I knew Garrett was right, and I knew he was coming from the right place of heart, but I was infuriated that he was lecturing me. “You’ve let him stay here and enabled him to avoid fires for years. You’re more of a liability than him after twenty-four hours of no sleep, and that’s the only reason you sent him tonight. Am I wrong?”
His face reddened and he took a step back, but he knew I was right. “We need to help him,” Garrett said.
“I know we do.”
Ethan would have hated seeing us here, concocting a plan to help him overcome his struggles, but we needed to figure out something. Ethan would remain handicapped until he learned to live a normal life again. If he’d never step foot in another fire, that was fine. But he needed to accept his scars and accept his past before we could start a life together. After visiting Bruce, I knew I was ready to try.
I needed him to feel the same way.
Chapter Ten
As planned, I arrived at his house, a bottle of red wine in hand and a nice, blue dress hanging limply from the single strap on my left shoulder. Ethan waited at the door with a smile.
“You look stunning,” he greeted, taking the wine and opening the door for me.
It was difficult to hold onto my negative thoughts—onto the things we needed to discuss before allowing the date to progress any further. Garrett had a point, and I needed to listen to it. “You look handsome,” I added as I walked past him and into the house. “A stay at home date night?”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d have Derrick,” he admitted.
I followed him into the kitchen, and he placed the wine on the counter. My heart melted. “You made accommodations for if I brought my son on a date?”
He nodded slowly and pointed at a pot on the stove. I walked toward it and looked inside. Dinosaur macaroni and cheese, already cooked and ready, sat in a gooey heap in the base of the pot. “I just wanted to make sure he’d have something to eat if he needed it.”
I didn’t know how else to respond. It was the kindest gesture I could have asked for. He thought not only about what I would have liked for dinner, but he considered Derrick above all else and refrained from insisting that I not bring him. I couldn’t think highly enough of the fact that he put Derrick first without realizing it. I watched as he pulled two steaks from the microwave, likely just pulled off the grill before I arrived if the steam was any indication. I sat at a stool and took a deep breath before folding my hands in front of me and catching his gaze.
He prepared my plate as I continued looking at him. “What?” He asked, placing a plate full of steak, corn, and a baked potato in front of me.
“Would you take off your shirt for me?” I finally asked.
He squinted his eyes in confusion. “Would you want me to take it off for you?” he asked.
I cut into my steak and examined the perfectly pink center before smirking. “I would,” I told him, lifting my fork to my mouth.
He snorted and pushed his food aside. “Typically, girls wait until after dinner to suggest this.”
I shrugged and pushed my plate aside, too. “We already went on our first date, and if you consider all the work I’ve done on your house as dates, we’ve been through at least ten. I want to see all of you,” I admitted. “And that requires taking off your shirt.”
He didn’t speak for seconds, and I wondered if he planned to refuse.
But in one swift motion, he removed it.
It had been years since I saw him shirtless, so I quickly examined and appreciated the ridges that lined his entire stomach. It took a second to notice that abnormalities down the entirety of his left side and into his pants. I expected a horrible burn, but it was entirely healed. The scars were atrocious, but not terrifying or disgusting. They showed his strength and bravery. My attraction only grew as I traced my eyes up to the tip of the scars. Unmarred skin started an inch above his armpit, but the end was nowhere in sight.
I stood from my stool and made my way toward him.
He took a small step back, his strength wavering before my eyes. Had he ever done this?
His face was a hard mask. It was impenetrable and showed no emotions as he watched my approach. When I finally stood in front of him, his tense muscles shook. Was it in fear or anticipation? I reached my fingers toward the scars, careful to keep a mask as tightly on my face as he did on his. When my fingers were centimeters away, he clutched my wrist. He wrapped one large hand around it, followed by the other. Nothing in his expression gave away what he was thinking or feeling.
With a sharp exhale, he led my fingers to the scars and shuttered as I touched them. I jerked away. “Did I hurt you?” I asked.
He shook his head. I wanted to see how he was feeling. I needed him to let down his mask. “Talk to me,” he begged.
“You’re perfect. Even the scars.” He didn’t look convinced. “You’ve hated them for so long, you haven’t considered that others won’t hate them like
