“And this is Nash,” I take a breath and try to compose myself. “All of the reasons why our families are my personal refuges… I can go to him for all of those reasons too. He sets me straight when I’ve lost my way, he lets me run my mouth and doesn’t mind arguing with me if that’s what I need. He’s the best listener I know and makes me realize things about myself and life in general that I couldn’t have ever seen without him. He holds me when I feel like I might break. He’s the place I can go when I need to be myself and don’t need anyone judging me. He’s the person I have the most fun with. So yeah, all of that…”
I pause to take a much needed breather before continuing. “He gives me a kind of constant support that I’ve never known. He sees things in me that I don’t see and keeps showing them to me until I can see too. He puts my happiness before his own, always. He’s there whenever I need him and even when I don’t think I need anyone… he knows that I do, and he’s there for me. In his arms is the place where I feel the happiest and the most secure. It’s where I feel completely loved. Nash is my refuge.”
I look at him now because I can feel his eyes burning into mine and he’s holding my hand. “Before I came to Carver I didn’t realize that your safe place didn’t have to be a place at all but could be a person. Or a lot of people.”
Nash’s eyes are shining with what I think are probably unshed tears. The smile he’s giving me is painful. “You’re gonna hate my photos,” he tells me.
“Very good, Presley,” Mr. Conroy says, reminding me that Nash and I are in a classroom with other people. “Go ahead and present, Nash.”
He lets go of my hand and clears his throat. “Can I just say that I should have gone first. Presley’s way deeper than I am and I thought I did a damn good job of capturing her personal refuges, but this is just gonna seem stupid now.”
“Thank you for the disclaimer,” Mr. Conroy says sounding irritated. “Get your photos clipped to the board.”
“Yeah,” he mutters, turning from me and clipping his photos up.
I laugh. Not because it’s funny but because he does know me and his photos are sweet. And so Nash.
“Okay,” he says, looking at his photos. “This couch is where we were sitting the first time Presley really talked to me. I was giving her advice on dating this total douche bag which irritated the hell out of me but I did it anyways. And it was fine because during that conversation she looked at me, for the first time, with something besides hate or irritation. I think that night, on that couch, was the first night of our friendship. Since that night she’s had a lot of conversations there, with me, and with the other people that are her refuges. I think it’s one of the places where she feels safe.”
I’m crying now and I don’t even care. How could anyone expect me to hold it together right now?
“It’s also where she kissed me for the first time and you know…that’s another one of her refuges – my mouth.”
“Oh my god, Nash,” I mutter, going from sappy to pissed off in one second flat.
He smirks at me before moving on to his next photo.
“This trail is where she let her guard down with me for the first time. Nothing huge happened there but I think it’s where we were when things really started to change between us. I knew there was something about her that I couldn’t stay away from before then, but that day, on that trail, is when I realized how much I cared about her and that I needed her in my life. I think it was the day she started to realize it too.”
He looks at me tentatively and I smile at him. He’s right. That was another life changing day in my world. Although I don’t know if I realized it then. It was the day he became my safe place.
“And, we still go there at least once a week when we need a quick break from school and you know… we take refuge in each other.”
“I swear to god, I’m gonna kill you, Nash Carter,” I mutter over the snickering in the room.
He laughs before moving on.
“The first time I brought Presley to one of my races she told me that it was the best night she’d had since coming to Carver. That she felt like she wasn’t even in Georgia at all. This is her, cheering her ass off, as she watches my dad race. Since then, in my garage watching me work on my car, or there with our family friends, or on the road watching her family race, have all become her happy places.”
When he looks at me this time I don’t want him to see the happiness on my face because I can just imagine what’s coming next. We’ve made out countless times in his car, in the pole barn, on the street after a race. Oh, god.
He’s looking at me when he says, “That truck in the background is where we were when she told me that it was the best night she’d had in Georgia. It’s also the first night I really got to hold her and be physically close to her and like she said – in my arms is her favorite refuge.”
I let out a breath of relief and allow myself to smile at the memory. I think it was probably the first night I started falling in love with Nash. And, yes, the best part of the night was the ride to and from the race when I got to be in his arms.
He moves on to his last photo since he, apparently, couldn’t edit my refuges down to three places either. This one terrifies me because he wasn’t completely bullshitting me before – it’s a picture of his bedroom… of his bed.
“Don’t worry, Presley. It’s not what you think,” he says loud enough for the entire class to hear. “I mean, it’s that too, but it’s not why I took the photo.”
“Try to stay focused, Mr. Carter,” Mr. Conroy says sternly.
“Thank you,” I bark at him. It’s about time he started acting like a responsible teacher.
“So… this is my room.” He pauses and I hear some of the girls giggle. Which, they can shut the hell up because they will never see the real thing. “And, for now at least, it’s Presley’s room too. Those are her books on the bedside table. My desk is all cluttered with her music and stereo because apparently some people still listen to music on CD’s. Those are my clothes all over the floor because she actually puts hers away in the dresser and closet. This is where she goes when she wants to be alone. It’s where she listens to her music and reads her books. It’s where she rests. It’s where she sleeps. Not to be arrogant, but I think it’s her favorite refuge of all.”
Innuendo aside, that was pretty damn sweet and I can’t help but reach out for his hand, restraining myself from climbing all over him and telling him how much I love him.
But then he opens his mouth. “When you’re there, it’s my favorite refuge too.”
Fuck it. I latch onto him and kiss him and tell him, and our entire class, how much I love him because I can.
He’s still Nash Carter - hottest guy at our school, too confident for his own good, cocky as all hell, number one panty dropper in Carver. But I can kiss the hell out of him and tell him I love him without any fear because he’s also Nash Carter- totally in love, lives to make one girl happy, best friend anyone’s ever had.
My place where I know, without a doubt, that I will always be safe. The person that will watch out for me. The body that will shelter me from everything bad. The only place in this world where I can really, truly be myself.
THE END
Acknowledgements
Thank you for reading A Son of Carver, I really hope you enjoyed it. Coming into this book, I knew I was going to have to drag Nash out of the hole I had dug for him in A God in Carver, which I was eager to do. It’s straight up torture writing a minor character through the protagonist’s point of view when you know that they are being largely misunderstood. Nash, and the entire Carter clan, hold a special place in my heart and I hope you eventually saw in him what I always knew was there.
The generosity of strangers continues to astound me. Thank you to all the bloggers who take time to shine a light on independent authors, to all the readers who take a chance on unknown authors and to the huge, passionate, amazingly supportive independent writing community.
; There are six women who have beta read for me since my third release and I’ve come to rely on them greatly. Krystal, Diana, Krista, Joyce, Jillian and Heather – thank you for your continued support. My books would be hot messes without you. Heather Marie, I am regularly entertained and educated by your book reviews, I’m in awe of your support of independent authors and totally jealous of your social media savvy. Thank you for using all of your talents to support my books. And Krystal, thank you for not forgetting about me even when I’m not writing and for loving my characters as much as I do.
Over the past three years my books have become like a part of the family. Everyone in my house works around them when they are being conceived and welcomes them with open arms when they are finally sitting on our book shelf. I couldn’t do this if it wasn’t for the support I receive on a daily basis from my children and especially my husband. Thank you to my parents who brought me up in a house where a book was always within arm’s reach and anything was possible. Thank you to my extended family and closest friends whose enthusiasm makes me want to be a better writer.
If you want to read more from me and Nash is your kind of guy, I would get to know Paxton. Please enjoy the first five chapters from Part of Me.
One Year Ago - Paxton
I’m at the one… one… gas station in beautiful River Bluff, Minnesota fueling up Dr. Dixon’s BMW M5. I don’t know why I’m fueling it up - it’s got a quarter of a tank and I got nowhere to go. But I needed to get out of my uncle’s house and, shit, the gas station is about the most exciting thing happening in this town.
This place is a trip. Five days ago I was in a bed at Mercy Hospital in Chicago recovering from a morphine overdose. I was taking the morphine to make my cocaine withdrawals bearable. I was trying to stop snorting cocaine like an addict because I could no longer afford it – I had quit my band and my other source of income, my girl; Stella, was gone too.
That was then and this middle-of-nowhere town is now. My mom, Rachel’s, home town. I’m living in a town she never talked about, with her brother that I didn’t even know existed until the day before I moved in with him. Which is not uncomfortable at all. Shit. After I signed all the legal documents, Mom sent me off with an ATM card, her husband’s obnoxious Beamer and a promise that both would be taken away from me if I ever stepped foot back in the state of Illinois.
That’s not gonna be a problem. Chicago is a city I never want to see again. This place – with the cows and the fresh air- might be location number two. But, hell, it’s only for a year and considering the shit I’ve been living through for my entire life, I can handle a year of anything. And when the year is up, Dad will be out of jail and Venice, California will be home. The next time I step foot back in that dirty, grimy, beautiful city I’ll never have to leave again. I just have to get through this year.
I put the nozzle back on the hook and head inside the station so I can waste some more time. When I walk in, the girls that were checking me out in the parking lot look like they’re waiting for me. After the girls I’m used to, these ones look like kids. Inexperienced, innocent, simple kids. Or maybe not. The one with the dirty blonde hair is looking at me like she’d be willing to drop to her knees in the middle of the Gas-N-Go. I nod at them then go in search of the candy isle. I hear them giggling and I try to remember the last time I messed around with anyone under the age of twenty. I’m guessing these girls are about sixteen. I just turned nineteen, but that don’t seem right. I feel like I’m twice my age. The fact that in a couple of days from now I’m gonna be a senior at River Bluff High seems like a cruel joke. I’ve been so far off my mom’s radar for the last four years that she didn’t even care, maybe she didn’t even notice, that I completely dropped out of my senior year of high school. But when word spread around Glencoe – the high-end Chicago suburb where she reigns with her Dr. husband and her precious step children – that her delinquent son was not only a dropout but also a drug addict and (if the rumors are gonna be believed) suicidal, Mom changed her tune and took enough interest in my life to consult the lawyers and get me the hell out of the state.
I can see the blonde heading my way. She stands beside me and clears her throat, but doesn’t speak. “You got something you want to say to me?” I ask her, reaching down to grab a couple of Snickers bars.
“Are you Dick Reil’s nephew? The one who’s living with him?” she asks nervously. Word apparently spreads quick through this town.
“Why would you think that?” I ask the girl.
She shrugs her shoulders. “We don’t see a lot of new faces around here. I heard you’re gonna be a senior at the high school. My friends and I are heading to a field party so we thought we’d invite you… you know, if you have nothing else going on.”
I turn to her now, my eyebrows pinched together. “What the hell is a field party?”
She looks over her shoulder to her friends, then back at me. “You know… a party… in a field?”
“No, I don’t know. You people just hang out in some farmer’s field and call it a party?” I ask, laughing at the visual in my head.
“Well, I mean, this one is down by the river. There’s like a big fire and a keg of beer and music. Are you from around here?”
“Do I look like I’m from around here?”
The girl’s eyes run over my body. She pauses at the tattoos running down my arms and over the palms of my hands. “No. Not at all,” she tells me.
“There’s gonna be beer in the field?” I ask her.
“Yep.”
“Shit,” I mutter because I can’t believe this is my life. “Lead the way,” I tell her, dropping the candy bars back on the shelf.
I follow the girls down some unlit, dirt road and eventually both sides are lined with cars. I park and get out, not waiting for anyone to lead the way. I can see a fire in the distance and I can hear the country music blaring from someone’s car stereo. Holy shit. It’s really a party in a field.
As I make my way into the crowd of high school students I can feel several pairs of eyes on me but all I want to see is the keg. I’ve done plenty of partying in my life. My dad got me high and drunk for the first time a week before my tenth birthday and I spent the next six summers in California keeping up with him and his vatos. Maybe not keeping up, but learning how to hang with men. But we never drank from a keg of beer.
I find it - there’s a kid manning it and everything and I wonder if this is his field. “Here you go, man,” he tells me with a big smile. Fucking weird. No, ‘Who the hell are you?’ or even a, ‘Do I know you?’ Just, ‘Here you go, man’. I’m not gonna argue with him. I take the cup and head away from the fire, where most of the gang is congregated, and down to the water.
The air is sticky, but warm like a California night. A river is not the same thing as the Pacific Ocean, but it makes me smile anyway. It’s been four years – four of the messiest years of my life – since I felt that Pacific air, but it’s not something I’ll ever forget. I close my eyes and I can almost smell the salt and hear the waves crashing onto the shore. I can feel myself on my board, riding the waves. Better yet, on my board grinding the streets. One year.
I’m lost in my little daydream when I hear a girl laugh the words, “Oh shit.” I look over to the patch of trees where the sound is coming from. A petite girl with long, blonde hair, who is clearly sloppy drunk, is laughing her ass off for no apparent reason. She buttons up her jeans and adjusts her flannel shirt and doesn’t notice me at all. I smile to myself, I can’t help it. The girl is damn cute- beautiful, even. I’m not gonna get attached to anything in this wasted year of my life, but I wouldn’t mind finding a little country virgin to mess around with.
“Jesus, Emily, you drunk bitch,” another voice says from behind the trees. This voice sounds sober and a little husky and completely sexy. When the girl stomps out of the woods I’m completely taken aback. She’s got the body of a woman… a grown ass, sexy woman. And I’m not making assumptions because every inch of her is c
lear as day in the short, tight, blue tank dress she’s got on. Not what I was expecting to come strolling out of those trees. My eyes run down her long legs to her bare feet and back up her body again. She and her friend head my way, although I don’t think they see me. I’m staring at the girl’s long, thick chocolate colored hair that is hanging down her back and over her shoulders in loose curls and, I swear to God, I can feel it running over my body along with her tongue.
I’m watching her as she tries to steer her friend away from the woods when her eyes suddenly flash to mine. It’s not exactly light out here, I mean the moon is bright and the fire is big, but she’s still too far away from me to make out any kind of details, but when her eyes meet mine I feel something.
She comes my way, I think she’s heading to me, but then she gets her friend sitting down on what I thought was a random log that I was standing in front of but apparently qualifies as a bench around here. “Are you good?” she asks her friend, giving her an amused smile.
“Oh my god. Why the hell did you do this to me?” the girl moans.
“You’re gonna feel like hell tomorrow, Emily, but it was worth it to see you smile again.”
“Did you take a picture? ‘Cause I’m probably not gonna remember it tomorrow.”
“I took all kinds of pictures. I’m gonna look at them every day until you start smiling without assistance again.”
I feel like I should walk away- clearly they are referencing some heavy shit going on in the blonde’s life, and the way the brunette is talking to her feels intimate. Like I shouldn’t be part of it. But then the brunette tells her friend to chill out for a few minutes. She stands up and turns to me. She takes a step until she’s right in front of me.
And then I can see her eyes.
I stare at her and she stares at me and something passes between us. Something inside of me is reacting to something inside of her, coming alive like it never even existed until I looked at her. It’s an ugly fucking feeling that makes me so hungry it hurts for a minute. I’ve felt this before. Once. I’ve felt it once before, but it sure as hell was not while looking into some chicks eyes for the first time. It was after a lot of chaos, disaster and desperation. When I was begging to belong anywhere with anyone. I know what this feeling means and where it will end and I’m not interested in going there again. But I can’t look away from the girl’s turquoise eyes.
A Son of Carver (Carver High #2) Page 33