I give him a relieved 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.
