Chapter 5: The Weight of Silence

Chapter 5: The Weight of Silence

I shouldn't have come to the Summer Festival. But Mom had been the event coordinator for twenty years, and somehow showing up felt like honoring her memory. The town square buzzed with fairy lights and live music, the scent of barbecue and funnel cake thick in the evening air.

That's when I saw him.

Ethan stood by the makeshift dance floor, bourbon in hand, watching couples sway to some country ballad. The lights caught the silver in his hair, and my fingers itched to run through it again, to feel if it was as soft as it had been at the lake. He must have felt my stare because he turned, those amber eyes finding mine across the crowd.

This time, he didn't run.

Instead, he lifted his glass in acknowledgment, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. The same lips that had branded me with desperate kisses just days ago. My feet carried me toward him before I could think better of it.

"Hiding's getting old," I said, stopping close enough to smell his cologne – still cedarwood after all these years.

"Not hiding." His voice was rough. "Just... processing."

"Processing what? The fact that you still want me, or the fact that you're terrified of that want?"

His jaw clenched. "You always did know how to cut right to the bone, Cal."

The band switched to a slower song – one that had been popular the summer we fell in love. Ethan's eyes darkened with recognition.

"Dance with me," I said, holding out my hand.

"That's not a good idea."

"When has that ever stopped us?"

He stared at my hand for a long moment before downing the rest of his bourbon. "One dance. Then we talk."

The moment his hand slipped into mine, electricity shot through my body. I led him onto the dance floor, aware of the whispers already starting around us. His hand settled on my waist, burning through my shirt like a brand.

"Everyone's watching," he murmured, but he pulled me closer.

"Let them." I slid my hand up his shoulder, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Maybe it's time they saw the truth."

"And what truth is that?" His breath ghosted across my neck.

"That twenty-five years apart hasn't changed a damn thing between us."

He stumbled slightly, and I steadied him with a hand on his hip. "Everything's changed, Cal. We're not those kids anymore."

"No?" I pulled back enough to meet his eyes. "Then why does it feel exactly the same when I touch you?"

His pupils dilated, grip tightening on my waist. "Don't."

"Don't what? Don't remind you how alive we felt? How perfect it was before they tore us apart?"

"Stop." But he was swaying closer, our bodies moving together like they'd never forgotten the rhythm.

"Make me." I brushed my thumb along his jaw, feeling the slight tremor there. "Tell me you don't lie awake remembering how we used to sneak into your truck bed, how you'd kiss every inch of me under the stars, how you'd whisper my name like a prayer—"

"I can't do this again." He jerked away so violently that several couples stopped dancing to stare. "I won't."

"E, please—"

"No." His voice cracked. "You don't get to come back here after twenty-five years and expect... what? That we'll pick up where we left off? That all the pain just disappears?"

"That's not what I—"

"Dad?" Tommy's voice cut through the tension. He stood at the edge of the dance floor, confusion written across his face.

Ethan's face drained of color. "Tommy."

"Is this him?" Tommy looked between us. "The one from the photos?"

My heart stopped. "Photos?"

"Found them in Dad's garage last year," Tommy said, moving closer. "Old pictures from high school. Dad was... different in them."

"Tommy, please." Ethan's voice shook. "Not here."

"Why not here?" Tommy challenged. "I'm tired of pretending I don't know why you and mom really split up."

Each word hit like shrapnel. I watched Ethan's carefully constructed walls rising higher, saw the panic replacing the desire in his eyes.

"I have to go," Ethan said, already backing away. "I can't... I just can't."

"E, wait—" I reached for him, but he flinched away.

"You left once," he said, voice raw. "Let me do it this time."

He turned and walked away, shoulders rigid with tension. Tommy gave me an apologetic look before following his father, leaving me alone on the dance floor as whispers erupted around me.

The fairy lights blurred as tears filled my eyes. Twenty-five years of longing, of regret, of desperate love crashed over me like a wave, but this time there was no shore in sight.

I stood there long after the band had switched to another song, the phantom warmth of his hands on my waist fading like the last notes of our dance. Some ghosts, it seemed, weren't ready to rest. And some wounds were still too deep to heal.