Chương 2
Then he had brought her home to meet his family.
Mercers did not believe in empty space.
They filled it with explanations.
“Mara,” he said finally, “I should’ve stopped her.”
She stared at the frozen peas.
“You should’ve said something afterward.”
“I tried.”
“You said my name.”
“I was shocked.”
“So was I.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
He did not answer that.
The frozen bag crackled when she shifted it.
Outside, people were leaving. She could hear faint movement from the entry hall, the dull rhythm of the front door opening and closing. Every few minutes a car engine started in the circular driveway. The event had ended early, though nobody had officially announced that it had ended. Wealthy people were skilled at evacuating without appearing to flee.
Mara smiled at that, then stopped.
Weller’s sentence returned.
When everyone else ran.
She pressed the peas harder against her cheek.
“Mara?”
“Go deal with your family.”
“You’re my family.”
The words should have helped.
Instead they hurt.
She stood, unlocked the door, and opened it.
Ethan looked worse than she expected. His white linen shirt was untucked on one side. He had taken off the pale blue jacket his mother had chosen for him. A faint patch of sweat darkened the fabric beneath one arm.
His eyes went immediately to her cheek.
“Jesus.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She hit me. You didn’t.”
“No, but I—”
“Ethan.”
He stopped.
She set the peas in the sink.
His gaze dropped to her abdomen and then jerked away, which irritated her more than if he had stared.
“Don’t start treating them like they appeared today.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I just…” He rubbed his forehead. “I didn’t know the admiral knew you.”
“He doesn’t. Not really.”
“He seemed to.”
“He knew me eight years ago for approximately forty minutes.”
Ethan stared at her.
“That’s not how he made it sound.”
“No.”
Outside, a woman said, “Tell Mrs. Mercer I’m so sorry,” in the mournful tone people used at funerals.
Mara almost laughed.
Ethan heard it too.
His mouth tightened.
“Sloane’s upstairs.”
“Good for her.”
“My mother’s with her.”
“Even better.”
“She wants to apologize.”
“Sloane?”
“My mother.”
Mara picked up her dress from the hook on the back of the door. It was a loose black cover-up she had brought because the ocean usually turned cold after sunset.
“For what?”
Ethan hesitated.
That told her enough.
“For the afternoon getting out of hand,” he said.
Mara pulled the dress over her head.
“The afternoon didn’t get out of hand. Sloane did.”
“I know.”
“Does your mother?”
“Yes.”
Mara looked at him.
He corrected himself.
“She knows Sloane was wrong.”
“Those are different sentences.”
Ethan leaned against the wall.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“That’s becoming a theme.”
His eyes hardened for the first time.
“I’m trying.”
“I know.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
“No. It probably doesn’t.”
That quieted both of them.
Mara found her sandals under the vanity. One had turned sideways and she had to reach behind the wastebasket for it.
A stupid thing, looking for a shoe.
She wished she could keep doing it.
Ethan watched her.
“What happened over there?”
She sat on the closed toilet lid and fastened the sandal.
“We’ve talked about this.”
“We talked about you getting injured.”
“Yes.”
“We didn’t talk about twenty-three men.”
“No.”
“Or an admiral saluting you.”
“No.”
“Or you going back when everyone else ran.”
Her fingers stopped on the buckle.
She looked up.
“Don’t say that.”
“What?”
“That last part.”
“I’m repeating what he said.”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“Mara, I’m asking you.”
“And I’m telling you not to repeat it.”
His irritation turned to confusion.
She stood.
“Weller shouldn’t have said that.”
“He was defending you.”
“He was angry.”
“At Sloane.”
“Yes.”
“And apparently grateful to you.”
“Those things can be true and he can still be wrong.”
Ethan opened his hands.
“I’m sorry, but I’m having trouble following the part where the guy who just told a hundred people you saved twenty-three lives is the problem.”
“He isn’t the problem.”
“Then what is?”
Mara looked toward the bathroom door.
Her phone vibrated again.
“The story.”
The first video was online before sunset.
Mara did not see it until she and Ethan were in his car on Highway 101, driving south with the ocean fading into gray on their right.
He had insisted on taking her home. She had almost refused, mostly because she wanted to be angry without a witness, but her cheek hurt and she had left her rental car at his apartment two days earlier.
His phone was connected to the dashboard.
It rang four times in fifteen minutes.
He ignored the first three.
On the fourth, the screen displayed SLOANE.
Mara watched the name.
“Answer it.”
Ethan glanced at her.
“You sure?”
“No. Answer it anyway.”
He tapped the wheel control.
“Sloane.”
His sister’s breathing came through the speakers.
“Is she there?”
Mara looked out the window.
“Yes,” Ethan said.
“Put me off speaker.”
“No.”
A beat.
“Ethan.”
“No.”
Another beat.
Then Sloane said, “There’s a video.”
Mara closed her eyes.
Ethan’s hands tightened around the wheel.
“What video?”
“What do you think?”
“Who posted it?”
“I don’t know. Jessa says it started on someone’s private account, but people screen-recorded it. It’s everywhere now.”
“Define everywhere.”
“I don’t know. TikTok. Instagram. X. Some military account reposted it. There’s another angle from near the bar.”
Mara opened her eyes.
“Another angle?”
Sloane heard her.
“Mara.”
“Was someone filming before you hit me?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are there two angles?”
“It was a party. People had phones.”
Ethan said, “Sloane, did you hit her because of the photographers?”
Silence.
Mara turned from the window.
“Sloane?”
“I told her to put on the wrap.”
“That’s not what he asked.”
“I was under pressure.”
“Everybody’s under pressure.”
“You think I don’t know what I did?”
May you like
Mara had no answer to that.
Sloane continued, too quickly now.
