Protecting Olivia

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

LIVY

When Ethan comes back into the house, I know that something is wrong, though he doesn't say anything. Instead, he just puts on a smile that doesn't reach his tired eyes and asks how he can help with the unpacking.

It's Nicole who puts him to work, lifting some of the heavier items I had and moving them around the house under her orders. Matthew disappears into his own room, putting away his things and setting everything up how he would like it. The house is almost completely unpacked by the time the girls have to leave, just small items to find a home for, and of course my own take on the bookshelf.

Ethan ends up taking both me and Matthew out for dinner that night, knowing that I am too exhausted to cook. I'm grateful for it, and my mind couldn't help but wander to how this would be if we were a real family. Would we have family dinners like this? The three of us together, talking about our days and making small jokes. And although Ethan seems relaxed and carefree throughout the dinner, I know that something is bothering him.

It's late by the time Ethan takes us home and Matthew goes straight to bed, exhausted from the early morning fishing trip. I slump down on my couch as Ethan stands awkwardly near the wall, his hands in his pockets looking unsure. I hide the grin that tries to form as I take him in, he looks lost yet adorable as he watches me. I pat the seat beside me, Ethan not hesitating to come and sit next to me.

"I know something is bothering you," I turn on the couch to face him, crossing my legs in front of me and leaning back on the arm of the couch. He raises an eyebrow at my statement before sighing and leaning back, his torso turned towards me.

"My mother died. Drug overdose." He looks away, his brows furrowed slightly. My heart sinks as I reach out and place my hand on his. I know she wasn't the best mother, or even a mother at all to him and Kate, but she was still his mother.

"I'm sorry..." I whisper earning a shrug in response.

"It's not like I even knew her," he mumbles. I watch him closely as he looks down at my hand resting on his.

"It's okay to feel sad Ethan, she was your mother after all." I say softly, not liking how he seems to be struggling with this.

"She was never a mother to us." He sighs, resting his head back on the couch and staring up at the ceiling. "I remember hoping as a kid that we would get home from school and she would actually greet us, make us afternoon tea and ask us about our day. But it never happened." I squeeze his hand, the frown on my face deepening. My parents weren't the greatest, more worried about keeping up appearances than the feelings of their children, but they were still active parents. They still fed us, helped us with our homework and took us to whatever hobby we had at the time. Ethan never had anything like that.

"I don't even know anything about her." His voice is quiet, more like he was saying it to himself than to me.

"You never tried to find out about her?" I ask, knowing the connections Ethan now has it would be easy for him to uncover anything he wanted. He runs his free hand over his face with a sigh as his other hand wraps around my fingers, holding me in place.

"Once, when I was a kid, I asked her about her parents." He says with a sad smile as he looks towards me. "We'd gotten home from school; I must have been about ten and she was more lucid than usual. My father wasn't home and I had an assignment on my family tree. So, I took the chance to ask her. She just got this faraway look in her eye and the next this I know I'm flying into a wall."

I gasp and grip his hand, he smiles sadly at me, squeezing my hand back as if to comfort me.

"My father had walked in. He yelled at me for bringing up those vile people as he called them. I never asked again." I nod my head in understanding, my eyes not leaving Ethan as a range of emotions cross his handsome face.

"You didn't look into her after you left?" he shakes his head, rubbing his hand over his jaw before looking back at me.

"No. I looked into my father; his parents died in a car accident when he was nineteen. He had an uncle and an aunt and some cousins but didn't have any contact with them. I didn't bother looking into my mother as she wasn't a threat on her own." He looks away, the troubled expression not leaving him.

"Maybe you should find out about her now," I say softly. He turns his head back towards me, his brow furrowed. "It's obviously troubling you. And there could possibly be family out there that may never know what happened to her." I continue.

"Yeah, maybe..." he looks away and I know he's considering it. I don't say anymore as a comfortable silence forms between us. I look down at our hands, his thumb running lazy circles over my knuckles making a familiar ache form in my chest. An ache that has become more frequent in my time of living with Ethan. I clear my throat and gently pull my hand away, knowing that any feelings that may be surfacing for Ethan are futile.

He looks down momentarily, a small frown appearing and disappearing just as quickly before he looks at his watch and back to me.

"It's getting late, I should go." He states. I nod my head and ignore the sharper pain in my heart, forcing a small smile. "I'll drop by tomorrow and hang the paintings." Ethan stands, looking around at the various artworks I've painted over the years that are resting against the wall of where I want them to go.

"Thank you," I stand up as well as Ethan walks towards the front door and I follow behind him. Ethan opens the door and pauses, looking back at me he smiles gently.

"Thank you... for listening," I bite my lip and only nod in acknowledgement. He turns around and walks out the door, making his way to his car without looking back.