me in and kissing me senselessly, and the next, he’s back to glowering at me in silence. Then again, he did apologize, so maybe he already regrets that kiss ?

“So, um…How was your date?” I squeak out when his truck hits a pothole, and I bounce around painfully in my seat.

“Didn’t go on the date, Ivy.”

I’d assumed that much when he showed up at my house so soon after leaving. But I needed to hear him say it. He continues to stew, glaring at the road like it’s personally offended him. I turn slightly to my right, secretly lifting the hem of my oversized shirt to check the damage.

Oh. Well, crap.

“You still okay with pizza?”

“Uh…yeah. Pizza’s fine. But could we stop somewhere first?”

More scowling.

“Yeah. Where do you need to go?”

“Um, just something I gotta do real quick. Take a right over here.”

I inhale slowly, taking in deep, measured breaths in between giving Ethan directions. He looks puzzled when we reach our destination. “Why are we outside the hospital?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you. But first, I really hope you have a good car detailing place. And also don’t be mad?—”

“Ivy—”

“Just, pull up outside the emergency entrance, please.”

He does as I ask, but his eyes grow more frantic. “Ivy? What the hell is going on?”

“You’re gonna have to help me out. It seems I’ve gotten some blood on your seat.”

I’ve never seen a man move so fast. His seatbelt is barely unclipped and he’s already at my door, hands hovering with uncertainty. “You’re bleeding! Okay. Crap, Ivy, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Don’t fuss at me, okay? That’s why I didn’t say anything at first. Also, I just noticed. ”

“How did you miss this?” he shouts incredulously.

I furrow my brow. “You’re the one who distracted me.”

Ethan clenches his jaw, reaching up and carefully cradling my hips. I slide out of the truck and get to my feet with his help, and he curses under his breath while he searches for a shirt from behind the seat. He balls it up and gently presses it over the spot I’ve been covering with my hand, and we shuffle into the ER together. Convincing him to park his truck and leave me in the waiting area proves harder than getting Gail to bake something without rum. He only relents when a burly nurse hurries out with a wheelchair, both of them insisting I sit.

I’m wheeled to the check-in desk after that, where I awkwardly recount the events that led me here. I wish it were a thrilling tale, like slipping on an old dock while rescuing someone from a gator attack. But eventually I’m forced to admit that I was startled and toppled onto a box of pizza, a six pack of sodas, and an ugly light fixture. The attendant glares at me with the same skeptical look you give to someone who says they’re thinking about getting a perm.

Ethan rushes back in, alarming the other patients he passes. A nurse joins us, giving Ethan a once over before ushering us both behind a screen. I’ve skipped the line, and as I open my mouth to protest and volunteer to wait my turn, Ethan’s lips form a thin line. Before I can speak, he gives me a stern, “Don’t even think about it.” Apparently, having blood seeping from one’s side is a big deal. I only got the one look at it, but it’s not like I’m going to die from blood loss. I’m guessing the cut is a thumb and a half wide, tops.

Ethan broods silently, standing with his muscular arms folded while the nurse takes my vitals. He looks away politely when she helps me remove my bloody shirt to swap it for a scrub top. Then we’re escorted to a room and the nurse leaves, telling us a doctor will be in soon .

“So, what’s your more fun twin doing while you sulk it up with me?” I ask, pursing my lips to the side.

Ethan lifts his hands in frustration. “Dang it, Ivy. You put yourself in danger. Again. And I’m mad ‘cause I’m the reason you’re here.”

“How do you figure that?” I lean back on the hospital bed. Ethan jumps forward when I pinch my eyes closed at the stinging on my side. I’ve also traded his shirt for a wad of gauze, and thankfully the bleeding seems to have slowed. Ethan still hovers close by, clearly unsure how to help.

Then I realize, this man is in a constant state of uncertainty when he’s with me. But even when he’s scowling at me—which is ninety-nine percent of the time—his attention is completely focused on me.

And I like it too much.

For the majority of my life, Ross and the less fortunate absorbed most of my parents’ attention and efforts, while I self-sufficiently blended into the background. But somehow—no matter what I do—Ethan sees me. What he sees, though, apparently drives him mad. But he pays attention, nonetheless.

Neither of us seem to be willing to acknowledge that kiss. I’m not sure of Ethan’s motivation for not bringing it up, but my rationale is back to angry-stomping its feet, demanding I pay attention.

What were my reasons for not liking Ethan again?

He’s a shameless flirt.

Well…I mean, is that our only reason? ‘Cause that one’s actually not so bad.

Fake boyfriend.

Ah, yes. There it is.

For the first time this evening, I glance over and take him in. His hair’s slightly ruffled and sticking out. His pizza-stained shirt still hugs his chest temptingly, and his tanned skin peeks out from beneath the sleeves, a pleasant contrast to the bright ribbon tied around his wrist.

Excuse me, hold the phone!

“That’s my ribbon,” I blurt out.

His eyes dart down to his wrist, arms still crossed. He shrugs with a lip jutting out. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“You’re seriously playing that angle?”

We’re interrupted by a knock and then the door opening, not that I’m convinced Ethan was going to respond to my accusation, anyway. A young, attractive man in a white lab coat flashes a bright smile before he pulls the door closed behind him. He seems vaguely familiar.

“Ivy Marsh? I’m Dr. Bryan. I hear someone got into a fight with a glass bottle?” He asks, snapping on a pair of gloves as a nurse joins our party.

I clear my throat before answering. “Sort of, but it’s not what you think.”

“So you weren’t in a bar fight?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

Ethan lets out a low grunt while I begin to sputter, trying to explain how the glass probably came from a crushed light fixture and get this man to understand that I’m not a senseless party animal. But then the doctor laughs, his eyes suddenly warming.

“I’m kidding, Ivy. My sister, Stef, works with you, remember?”

Ethan elicits the slightest growl, and I flash a frown at him before turning back to Dr. Bryan. That’s why he looks familiar. I’d forgotten that Stef had introduced us last year.

“Oh…right. Well, this was just a home-reno accident. No alcohol involved.” I laugh awkwardly, but his smile only grows. “Let’s have a look, shall we? Lie back for me.” He winks.

My eyes snag on Ethan’s as I recline. How is it possible for him to frown deeper? Except this time his fury is directed toward the doctor who’s currently lifting the hem of my shirt and prodding around.

“Not too bad.” Dr. Bryan narrows his eyes while his gloved fingers inspect my side. “About an inch and a half wide and a half-inch deep. You didn’t nick anything important, but we’ll need to get it stitched up.”

“Yay,” I deadpan when Ethan growls again. This’ll be fun.