by Gina Azzi
Carter
“Hey.” I stride into the kitchen and nod to Denver as he sits at the island, drinking a cup of coffee.
“Good morning.”
“What’s going on?”
He shrugs. “Working on a transmission today.”
“That’s cool.”
Silence descends, an awkwardness that hovers between us since I confessed about my continued contact with Dad. Denver watches me, his eyes dark, his mouth pressed into a flat line.
"I'm sorry. About the shit with Dad." I blow out a deep breath.
Den ducks his head, pulling on the back of his neck the same way Jax does. The same way Dad did. "I know."
"I know you always thought that you and Dad—"
"Just drop it." His voice is rougher than usual, and I know I struck a nerve, so I let the conversation ebb. Ever since I admitted to my MC involvement, things between Denver and me have been strained. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but I know he’s working through his own things at the moment. Still, I want him to know I’m here in case he wants to talk but every time I try to broach the subject, he shuts me down.
“How’re things going at Cork’s?”
I shrug. "Okay. I know I need to figure something else out, start planning for a real future.” I laugh, but it's humorless. "I'll join Daisy in the job hunt and see if she can give me a few tips. I don't even have a damn resume."
"Caleb's gym is hiring."
I raise my eyebrows.
Den shrugs. "I told him to call you. He needs someone to train a few nights a week, boxing. Something about a youth program. Figured that'd be something you'd be interested in. Plus, I know you can fight. Really fight." His eyes harden, and I realize that even though I tried to keep my underground boxing bouts a secret, Denver obviously knows the truth. He's probably known all along.
"Thanks, Den. Appreciate that."
"It's nothing. Anyway, you and Daisy wanna grab a bite at Raf's for dinner?"
"Yeah. That'd be great."
"Okay. I'm gonna finish up on the transmission I'm working on." He grabs a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and walks toward the back door. "She's a good girl, you know?"
"Hmm?" I turn toward him, taking in his hunched frame and the deep line between his eyebrows.
"Taylor."
"What about her?"
"I like her. You did good."
I bite back my smile, knowing that this is about as close as Denver gets to talking about his feelings, especially with his brothers. "Thanks."
"Do right by her Carter."
"I will."
He nods and pushes through the screen door to the porch to grab more tools.
I watch until he disappears from view before laughing. I can't wait until Denver meets the right girl, and she knocks him flat on his ass. I don't know when it will happen, but one of these days it's going to be epic.
"What is it?" I ask her, suddenly nervous as uncertainty flickers in her eyes.
"Just open it." Her voice is a mixture of excitement, nerves, and exasperation and has me ripping into the wrapping paper.
The box is small, and I bite the corner of my lip, spending a whole second trying to decipher what its contents are before lifting the lid. Nestled inside on a folded piece of tissue paper is a key. A shiny, gold key on a simple silver key chain of a baseball.
I hold it up, my eyebrows drawn together in question.
"I had it cut this morning."
"Thank you," I tell her honestly, still not sure what this means. Is it so I can pop by unannounced?
"I'd like you to move in with me. If you want to," she rushes to explain.
"Really?" The word drops from my mouth as my chest inflates with eagerness and enthusiasm. "You want to live together?"
She nods, chewing her bottom lip nervously. "Is it too soon? It's too soon, isn't it?"
I shake my head, pulling her body into mine and kissing her. "Are you kidding me? It's perfect. I just, I didn't know you were thinking—"
"I want to live with you."
"Good. Me too."
"So you'll move in?" Her blue eyes widen, the corners of her mouth turning up into a blinding smile.
"Hell, yeah." I kiss her again, weaving my fingers through her long hair and holding her head in between my palms. "But I'm taking over the mortgage payments."
"What?" Her eyebrows scrunch together. “That doesn’t even make sense. I didn't even consult you when I bought the place.”
"That's the condition."
She dips her head sheepishly. “There’s no mortgage.”
"What?” My eyes widen as I try to process this information. “You paid cash?”
She nods, biting her lower lip to keep from laughing.
“Jesus. Okay, fine. I pay for all the bills. Utilities and things. Groceries. I don’t know. Whatever the hell we need.”
“Why?”
“That’s the condition." I press my forehead against hers, so our eyes bore into each other's. "I know I can't take care of you the way you're used to, the way you probably thought you would be—"
She shakes her head, but I brush my thumbs over her cheeks, and she stops trying to pull away.
"I want to do this. For us." I kiss her softly this time, hoping she can feel the sincerity I have a difficult time conveying with words alone.
"Carter."
"Taylor."
"It's too much."
"It's not enough."
She sighs.
"I really want to move in with you." I kiss the tip of her nose. "So please agree so I can start packing."
She snorts, a bubble of laughter catching in her throat. Finally, she nods and I whoop, pulling her in for a hug and burrowing my nose into her neck. Only months ago, the thought of living with a woman, any woman not counting Daisy, would have filled me with dread. But having the chance to live with Taylor, to take our relationship to the next level, to grow together, well, that's about the best damn thing I could hope for.
"When can you permanently be in our bed?" Taylor whispers against my ear, her breath tickling me.
"Tomorrow night too soon?"
She scrunches her nose. "Too long."
"Tonight then."
She nods, tugging on the hem of my T-shirt and pulling me in for a kiss.
And just like that, my entire future alters.
Over the past few days, Taylor and I have been settling into our new life together. Mainly, I've been unpacking boxes and moving furniture and she's been attempting to blend my things with hers. It’s strange sometimes, walking into a room and noticing the soft touches like photos in picture frames, pillows on the couches in the living room, a bath mat. Things I forgot about. Things I haven't really seen a woman do since Mom.
It's nice. Really nice.
Something even better? Waking up in our bed. The mattress is like a marshmallow cloud, and the sheets are like silk. I have no idea who made them or where they came from, but Taylor is introducing me to a new way of life. Even in a few short days.
"Babe, coffee?" I ask, pouring two mugs and adding cream and a dash of sugar to hers.
"Hmm?" she asks, walking slowly into the kitchen, her hair a mass of tangled waves. She wipes the sleep from her eyes and drags her gaze to mine, her eyes still glazed with dreams. "Thanks." She takes the mug I hold out and sips it, sliding onto a barstool at the breakfast nook.
I chuckle, taking a large gulp of my own coffee and ripping into a cinnamon roll from Maddie's Bakery. It's Evie's favorite place and she and Jax had a box delivered this weekend as a welcome to our new home.
"They are so thoughtful," Taylor comments, reaching into the box and pulling out a cinnamon roll. She takes a small nibble and moans, the sound alone wanting me to drag her back to our luxurious sheets and magical mattress. "These are incredible."
"I know. Jax pretty much bribed Evie with them to win her back."
She snorts, licking pastry flakes from her fingertips. She lifts her mug to her mouth and
pauses, her eyes catching on the writing. "What's this?"
"It's nothing, really. Something small. But I had new mugs made." I hold up mine.
"I know myself. But that is all," she reads my mug, the last line of This Side of Paradise swirled across in elegant script. She laughs, the sound bursting forth before reading her own mug. "There is a moment - Oh, just before the first kiss, a whispered word - something that makes it worthwhile." Her smile softens, and she closes her eyes, hugging the mug to her chest. "I love that line."
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
Leaning over the breakfast island, I press a kiss to her nose. "That's a very good thing."
She grins. "Thank you for my present." She holds the mug up at me.
"There's a whole set." I wave my hand toward the open shelves above the microwave where six new mugs, all with varying Fitzgerald quotes in different fonts splashed across them, sit.
She squeals, jumping up to read the mugs. Turning toward me, she leaps into my arms, intertwines her hands behind my neck, and pulls my mouth toward hers. Her lips brush over mine, and I hold her closer, closing my eyes, losing myself in the scent of her hair, the light scratch of her nails against the back of my neck, and the feel of her mouth moving over mine.
"Good morning," she murmurs against my lips.
"This is the best way to start the day."
She nods, nuzzling her nose into the crook of my neck and kissing along my jawline.
I place her on the edge of the island, our mouths fused together, and our hands intertwined. Laying her back, I chuckle at the pastry flakes that twinkle in her hair, the playful smirk on her mouth, and the bright gleam in her eyes.
"I love you," she says again as I work my lips down her chest, hovering over the scar on her abdomen.
"Love you more." My mouth hums against her skin as I fan kisses up her ribcage.
She sighs happily, her fingers running through my hair, over my shoulders.
And then we christen our kitchen. Once, twice, three times.
And it's the best damn Sunday morning I've ever spent.
39
Taylor
His face brightens, and his hands clap softly the moment I step off the set.
My cheeks heat at his obvious pride, the way his eyes soften the moment they latch onto mine. "You were amazing." He wraps his arm around my shoulders, placing a kiss onto the crown of my head.
I chuckle, looking over my shoulder at the design set, at the cameras and lighting equipment, and at the rack of gowns I spent the past three hours posing in.
"I didn't know you were coming." I glance up at him, excitement bubbling in my throat. It's different with Carter; it has been from the start. With any other guy, they would have to come to my photoshoot just to drop it in a casual comment to their friends. Or to pretend to show their support. Or to tell Daddy about it later.
With Carter, it's because he cares. Because he is proud of me, Taylor Clarke, with the marred abdomen and the barely discernible limp. It has nothing to do with which designer I'm posing for or what magazine cover I'll be on. It has to do with my own happiness. I know, next September, when my schedule changes, and I take fewer modeling gigs in order to make room for more education courses, he’ll be just as proud.
And that is the most important thing in the world to me.
"I wanted to surprise you. Can I take you to lunch?" His eyebrows furrow as his face dips toward mine. "I should have called, huh?"
"No way. I love surprises." I lace my fingers through his and tug him forward. "Come on, come meet my modeling people."
"You're modeling people?"
"Yep."
"As opposed to normal people."
"We're a special breed."
He chuckles, low in his throat, so only I can here.
"Adriana, Fabio, Kenny," I say as we step into their circle, huddled around a computer screen, looking at one of the photos from the shoot. They all look up, confusion on Adriana's smooth features, a pinch of annoyance in between Fabio's brows, and a huge grin on Kenny's face. "Meet my boyfriend. Carter Kane."
Everyone exchanges hellos to be polite, but the focus quickly returns to my picture. And, if I'm being honest, that's where Carter's attention is, too.
"Wow," he says under his breath, knocking his shoulder against mine. "You really are a real-life angel."
I roll my eyes at the comparison.
Shaking his head, he continues to stare at the photo. "Hey man?" he asks Kenny suddenly.
Kenny looks up, his eyebrows raised.
"If you have any pictures of Taylor, you know, ones that aren’t going to be in a fashion show or whatever, just one of her laughing and being herself, can you make me a copy?"
My ears flame at the request, but Kenny looks between us, a slow smile working its way across his face. "Of course, man. Be happy to."
"Thanks."
Kenny nods, and I tug Carter away from the group.
"Lunch?" he asks, as I duck behind the folding screen to slip back into my jeans and shirt.
"Absolutely. I'm starving."
"That's my girl."
I come around the screen and reach up on my toes to peck my lips against his.
"Feeding time for models." I quirk an eyebrow at him and he chuckles, slinging his arm around my neck again.
"Come on, let's get out of here." He tugs on my hand and leads the way out of the studio, and into the sunshine and cool breeze.
"So, you're happy?" Ria narrows her eyes at me as we take a walk around her block, her hand grasping my wrist to check our steps on my Fitbit.
"Very happy," I answer. "How are we doing?"
"Halfway there." She drops my arm. "He's a good guy," she admits.
"Yeah, he's all right," I answer, and we look at each other, cracking up. "So, when are you coming to our place?"
Ria looks up at me, a hesitant glimmer of hope ringing her eyes that tugs at my heartstrings. Underneath all that armor and tough-girl attitude, she really is a sweet and sensitive girl. "I won't be in the way?"
"Are you kidding?" My mouth drops open. "I kicked Carter out this Saturday for our regular girl's night. I thought instead of going out for pizza, we could order in. Watch that new Ryan Reynolds movie."
She laughs, nodding slowly. "Okay, that'd be cool."
I bump my shoulder against hers. "Cool."
"You want to swing by the park and watch Marco's baseball game?" she asks, knowing that would mean seeing Carter since he's coaching the game.
"Sure, if you want to watch Marco play. But we don't have to go because of—"
"I want to."
"Okay," I agree, as we turn down the street toward the park. In the beginning, I was worried about how Ria would take to Carter. Even after encouraging me to hear him out, I wasn't sure if she would ever fully accept him, or view him as an interruption to our time together. But I've got to hand it to her, and to Carter, they've somehow settled into a friendship. In a way, I see glimpses of how Carter must have been with Daisy when she was growing up. He cares about Ria a lot but has no problem nixing ideas or trying to keep her in line if he thinks she could end up in trouble.
And while Ria grumbles and complains, deep down she likes knowing that Carter has her back, that he worries about her enough to look out for her.
Then, there's Marco. That boy is just too sweet. He's settled into our little misfit family as easily as breathing. At his insistence, brunch at our home, with the four of us, has become a weekend staple. So much so, Mom bought us a waffle maker for a housewarming gift.
And I gotta be honest, Carter whipping up pancakes and making waffles on a Sunday morning is a close second to everything that happens before our guests arrive.
November
Epilogue
Carter
"Hello?" I pick up the call right before it sends to voicemail.
"Carter Kane?"
"Speaking."
"Kane, it's Coach Anderson."
&
nbsp; "Hey. How's it going?"
"Good. Good. I just wanted to let you know that Xavier High School just had an opening for Head Coach for next baseball season."
"Oh?"
"I recommended you."
"You did?" Incredulity colors my tone because although Anderson and I get on okay, I never thought he'd stick his neck out for me.
"Yep. Come on up to the head office on Tuesday. I'll be honest, we need someone to start immediately."
"I can start Monday."
He chuckles. "I figured as much. You're good with the boys, Kane. Real good. But I think you'd make an even bigger impact on the high school kids. You relate to them in a way some of us old timers can't."
"Thank you, Coach."
"Come on by Tuesday at noon. We'll discuss your contract."
"Wait, I got the job?" I hold my breath, nerves buzzing in my veins and hope swimming just out of reach.
"It's yours if you want it."
"Yes. I do," I say without hesitation.
"You don't even know what the salary is."
I laugh, knowing I'm going to shoot myself in the foot with my next words but hardly caring. All I want is the chance to make an honest living, to prove my worth to Taylor, and to do something I can be proud of. For once, money doesn't factor into any of those things. "It doesn't matter. I want the job."
Another chuckle. "Then it's yours. See you Tuesday." He hangs up.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, and then laugh, really laugh.
Guys like me aren't supposed to get second chances like this. We're not supposed to be given a do over, a fresh start. But ever since I met Taylor, literally collided with her, it's like I've been granted a new beginning.
I watch her through the window as she parks her X5 and climbs out of the SUV, opening the back door to unload groceries. Her long hair sways in the breeze, and she stops to fix a big gold bracelet that hugs her wrist and straightens her shirt. She's my real-life angel.
I'll never deserve her. Not truly.
But I'll be damned if I don't do my best trying.