“Okay,” he says, suddenly flat, unreadable. “Let’s go then.”
I just stare at him, lagging—my brain catching up one beat too slow. Is he serious? Is he messing with me?
“Are you joking?” I ask, a new wave of heat crawling up my neck.
He blinks. “No. Are you?”
“No,” I say—too fast. Wait. He actually wants to?
“Alright then,” he mutters, popping his seatbelt. “I’m not dying of hypothermia in a Honda Civic. That’s a dumb-ass way to go.”
My heart stutters. Okay. Maybe this isn’t completely doomed.
Carter climbs into the back seat first, awkwardly scrambling over the console. There’s no way I’m squeezing through the front, so I open my door, step out, and climb in after him—moving fast to let in as little cold as possible.
I shut the door behind me, brushing snow off my shoulders and hair as I shift closer. I settle beside him—but still leave about a foot of space, out of hesitation more than anything. Which is dumb, considering the whole point was to get warm.
Then I catch it—that familiar hint of his shampoo. Vanilla, with some kind of fruity kick. And just like that, we’re back in his living room, curled up on the couch. Kicking through piles of leaves in the park. Laughing behind the counter atDripwhile Logan pretends not to listen.
I blink, and it’s gone. Just the car again—and the low, persistent ache tugging at me, knowing I chose to stay away from all of that for a year.
Carter’s sitting stiffly, arms wrapped tight around himself, still shivering.
“This isn’t gonna work if you stay over there,” he says, giving me a sidelong look.
“Right,” I mutter. “Sorry.”
Why do I suddenly feel like some awkward teenager around him? I’m not exactly the soft-spoken type—I mean, I’m twice his size—but Carter makes me flustered in a way I can’t explain. Especially this version of him, the one who doesn’t bother softening anything.
I shift closer until our sides touch, shoulder to knee, not sure if he expects me to go all in for a hug or if that’ll just make things worse.
“Better?” I ask.
“A little,” he says, glancing up at me.
Okay. That’s something.
I pause, then lift my arm and settle it around his shoulders, pulling him in until he’s half wrapped in my parka. He stiffens for a second like he might pull away, but he doesn’t.
I’ll take that as a win.
“This is ridiculous,” he mutters, snorting softly—but he’s already leaning into my chest, chasing the warmth.
“Desperate times,” I say, though his words sting a little.
We sit like that for a while, the silence between us filled with the sound of our breathing. Carter gradually stops shivering as my body heat sinks into him, but I can still feel the tension in his shoulders—the way he holds himself, even as he leans against me.
Fuck. This might be too much. It’s been so long since I’ve been this close to him—but now he’s here, pressed against me, and it’s messing with my head. The smell of him, the weight of him—it’s all too familiar. Too easy to fall back into.
I shouldn’t be enjoying this. Not after what I put him through. Not after I made him cry.
I need to say something. It’s not how I pictured it, and he probably doesn’t want to hear it—but I might not get another chance. I open my mouth, trying to find the right place to start—
And then I feel it. A new kind of tremor moves through him—sharper than before. I glance down just as he turns his face away, but the way his shoulders shake is unmistakable.
He’s crying again.
It hits me like a punch to the gut. In all the years I’ve known Carter, I’ve seen him cry plenty—at movies, during arguments, once when he dropped an entire pizza face-down on the floor. But never because of me. Never twice in one night. And never like this—quiet, his whole body trembling as he tries to hold it in.
