by Lexi Ryan
He tilts his head to the side, looking over my shoulder. “Where’s Teagan?”
“Oh, that’s why you let me in so fast. I get it. You only put up with me so you can get closer to my girlfriend.”
He shrugs. “Can you blame me?”
“She had to meet her mom and the other bridesmaids to get their wedding henna done.”
He wrinkles his nose. “What’s that?”
“You know, the designs on the hands and feet?”
“Oh, right.” He nods. “I bet she’ll look hot with that.”
I grunt and sink into the couch. “I’m pretty sure she’s doing it for the sake of tradition and her cultural heritage, and not to look hot.”
He rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”
“Marta says you’ve had a rough couple of days,” I say gently.
“I’ve been taking my meds. I’m fine.”
Life isn’t about going through the motions, bud. I look around the room, imagining what it would be like to have him live with me. I was having a good day when I brought it up with Marta, but on my bad days, I’ve been ashamed of myself for the suggestion. I had no right. And then all the shit with the viral picture happened, and every person who called me a hero reminded me how much I’ve failed this kid. I can’t fix it by moving him in with me and trying to be some sort of guardian.
And yet . . . after talking to Teagan last night, I feel a little lighter. Nothing’s changed. My grief for my friend and my guilt surrounding everything that happened that night is all still there, but maybe this heaviness isn’t going to last forever.
“What is it?” Isaiah asks. “Is something wrong?”
I draw in a deep breath. “Marta’s worried about you.”
“She’s my grandma. She worries. It’s pretty much her job description.”
“Of course. She’ll always worry, and she’ll always try to make it better if she thinks you’re unhappy.”
“No one in my position would be happy right now.” He exhales heavily. “No one around me is even happy. I’m in the way, Carter. Especially now.” He waves both hands to the clunky cast that goes all the way up to the top of his thigh.
“I’ve never thought of you like that. And neither has your grandmother. In fact . . .” I blow out a breath and realize I’m nervous. This kid means the world to me, and I don’t want to fuck this up. I know I can’t fix what’s broken, but if my relationship with him can give him something solid, I’m going to try. “A few months ago, I asked Marta if she’d consider letting you move in with me.”
He straightens. “You did? Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She didn’t want to let you go. She loves you, and she’d just lost her son.” I shrug. “It actually hurt her feelings that I’d even asked.”
“It’s not about her,” he says, and there’s so much excitement—hope—in his eyes that my chest swells. “I’m not used to living with Grandma. I love her, but she doesn’t know what it’s like to be a guy. And she lost a son, but I lost a dad, and she doesn’t know what that’s like either. But you get it.”
“She’ll let you move in with me if that’s what you want. She loves you and wants what’s best for you.”
“But what about you? You don’t have kids but you’re suddenly gonna have to take care of me?”
I scoff. “Oh, hell no. You’re far too old to be taken care of. I mean, I’d have rules and you’d have chores, but don’t get it in your head that life at my place would be like a vacation, because I’m not about that.”
He laughs, but his bright eyes dim and he leans back, his gaze locking on his lap.
“But I would like to have you there. If that’s where you want to be. I have the room, and I love you. You’re pretty much my fifth brother, like it or not.”
“That’s cool of you, Carter,” he mumbles, but I can see the change in his posture—the way his expression went from hopeful and excited to withdrawn again. “You don’t have to be my friend just because you were there that night, you know,” he says, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. “It’s not your fault he died, so it’s not your job to take his place.”
My heart is a stone dropping into my stomach. “I don’t want to take your dad’s place. I couldn’t, and I wouldn’t try.” I swallow hard. It’s not your fault he died. “I won’t pretend I don’t feel guilty that we lost him. That’s there, but it has nothing to do with me wanting to be here for you.”
He nods, still not meeting my gaze, and that stone in my gut turns into an ache.
“You can think about it. There’s no rush to decide.”
“Are you going to marry Teagan?”
The question catches me off guard and I laugh. “Hell, it’s a little early for plans like that.”
“But . . .?”
“But if that’s how it turned out, I’d consider myself luckier than I deserve.”
After swinging by my house to get the mail, I go to Jackson Brews to grab lunch. This morning’s conversation with Isaiah left me raw but hopeful. I have no doubt the arrangement would bring up a hundred complications I haven’t even considered yet, but I know that it’d be worth it. If he doesn’t want to live with me, that’s fine, but I want him to know he’s welcome. I want him to understand he might have lost his father, but he has a family beyond his grandmother.
“How’s Operation Fake Boyfriend?” Jake asks, one brow cocked.
“I’ve moved on to Operation Make Her Mine,” I say, pushing my plate away. For once, I’m stopping because I’m full and not because of my lack of appetite.
Jake grins. “I approve.”
“I thought you might.” I trail my thumb through the condensation on my water glass. “She has secrets.”
“Don’t we all?”
I nod. “Sure. I only hope she’ll eventually trust me with hers.”
My phone buzzes by my arm, clattering against the bar top—once, twice, three times. I grin as I grab it, expecting a text from Teagan and hoping for a picture. Or a few pictures. It’s just after noon, and she thought she’d be done with the henna party by now. We don’t have anything scheduled until the rehearsal and dinner tonight, and I’ve spent my morning preoccupied with the idea of spending the afternoon in bed with her. Maybe she could try on the lingerie her sister bought her and then spend some time getting her to let me slowly peel it off.
I unlock my phone, but my smile falls away when I realize it is a picture, but it’s not from Teagan. Sabrina has sent me a picture of her panties—colorful scraps of lace and silk spread out across a stark white duvet.
Sabrina: Which of these is the sexiest? Asking for a friend who wants to look her best when she returns to your family’s bar tonight.
Sabrina: If your answer is NONE, then I can tell my friend that too.
Sabrina: Or maybe I should model them to give you a better idea?
“Fuck,” I mutter. “She can’t take a hint.”
“Myla?” he asks.
“No, that journalist from last month. Remember the one who didn’t tell me she was in town to do a story on me until after I took her to bed?”
Jake’s eyes are wide. “I don’t think you told me about that. If you’ll recall, you haven’t been Captain Shares-a-Lot lately.” He extends a hand, palm up, for my phone. “Luckily, you’ve turned over a new leaf, and your brother Jake is here to help you clean up your messes.”
I give it to him, and he frowns at the screen before looking back at me. “Mind if I scroll through the history?”
I grimace. “What ever happened to boundaries?”
“Oh, so it’s that kind of history. In that case, I’m good.” He hands back the phone. “Was the story she did bad?”
I drag a hand through my hair. “No, it was more of the same. She described my house like I invited her in to do her little investigative report, but she really wasn’t saying anything everyone else didn’t already say.”
“You’re saying it wasn’t an exposé about how Carter the puppy hero takes home
different women every night?”
I wince. “Was I really that bad?”
He lifts a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “Only you really know the answer to that.”
I think this over for a minute. We both know that, speaking literally, I was never a different woman every night guy. The real question is whether my actions were as despicable as Jake made them out to be the day we fought in Brayden’s backyard. Truth be told, I wouldn’t judge anyone for having a couple of regular bedroom partners or for taking home a woman from time to time—assuming everything’s consensual and the limitations of the relationships are clear. But maybe what upset Jake so much was that I wasn’t being true to myself. Before the warehouse fire, I always wanted more. And after? After, I didn’t dare want anything beyond any given moment. Because I didn’t believe I deserved it. Teagan makes me want more, though.
He watches me as I type out a reply. “What are you saying?”
“That my girlfriend and I have plans all weekend, but that I hope she enjoys her visit to Jackson Harbor.”
“Think that’ll do the trick?” he asks, clearly unconvinced.
“Does it really matter? By the time I’m done doing wedding stuff with Teagan, she’ll be gone again.”
“Cross your fingers she doesn’t see you and throw herself at you in front of Teagan’s family.”
I groan. That hadn’t even occurred to me.
Teagan
I grin when I see the door to my suite cracked. Carter.
I haven’t gotten to spend time alone with him all day. The henna party spilled over into the afternoon—well worth it for the beautiful work Pari did, and the joy on Saanvi’s face when she looked at the final product—and then Saanvi wanted all of us to go with her to the Jackson Brews Banquet Center to check on how the room was coming along for the reception. Now it’s after two, and I’m already dead on my feet. We didn’t sleep enough last night, and I need a nap, but if I have to choose between a little sleep and being ravished by my fake boyfriend, I already know which I’ll choose.
Carter gives me butterflies, and I can’t wait to be back in his arms. I need to figure out where we stand—where I stand. I guess he’s made it clear what he wants. He wants more. He wants the real thing. And I think I do too.
I’ve never talked to anyone about what happened with Rich after Heath died. Never. I was always so convinced I’d sound insane—Rich convinced me of that. But once I started telling Carter, it all spilled out of me. Carter didn’t make me feel crazy or try to convince me I was overreacting. He listened and made me feel safe. Understood. I didn’t realize how much I needed that. So now I need to decide if what’s happening between us might actually become something real. Or if maybe it is already.
I push into the room and shut the door behind me.
“Carter?” The lights are off, but candlelight flickers ahead, the flames seeming to dance to Dave Matthews’ “The Space Between” from the bedside stereo. The song brings back memories, but I shove them away. Carter’s trying to be sweet. He has no way of knowing that I associate this song with Rich, or that Rich would always make sure it played any time we were at a bar or party together after Heath died—a little reminder that was like a razor blade running across the open wound of my grief.
“Carter?” I call again. Did he set the stage for seduction and leave? He’s a firefighter—would he really walk away from burning candles?
When I step farther into the room, my phone buzzes, and I wonder if it’s Carter explaining that he had to run out. Instead, I have a text from the same number that sent me that awful picture. Rich.
Unknown Number: You always made me jump through such hoops for your attention, but I know this night’s been on your mind as much as it’s been on mine.
My stomach free-falls before surging violently back up into my throat. Candles flicker all around the bed, and on the center of the mattress there’s a single red rose and a bottle of Swagger from Paradise Springs winery. The bourbon-barrel-aged wine used to be my favorite, but there’s only one person alive who’d know that or know that it and this song would all bring back memories of a night better left forgotten.
I’m tense all night.
The rehearsal dinner is served in the gardens behind the Hayhurst mansion. It’s so beautiful out here that I understand why Saanvi initially hoped to do her reception in this spot. However, destination wedding or not, the guest list grew too large, and the ballroom at Jackson Brews Banquet Center was the obvious location. I reassured her that Molly would do a beautiful job making the reception everything Saanvi’s dreamed of, but there is something magical about these gardens in the moonlight.
Strings of fairy lights twinkle above the tables, and a jazz quartet plays from their spot in the gazebo. We’ve enjoyed four delicious courses with wine pairings, and conversation flows easily as we wait for dessert. The night’s grown chilly, and the staff brought out big outdoor heaters to sit on the edges of the cobblestone patio, allowing us to be comfortable in our dresses and still enjoy the starry autumn night sky.
Everything’s beautiful, and I’m surrounded by my family.
I should be happy.
Instead, I feel like there’s a weight on my chest too heavy to let me take in a deep breath.
Before Carter returned to our suite this afternoon, I turned off the music and blew out the candles, throwing them in the trash with the wine and the rose. When that still left me feeling jumpy, I ran the bin to housekeeping and asked them to empty it. I needed to physically distance myself from the evidence that Rich had been in our room—from the reminders that he holds a secret of mine.
I’d desperately wanted alone time with Carter before the rehearsal, but the scene Rich set changed all of that—changed my whole mood to the point where I practically avoided Carter for the short time we were alone together. When I saw Rich before dinner, I was torn between wanting to hide and wanting to scream at him. I did neither. I’m stuck, and he knows it.
He smiled and looked me over like a lover would. I wanted to claw those eyes out.
From his devoted-boyfriend post beside me, Carter didn’t miss a thing. The meal started with him flashing me knowing smiles and touching my hand and bare shoulder at any given opportunity. But I couldn’t focus on him and spent my time watching the faces around us and bracing for Rich to drop a bomb on my life. The more I withdrew from Carter’s touches, the more I failed to return his sweet gestures, the less he tried. We spent the last two courses silent beside each other, like a couple of strangers.
Carter frowns in Rich’s direction. I’m guessing he’s clued in to who’s responsible for this shift between us. “Is everything okay?”
The waiter leans between us to serve dessert, and I smile at him and wait for him to serve Carter before I reply. “Everything’s fine. Why?”
He shakes his head, but I can tell he wants to push the issue.
As I poke at my lemon torte, my phone buzzes with a text.
I pull it from my purse and flinch. It’s from Rich. Shit. I need to block this damn new number. Should I do it now or wait until the weekend is over? If I block him now will he do worse than harass me with old pictures?
Before I can decide, I read the text.
I learned some interesting things about Carter today. We need to talk. My room. Tonight. Eleven. Only tell Carter if you want him to see my photo collection.
I shove my phone back into my purse before Carter sees.
My gaze drifts to Rich as everyone finishes their dessert. What does he think he knows? He catches me looking and winks, his grin suggesting lovers’ secrets and quiet promises.
I hate him so much.
Carter touches my wrist, and I jump. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks softly.
“Yeah.” I force a smile. “Fine. A little chilly.” He starts to shrug out of his coat, but I put a hand on his arm. “Don’t. I’m fine.”
He studies me for a long beat before lifting a hand to my face and cupping my ja
w. “Don’t shut me out, okay? You don’t have to do this alone.”
The words rock me so hard that my throat goes thick, and I have to swallow back tears. I feel so damn alone.
I don’t want to lie to Carter. But I don’t want him to know the truth, either. There’s the rub.
“Carter!” Liam calls from the opposite side of the patio. “Come here. I want you to meet my cousin.”
Carter nods at him then searches my face one more time before pulling away.
I can’t sit still anymore, so I’m happy to follow everyone’s lead and leave the table. I weave through the small crowd and step into the dim sitting area just off the patio where vines climb white trellises up the side of a gazebo.
Carter’s words echo in my head. “You don’t have to do this alone.” But don’t I? What’s the alternative? What would Carter think of me if he saw those pictures? If he knew what I did?
I’m not left alone with my thoughts for long before my sister joins me. “Are you and Carter fighting?”
I shake my head. “We’re fine. Why?”
“You looked distant all through dinner. I thought maybe he said something that upset you.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “Let me know if you need me to beat him up.”
I snort. “That wouldn’t be a fair fight.”
“Hey, I can hold my own.”
I laugh. “Oh, I know you can. It wouldn’t be fair because Carter wouldn’t fight back.”
She sighs and watches him talk to her fiancé across the patio before turning back to me. “You’re really okay?”
The words are right there on my tongue: I hate that Rich is here. He ruined my whole life, and I’ll never be able to escape him as long as he’s welcome with our family.
My sister would tell him to leave right now if I asked her. And then she would corner me for an explanation I can’t give.
Before I can decide on a response to her question, Saanvi stiffens and folds her arms. “Look who’s finally here.”