Chapter One
Ethan
I am broken.
Broken by the most devastating news a person could receive. The only man I ever loved is gone. I feel like I’m sliced into a million pieces. For years I loved him from afar and ever-so silently. Zeke deserved so much more than what I showed him.
He owned my heart. I just never handed it to him.
He was worth being loved out loud, with pride.
What’s the point of life when life never gives you the only thing you want?
It’s too late to save him or to save myself. We’ll forever be the two lost boys with big dreams.
My heart might be destroyed, but my head stays in control. I need to get to him. From what the police explained to me, he died in a hotel room, alone. He hates to be alone. I need to reach him, to be by his side even when he’s gone.
During the six-hour flight to Ft. Lauderdale, I spend my time scrolling through his pictures and listening to some of his voice mails. I should call everyone who knows Zeke. I don’t do it. Saying out loud that he died will make it real.
But it is real, and you’re just in denial.
I lost it. I lost him.
This can’t be my new reality. It can’t be the end of his story. He is full of life and love. He was, I remind myself.
I would give my life in exchange for his. How am I supposed to live in a world where he doesn’t exist?
In a different life, we could’ve made it work—and last for an eternity.
While he was alive, I didn’t miss him because I knew he was around. He was a part of the same realm. We shared the same air. I still belonged to him. Even now, when my head knows he’s gone, my heart still beats for him.
Like me, it’s in denial, not wanting to accept that my Z has left. That he won’t take another breath.
I should’ve done more for him, for us, and for myself.
I lived afraid of everything, even of loving him. I was never brave enough to tell him what he meant to me. Even when he was far away, he always brought me hope.
I lived for him. And yet, I let him down so many times.
I just thought that maybe someday, after we lived our lives, we’d find each other. If I wasn’t a coward, I’d follow him. We’d be the washed-out version of Romeo and Juliet. There wasn’t a family feud. The conflict remained in my head all the time.
Logic against love.
Fear consuming all the hope between us.
My future against…my stupidity.
I wish this was a bad dream, but those night terrors I had when I was sixteen are nothing compared to this. From this day forward, I’ll be Prometheus sentenced to the eternal torment of dreaming of Zeke being alive and next to me. During the day, I’ll be as cold and dead inside as he is now on the outside.
How am I supposed to survive without him?
Irony is part of the tapestry in our lives. It might be the thread that joins the two of us.
If I could make a wish, just one, I’d ask for one last day with him. Just the two of us in Luna Harbor, in the small cottage he bought so many years ago. We were the happiest when we spent time in that place. I let myself be open. I never cared who saw us holding hands, hugging, or sharing a kiss.
The tears I shed won’t bring him back, but I hope they wash down the pain or numb it. I don’t understand what they’ll accomplish, but I let myself be vulnerable.
Nothing I own will bring him back. I spent all these years becoming who I thought I wanted to be, and today, when I’ve lost the one person who matters the most in my life, I realize that I don’t give a shit about any of it.
I don’t want to be HANNETH’s CEO.
I want to be Zeke’s man.
I don’t care about anything else but him. But you’re too late, idiot.
When the pilot announces that the plane will be landing, I wash my face, sit, and secure my seatbelt. As hard as it is to control my emotions, I manage to sober up and assume the same role I’ve played for the past few years. Detached, cold, and commanding.
After I see Zeke, I’ll call Tucker and Nana. Fuck, she’s going to be devastated. She loves us all, but he’s her Zeke. Her brother.
There’s a service car outside the hangar waiting for me. It takes thirty minutes to arrive at the rehab center. The place looks like a three-star hotel. There are more prestigious institutions that could’ve helped him. Why am I upset at something that can’t be changed? It’s done. Still, these people owe me an explanation. I might make them pay for their mistake.
I straighten my posture, erasing any trace of grief. Hiding my emotions comes as easily as lying. Maybe it’s all the same. Concealing myself is a weapon, a habit, and the way I learned to exist. These people will get the Ethan Killion treatment. They’ll regret not doing their job.
As I walk toward the reception desk a woman smiles at me, “Welcome to Bright Days Ahead. Would you like an application?”
“Call whoever is in charge,” I order.
The receptionist stares at me with wide-open eyes. “How—how can I help you, sir?”
“I need to speak to the director, manager, or whoever heads this excuse of an institution.” My voice rumbles throughout the building.
“What is it in regards?” There’s a flicker of panic in her eyes. Her hands tremble as she types on her computer.
I slam my hand on the counter. “Zeke Hutchence. He was here to get treatment. You let him leave and now… Where is your fucking manager?”
A man wearing a suit saunters into the area and stands right next to me. “Can I help you?”
“Zeke Hutchence,” I repeat his name so loud it echoes throughout the reception area.
“As we explained to you over the phone, we’re not responsible for any patient after their release.” His voice is soft. I hate the tone, I hate the pitch, I hate that he doesn’t care what they did.
Is he fucking kidding me?
“My lawyer will be closing this place,” I threaten.
“Sir, I understand this is a difficult time for you. As we told you over the phone, we don’t have anything to do with his”—he clears his throat—“with the loss of Mr. Hutchence.”
I stare at him. My jaw twitches. My hands are two fists, ready to punch someone. Anyone. I want to inflict the pain I’m feeling.
It’s unbearable.
I stop myself though. If I end up in jail, I won’t get to see him or hold his hand one last time.
“Why did you let him leave?” I question.
“He was our patient, not our prisoner,” he explains with a fucking condescending voice that is unnerving. I’m not a toddler in need of a nap. I’m a desperate man who needs answers. “The moment he signed the release forms, we had to let him go. Once he’s out, the center isn’t accountable for his actions or well-being.”
“He fucking died,” I groan.
“I’m sorry about your loss.”
“Sorry won’t bring him back,” I mutter, defeated.
I cover my eyes with the tips of my fingers. I breathe deeply, trying to keep myself together.
“He died alone and in pain.” A shit load of emotional pain that’s been haunting him for years. Like knives constantly stabbing through his heart and his mind.
My own pain grasps my throat like a fist asphyxiating me. “I caused this.”