Something in my chest twists. For everything he’s never had. For the questions he’s been told not to ask. There’s nothing I can say that will make any of that better. No way to hand back what’s already been taken, and I hate it. I hate how small and powerless it makes me feel, but what can I do? Who am I to rewrite the damage life has done to him?
That’s when I remember how he took a risk with me last night. How he chose me. Handled me gently. Held me like I was something rare. I think about how he came searching for me today, not because he had to, but because hewantedto. Just to check up on me.
That matters.
A second of hesitation because I’m not sure how this works. How much can I touch him in front of all these people? Is he supposed to remain aloof? Does he always have to be the imposing commander, the fearless leader of the Brothers? Or is he allowed to be human, with his own wants and needs?
Fuck it.
I stop overthinking. For once, I just act. I lean across the table, my eyes locked on his, and offer him something simple. Real. A gift no one else seems to know how to give him.
Connection.
Carrson freezes for a breath. Then he moves too. He meets me halfway.
We kiss.
Right there in the middle of the coffee shop. Over cold drinks and crumpled napkins. With everyone watching. Carrson’s hands find my cheeks, mine brace against the table, and we kiss like the world around us doesn’t exist. Like this is the only thing that matters.
It’s soft. A brush of lips. Light yet somehow heavier, more daring, than anything before.
I meant the gesture to be for him. To comfort him, but it steadies me too. The fear I woke with, that he’d want to keep us a secret, like he was ashamed, evaporates like morning dew warmed by sunlight.
We’re both grinning when we sit back down, shy and a little stunned. It takes a minute for my heart to slow, for my brain to unscramble, for me to pick up the thread of our conversation.
“Well,” I say softly, nudging him with a smile, “I hope someday you can find them both, your mom and Rose. In the meantime, if youwerehatched from an egg, I think you turned out all right. Better than most.”
He blinks. A beat passes. Then a quiet, surprised laugh escapes him, and he dips his head in a faint nod. The tension in his shoulders eases, justa fraction.
“Now admit it,” I say, grinning. “Your coffee tastes awful. Like swamp water.”
He eyes the cup, then slides it toward me and smirks. “Trade you.”
I laugh and hold mine out of reach. “Not a chance.”
Chapter twenty-seven
Laurel
“I need those chemistry notes,” Sam tells me a few days later. “The ones from Chapter Twenty-four.”
We’re holed up in Rosewood Hall again, sitting shoulder to shoulder at a table littered with highlighters and crumpled pieces of paper as we cram for tomorrow’s organic chemistry final.
“Crap!” I smack my forehead. “I forgot them in my room.”
“Seriously?” Sam huffs, annoyed. “We need those. Professor Hodges said it’d be onthe test.”
She’s irritated now, but honestly? Her attitude toward me has improved a lot lately. We’re almost, maybe, friends. It started the day I handed her a copy ofThe Handmaid’s Tale, which I ordered online and had delivered in a plain brown envelope so no one would confiscate it.
Sam had held the small paperback like it was something fragile. “No one’s ever given me a book before,” she’d said, sounding almost awed as she flipped it over to read the back. “I’ve gotten presents like clothes, hair stuff, even a set of paints once, but never a book.”
“That surprises me,” I told her. “You’re smart, Sam.”
She looked up at me, her eyebrows raised.
“I mean it,” I said. “I’ve been watching you and Carrson. You’re both good leaders, but in totally different ways. Carrson mostly leads with strength and fear. When he’s challenged, he goes out and fights, then comes home bruised, bleeding, acting like it’s just part of the job.”
I shook my head, still not used to the brutality of Ashford House or how casually it’s accepted.
