Wish - Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ethan Miller lived a charmed life. Parties, friends, never a dull moment. But lately, time had been dragging. Nothing felt the same. He was at his usual reserved room at the club, his friends engrossed in pool and cards, when the boredom became unbearable.

He tossed his cue aside, grabbing his phone and heading to the window. A message popped up. Blurry photos. A crowded supermarket. A man and a woman, laughing, standing in front of brightly lit shelves.

In another photo, the man had his arm around the woman’s waist. She didn’t seem to mind. Ethan’s blood ran cold. He’d dismissed the photo of their hands, but these…these were like a knife to the gut.

He knew, with a sickening certainty, what they meant. They were intimate, and it hadn’t been a one–time thing. He caught his reflection in the window: eyes bloodshot, face contorted in rage.

He slammed his phone against the floor, the shattering sound silencing the room. Everyone stared at him, shocked and apprehensive. He forced himself to calm down, turning back to the group. “Keep playing. Don’t stop on my account.”

He walked towards the door. “I need some air. Don’t wait up.”

He stepped out into the empty hallway, his anger a living thing inside him. He stopped a passing waiter. “Your phone.” The confused waiter handed it over. Ethan dialed Ashley’s number.

He didn’t know when he’d memorized it, but it didn’t matter. He needed to hear her voice, see her, tear her away from David. From the man who had stolen her with a damn sweet potato.

She hung up on him. He called again. She didn’t answer. He lit a cigarette, taking a drag. He texted her: Don’t make me come over there. She answered the third call. Probably hiding from David, he thought, his heart pounding with a mixture of rage and longing. Her voice was hushed, as if she were a thief.

“Ashley,” he said, his voice tight. “Tell Carter it was a mistake, a fling. You don’t like him, you could never like him. Tell him to go back to wherever he came from. I’ll pretend it never happened. I’ll forgive you, this once.”

Silence stretched for an agonizing half–minute. Ethan could hear his own breathing, the frantic beating of his heart.

“That night in Miami…maybe it was a mistake. But this isn’t,” she finally said. “I liked him in high school. It’s not that strange that I like him again. And Ethan, we’re just friends. Friends don’t dictate each other’s relationships.

Your never acknowledged me when we were together. I don’t need your forgiveness for what I do now. Move on, Ethan. Let’s end this amicably.” She hung up before he could respond.

Ethan stared at the phone, watching the snow fall outside. Last year, during a similar snowfall, Ashley had been at his apartment. They’d had hot pot, then she’d curled up on the couch watching TV. He’d rested his head on her lap, falling asleep.

He thought she’d kissed him before he drifted off. He’d pretended not to notice, a secret sweetness blooming in his chest.