Still, I know I’ll do it. Even if it’s awkward. Even if he throws something at me.
Carter must see the panic creeping in, because he blurts, “It’s fine. We don’t have to tell him.”
I know what he’s thinking. He thinks I’m getting cold feet. Probably expects me to back off—because that’s what I would’ve done before.
But I’m not. I’m ready. For him, for this, for everything that comes next—including the awkward bits.
“Let’s tell him tomorrow,” I say, catching his hand. “Even if we make it to his birthday dinner tonight, I don’t want to steal the spotlight.”
Carter raises an eyebrow, surprised. “Tomorrow?”
I snort, brushing my fingers lightly over his skin. “What, too soon?”
He smiles, suddenly all shy. “Yes. I mean—no. It’s good. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” I smirk. “He might beat the crap out of me when he finds out I’ve been in love with his little brother for sixteen years and just now got around to mentioning it, but I’m pretty sure it’ll be fine in the end.”
Carter laughs, the sound bright in the cold car. “He’s not going to beat you.”
I chuckle. “You don’t know that. He’s very protective of you.”
“Yeah, but you’re his best friend. He’ll be fine.” Carter pauses, then adds with a dramatic wiggle of his eyebrows, “Eventually.”
We both laugh, and then the car goes quiet again.
There’s a beat of silence where we’re probably both imagining how that inevitable conversation with Jason’s going to go. Then Carter shifts, glancing down at our hands.
“So, um,” he starts, then stops—like he’s not sure how to say whatever he’s trying to say.
“Um?” I prompt, teasing.
He looks up at me, then back down. “Are we… I mean, is this…”
He gestures vaguely between us, then goes quiet, clearly flustered.
My heart squeezes at the vulnerability in his voice.
He’s still scared—scared I’ll run again, scared this was just a one-off, scared of putting a name to whatever this is, eventhough I just told him I love him. Even though I said I’m ready to tell his brother about us.
I can’t help smiling.
I pull his hand into my lap, threading our fingers together.
“Carter,” I say, waiting until his eyes meet mine. “Will you be my boyfriend?”
The word feels both juvenile and wildly insufficient.
Boyfriend.Such a tiny word for something we’ve spent half our lives building. But it’s a start.
Surprise flashes across Carter’s face, but he’s smiling now. “Yes,” he says, then quickly adds, “If you want to be mine?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “More than anything.”
“Cool,” he says, chuckling and squeezing my hand.
I lean in and kiss him—soft, slow—trying to say everything I’m feeling without words. Relief. Joy. The absolute disbelief that this is finally happening. He kisses me back just as gently, his free hand coming up to cup my face.
When we part, he rests his forehead against mine. “I hope we don’t die here,” he murmurs. “It would be so stupid to die after years of waiting for this.”
