Once everything is inside, that’s when I suddenly lose my brain. “Do you want me to assemble stuff for you?” I ask before I have a chance to really think that through.
Part of me is praying Please, yes. I would kill for an opportunity to look like a hero to her.
Another part of me is screaming You fucking dumbass! Because I am not mechanically inclined.
As in, at all.
She smiles. Full dimple. “That would be awesome, thank you.”
Oh, fuckballs.
I start with the ottoman and chair first. She brings me a utility knife so I can open the boxes, and an IKEA toolkit.
I hope I don’t end up nervous sweating my way through my T-shirt at this rate. But, somehow, I manage to get the chair and ottoman put together without embarrassing myself too badly.
Then I have her tell me where she wants it and I move it for her, across from the chair that’s already there, off the other end of the couch, and I sit.
Turns out it’s pretty damn comfy.
“Do you like it?” she asks, sounding unusually bashful, for her.
“It’s great, thanks.”
“That’s your chair.” She smiles. “I want you to always feel welcome here.”
Every ounce of strength and will I have in my body diverts to trying not to cry as I choke up. “Thank you,” I finally say when I can speak without sounding like an idiot.
No one’s ever tried to make me feel welcome before.
Except Carter. And now Susa. Oh, she knows some of what I survived during my childhood, but I glossed over the worst of it. Carter knows more than she does simply because I spend more time with him and we talk during our morning exercise routine, which Carter calls PT. I guess that’s physical training, from his Army days, although some days it feels like physical torture. To be honest, during our talks it’s mostly Carter asking me stuff. It seems like every time I ask him something, he manages to turn it around and focus on me again before I even realize he’s done it.
Man’s going to be a fucking amazing attorney. I can see it already.
Speaking of our morning PT, it’s getting easier for me to keep up with him during the faster paces, and I’m noticing my legs are looking firmer. Haven’t dropped much in the way of weight, but I’m not really overweight, mostly sort of soft.
Especially when compared to the toned, hard planes and angles of Carter’s body.
About that time, I hear Susa’s front door open, and Carter walks in.
The way Susa’s face lights up at hearing his arrival shoves away all the good feelings I’d spent the afternoon building up.
She meets him at the end of the entry hallway. “I have something for you.” She goes to her purse, grabs the other key, and proudly presents it to him.
He looks at me, our gazes locking for a long moment before he speaks. “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting this. You gave Owen one, right?”
“Of course. Already gave it to him.” Dimple. “Let me set alarm codes for you and show you guys how to work it.”
Most of the good feelings wash back in as I’m still processing Carter’s question to her. Carter actually thought of me first.
I don’t have the words to express what that does to me. That there’s someone who is literally putting me first. The sad thing is, I can’t remember another time in my life that happened. I never felt like my mother put me first.
Ever.
Oh, I’m sure if someone asked her that she’d take great umbrage at the suggestion that she didn’t put her child first. Which is why I’m not stupid enough to say it to her.
Yet it’s the truth. Not once can I think of a time that my best interests, my needs, my anything came first in my mother’s life. I’ve always been an afterthought.
And yet, Carter put me first.
Right at that moment, I’d walk across hot coals for Carter, if he asked it of me.
I pull myself out of the chair to follow them back down the hallway, to the alarm keypad. She has us pick our codes, programs them into the unit, then has us test them.
Carter turns to me with a smile and produces my keys. I fish his out of my pocket and we swap, then thread our new keys onto our key rings.
“So what’d you get at IKEA?” Carter asks.
“Oh! Let me show you. Owen just put together his chair.”
Something about the way she says it…
Yeah, I’m a fucking dumbass goner, all right.
How rotten was my childhood that this little bit of positive attention from them consumes my every spare waking moment? At least, that’s what it feels like.
No, seriously. That was not a rhetorical question. How fucking rotten was my childhood?
I’m doing my best not to appear like some needy tool, but I think I’m beyond that point now. They still seem to want to be around me, even though I feel like I’m clingy, and I worry that they’ll get sick of me soon.
All of this remains unsaid. I am not a fucking ass. I do have a few ounces of common sense, and too many damn years’ experience at keeping my mouth shut.
Carter settles on the couch as I tackle assembling the next item, one of the bookshelves. There’s two of them, so I hope I can figure out the first one, damn near look like a genius for the next one, and maybe have my shit together by that point so that I don’t flub assembling the side table or the entertainment center.
Meanwhile, Susa is chatting with Carter and I’m struggling not to let my attention drift from the task at hand. I could sit and listen to them talk for hours.
We were supposed to cook dinner together tonight, but now I’m assembling this. “I’ll get dinner started,” she says.
“I can finish this after.” I start to stand, but she leans over and kisses the top of my head.
“No, I’ve got it. We still have plenty of leftovers.”
“Want some help?” Carter asks her.
“Guys, seriously, I appreciate the help today. Let me do this for you.”
“Owen gets all the credit,” Carter says as he meets my gaze. “I just loaned him the car.”
“Yes, but I appreciate that, too.”
She goes to make dinner for us while I’m struggling over the instructions for the bookcase. It’s not making sense, looking at the pieces in front of me when compared to the diagrams on the instruction sheet.
That’s when Carter softly gets my attention. “Psst.”
I look up.
He points at the piece currently frustrating me and motions for me to flip it over.
I do. Suddenly, the instructions match.
D’oh.
But Carter smiles and settles back to respond to a comment from Susa.
I mouth a silent, “Thank you.”
He drops me a wink.
I am reasonably certain, just from having known Carter over the past several weeks, that he most likely would have had everything assembled by now. That he’s letting me have this moment, and even giving me a secret assist, warms my heart.
He’s trying to help me look good for Susa.
It’s tempting to burst into happy tears at this altruistic display from him, but somehow I nut-up and make it through the assembly process. Yes, I know he’s in pain today, I can see it in his expression and how he was limping when he walked. Still, it feels like he’s centering me in this, and I’m grateful.
The first bookshelf finally goes together, and the second one in half the time, now that I know what I’m doing.
The side table, though.
Ugh.
It’s got a sliding drawer mechanism, and now I’m lost again. Carter leans over and plucks the instruction sheet from my hand when he notices my confusion, skims through it, then returns it to me. All while he’s holding a conversation with Susa in the kitchen. From her vantage, she can’t see what’s going on between me and Carter.
Carter taps my shoulder and points at items, helping me orient them and, in a few minutes, it all starts to make sense.
I give him a relie
ved thumbs-up.
His hand settles on my right shoulder for a moment, giving me a reassuring squeeze before he sits back again. When I glance at him, he’s wearing that Carter smirk I know means he’s amused.
If I could have a big brother, I’d want him to be Carter.
He drops me another wink and I wink back. I feel like this is our secret, and a huge-ass gift from him.
I’ll gladly take it.
* * * *
Dinner interrupts me. When Susa calls for us to come to the table, I stand, but I realize Carter is sitting on the edge of the sofa and hasn’t stood yet.
I pause and give him the arched eyebrow, a silent question.
He tips his head to call me over and holds his hands out to me, wiggling his fingers.
He must really be hurting to need the help. I’ve had to do this a couple of times during our morning workouts, when he’s sat down at a rest break and has trouble standing on his own again.
Carter responds with a silent, “Thank you,” and squeezes my hands before releasing me.
I wait to follow him into the dining room. I’m worried about him—I can’t help it. He looks after me, I look after him. That’s how this works. It’s not even any formal kind of arrangement. It’s simply the way things shook out between us.
Susa turns as we make our way into the dining room. A scowl fills her features as she obviously spots Carter’s limp. “Are you all right?”
“Had better days. I’ll be fine. I hope you guys don’t mind if I go home early, though.”
Part of me minds, because I’m worried about him falling asleep and having a nightmare and me not being there to help him.
Part of me wonders how much he’s really hurting, or how much maybe he’s trying to toss me a bone and give me alone time with Susa.
I opt to take him at face value. “Will you be okay driving home?”
“I’ll manage.”
“I don’t mind driving,” Susa offers. I start to protest when she adds, “I can drive Owen’s car, and he can drive you. I’m sure he won’t mind bringing me back home.”
My mouth snaps shut on any protest I might have had.
Sounds like a damn good plan to me.
I nod, not even trusting myself to not babble at this point.
Except Carter’s tired smile tells me a deeper story than he obviously wants to get into with Susa—and makes me realize he’s not faking his pain. “I’ll be okay to drive,” he insists. “But would you mind if I duck out after dinner and not help with the dishes?”
“I’ll take care of the dishes,” I offer. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
We’ve settled in our usual spots at the table, what have been our spots ever since that first night—Carter in the middle, and Susa and I facing each other.
This feels natural to me now. This feels so right that I have no words to express it.
This feels like what I always hoped peace would feel like.
Had my mother’s home felt even a fraction as warm and welcoming as this while I was growing up, I might not be able to appreciate this gentle, easy relationship the three of us now have. To me, this is a fragile perfection I’ll do anything to protect.
Anything.
Like watching the way Susa’s gorgeous blue eyes light up when she listens to Carter speak.
Like ignoring the way an adorable pink blush creeps up her throat and across her cheeks over Carter’s smile.
Like knowing that Susa’s as much in love with Carter as I am with her, and not even caring anymore. Settling for being a satellite in her orbit via Carter is enough for me.
After dinner, Carter says his good-byes and slowly limps toward the door. I offer to help him out to his car, but he waves off both me and Susa.
She sees him out and locks the door behind him, returning to join me in the kitchen. Now that I know my way around it, I don’t need to ask her where things go. I’ve already started washing the items that don’t go in the dishwasher when she hugs me from behind.
“Thank you for today.”
I’m glad that I’m standing in front of the sink, because it allows me to conceal my suddenly raging hard-on from her. “You’re very welcome. I didn’t do much.”
“Yes, you did. And thank you for how you take care of Carter.”
Now I’m the one blushing. “I don’t know what you mean,” I mumble, surprised she’s noticed anything. Then again, she is pretty damn observant.
“I think you do. I see you watching him. I also saw you help him up off the couch.”
My face feels aflame now. “He’s my friend.”
“He’s more than that.” She releases me and moves to lean against the counter, where she can see my face. “You guys are like brothers.”
I nod. “I never had a big brother. That’s what it feels like, though. He said he always wanted a little brother.” I hope this isn’t going to turn weird. That she doesn’t start to ask me a bunch of questions about him, or, worse, ask me how to gain his affection.
Susa does none of those things. “You realize we’re serious when we talk about getting you elected, right?”
Now I pause. “I get that you guys are serious, but I think you have way too much faith in me.”
“Do you want to change this state? Do good for people?”
Stalemate.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Do you want to be governor?”
“But I can’t—”
“Do you want to be governor?” she quietly asks again.
Swallowing hard, I force myself to nod.
“Do you trust us?”
“Of course.”
She awards me with a beautiful smile—full dimple. “Then that’s all you have to do. Just want it, and trust us. Well, and do what we tell you to do, of course.”
I snort. “I seem to be getting pretty good at that.”
She playfully pokes me in the shoulder. “Then the rest will be easy.”
* * * *
It’s almost ten o’clock when I finish assembling the entertainment center and get it positioned for her. It’s the last piece, and I feel a strange and unfamiliar sense of accomplishment over it.
Susa’s already moved the low table that had been holding her Blu-ray player, cable box, and other electronic items.
But I need to leave this sweet bubble that’s my escape from the real world and return to the dorm. I’m worried about Carter, even though he’s a grown-ass man.
Even though I treasure this time alone with Susa.
“Would it be okay if I leave early and head back to check on Carter?” I ask.
She cocks her head as she looks at me. “You don’t need my permission, Owen. I think it’s great you’re looking after him.”
But part of me was seeking exactly that—her permission.
Maybe that’s not the best word, though.
Her approval is closer, I suppose.
I’m so used to hunting and pecking through my life to find even a smidge of approval from my mother that I forget other people don’t feel a need to extract every ounce of control that they can from me.
A very large part of me wants to serve Susa, not because she demands my full attention and focus, but because she doesn’t.
I want to take care of her, do things for her, even if she only considers me her friend.
I want to be that quiet presence in her life, someone she can count on.
Hell, there are things I wish she’d do to me that I can never speak of, because I wouldn’t dare risk alienating her.
Like I’ll never admit I’ve jerked off a few times to the thought of being naked when I wash dishes for her, of her spanking me for an infraction, real or imagined.
Being bent over the end of her bed or, maybe, stretched out over her lap. The feel of her hand smacking my flesh until it’s hot and red.
None of this I can admit. As much as I’m coming to love Carter, I can’t admit it to him, either.
He wouldn’t understand, I’m sure. He said it himself, he came from an Army family. The secret things I fantasize about don’t have a place in the world Carter inhabits.
Hell, I don’t even understand it. I’m still trying to sort out my mommy issues.
Which sounds really gross when I say it like that, I know. Hence why I’m still trying to sort it all out.
I say my good-byes and head home. When I unlock our room door only thirty minutes later, I’m careful to let myself in quietly. I know he said to make noise, but I want to see how much noise I need to make first without needlessly startling him.
The room is dark, but I’m used to that. There’s just enough light filtering in from the window that I can make my way to my side of the room.
Carter’s haggard voice drifts from the darkness. “I’m awake.”
I snap on the small light that stays clipped to the head of my bed and walk around the end of the divider. “Are you all right?”
He’s stretched out on top of the covers. “Nightmare.”
“Look, I was going to read for a while. I can just as easily do it over here with you. Let me change clothes and brush my teeth and sit up with you, okay?”
I’m not sure if he’ll try to push me away or not, but I’m relieved when he nods. He’s slept like shit the past few nights. He needs a good night’s sleep.
Five minutes later, I’m sitting up next to him, along the edge of the bed. Carter’s lying on his side and facing the wall, his back against me, because it’s not like there’s a lot of room.
“Thanks,” he whispers.
I pat his shoulder and start reading, listening to how his breathing quickly evens out, grows slower, deeper.
Easy.
In less than five minutes, I’m certain he’s asleep.
But I meant it. I’m not ready to fall asleep yet. I sit there reading for another hour and hope that, for tonight, at least, maybe he can get some decent rest. After I finally ease my way out of his bed and return to my own, I sit up reading for another twenty minutes to listen in case he has a nightmare.
Fuck it, I’ll sleep in bed with him if it means a chance for him to get some sleep and get a handle on his pain.
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