Rawley’s mouth twisted, half amusement, half contempt. “You ever change a diaper?”
I barked a laugh, surprised at how bitter it tasted. “No. You?”
“Not unless you count patching up Burke after a tequila bender.”
We both let that hang for a minute, the edge dulling just a hair.
Rawley finished his coffee, slammed the mug down a little harder than necessary. “Carter’s scared shitless, you know. He acts tough, but he’s still just a kid.”
“He’s stronger than you think.” I thought about the way Carter had looked at me last night, trembling but still there, still trying. “He’s probably stronger than both of us.”
Rawley’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t hurt him again. Not even a little. I’ll make your life hell if you do.”
“I won’t,” I said. “Can’t promise I won’t fuck up. But I won’t ever walk out on him again.”
He searched my face for a lie, and when he didn’t find one, he exhaled. “Good,” he said, the word like a verdict.
The kitchen felt different after that, the tension gone from fever pitch to a bearable hum.
He reached up, grabbed a loaf of bread from the top of the fridge, and started slicing. “You should eat something. You look like shit.”
“Yeah?” I said, pulling up a chair. “You look worse.”
He snorted, then slid me a plate with two thick slices, still warm.
I stared at the bread, then at Rawley, and realized this was it. This was what reconciliation looked like between men who didn’t have the luxury of apologies. A plate of bread. A mug of coffee. An understanding, silent but solid, that Carter mattered more than pride.
Rawley turned away, busied himself with the rest of breakfast, and I sat there chewing, feeling the world tilt a little closer to right. Rawley made a big show of cleaning up, but I caught him sneaking glances at me, the corners of his mouth turned up.
The world hadn’t stopped spinning, not even close. But for a few minutes, it felt like we could survive it. Together.
I’d gotten used to the way Carter moved, even in sleep, as if he didn’t quite trust the floor to hold him. So it didn’t surprise me that when he shuffled into the kitchen, he paused three steps in and blinked at us like a deer crossing into a clearing full of wolves.
His hair was a mess, the light catching all the colors you didn’t notice when it was slicked back for the boardroom. He wore one of my old t-shirts, stretched across his stomach in a way that was both ridiculous and—if I was honest with myself—beautiful. His pajama pants were Rawley’s, cinched tight and still threatening to slide off his hips.
Rawley and I both looked up at the same time. Carter’s hand went straight to his belly, as if he needed to confirm it was still there. He hovered at the doorway, eyes flicking between us, then at the food on the table.
I pushed out a chair with my foot. “Sit down, Carter. Eat.”
He obeyed, not quite making eye contact, but I could see the calculations running behind his gaze. He grabbed a piece of bread, broke it in half, and popped the end into his mouth. I’d have bet money he hadn’t eaten a real meal since somewhere east of Wyoming.
“Morning,” he said, not much above a whisper.
Rawley set another glass of juice in front of him. “You want eggs? Bacon? I made enough for a damn army.”
Carter shook his head. “I’m fine. This is good.”
Silence for a moment. I watched him chew, the rhythm of it, the way he rolled the bite around before swallowing, as if his body still needed convincing it was allowed to accept comfort.
Rawley spoke first. “How’d you pull off the Hargrove deal?”
Carter shrugged, then licked a crumb from his lip. “Shell company. One of the lawyers I know owed me a favor. If you buy it as ‘Gorey Holdings,’ no one in the county connects it to a Steele.”
Rawley let out a low whistle. “Son of a bitch. Didn’t even occur to me.”
I grinned, unable to help myself. “He outflanked you, Raw.”
Rawley shot me a look, but the edge was gone. “He outflanked all of us.”
