Or something bigger.
I clear my throat to start this again.
Fresh slate.
Stop daydreaming about all of the ways Carter Trescott could do you.
Why do his forearms have to clench like that? He’s pouring water into two dollar-store mugs, not erecting a statue or doing anything remotely erotic.
But that’s the issue. Everything is erotic when it comes to him and his friends. I was always keen on the bad boys, but this is different. I can’t fault any of them.
There was always something to fault with the bad boys.
He sets the kettle down, handing me a mug before I can dwell anymore on his tattoos. “I get it,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“It was a last resort for you to invite us back here.”
Invite’s a stretch.
“You don’t like it when things get personal. I can understand that.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Can you?”
He gestures into the next room. “Otis. You’re doing all of this for him.”
“I’m his mother. It’s my duty.”
Something ticks in his jaw. “Yeah, I know. And trust me when I say no harm will come to either one of you.”
Trust. I don’t believe in that word. If I’m unable to trust a man to successfully mend my kitchen sink, how the fuck do I trust a man with Otis life? And mine?
Carter’s eyes turn calculating, like he’s trying to read my thoughts.
Like he gets why I shouldn’t trust him.
Maybe that’s why he says, “I lost someone, and I’m familiar with the heart-ripping sensation that comes with it. I wouldn’t wish that shit on my worst enemy.”
I would. On Conrad.
Is Carter sharing his vulnerability with me because I shared mine by bringing him home? Like, to my actual home. This isn’t some tasteless apartment in the city I rented out to be closer to the Strip. This is a house full of memories.
Carter didn’t come here to get deep with me, but his eyes are already way beneath the surface, turning a different shade of blue. One far too out of my depth.
“Running away can’t save you, Carmen.”
He’s not talking about saving in the literal sense.
The type of saving he’s referring to is something a tad too real for me.
But it’s real because it’s true. I might as well snap out of it and face the facts. This undefinable thing between us isn’t gonna last forever. A heart will break, maybe multiple, and I’ll wind up back at the airport punching another bitch in line for security.
And the next time, I won’t be able to run out and coincidentally bump into the bikers, because they won’t exist. They’ll leave or die, and I’ll be right back to square one mourning another person, making a vow to myself to never attach strings to another human being again.
“Sometimes running can be good. If you’re good at cardio.”
Carter sets the mug down on the countertop, like he needs both hands for what he’s gonna say next. “I sold my business, joined the motorcycle mafia, and frequented the bar every night. I thought that was going to be enough to fix everything. It bandages your problems and provides a temporary solution, but the problems never go away. In the dead of night when you can’t sleep, the person you’re trying to bury comes alive and reminds you that he’s still there, and never going away.”
