“You’ve been carrying the weight of the world,” he murmurs. “Let me take some of it.”
His nails drag lightly, hitting that perfect spot behind my ears, and I exhale a shaky breath.
Tate leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed just watching.
Carter rinses my hair, carefully shielding my eyes, his hands steady and warm. “Almost done,” he whispers. “And then I want you to just breathe, okay?”
I nod, all I can feel is the peace of being cared for. When he finishes, he presses a kiss to the top of my head through the glass, then steps back, handing me a towel.
“We’ll be in the room,” he says softly, guiding Tate out by the wrist. “Don’t take too long.”
Tate’s eyes catch mine before he goes.
I emerge from the bathroom with damp hair and freshly moisturized skin. But the second I step into my bedroom, it’s game over.
Tate ’s sitting cross-legged on my bed, holdingmyphone. Carter’s sprawled next to him, arms behind his head, lazy grin stretching across his face. “You broke the internet sweetheart.”
I blink. “Wait—what… oh my post.”
Carter holds up his own phone. “Twitter’s on fire. People are either making thirst threads or having meltdowns.”
“And Reddit,” Tate mutters, scrolling with one hand.
I snort. “I mean, Ididsay I was gonna shake things up.”
Dinner ends up being simple. Just the three of us in my kitchen, while Carter moves between the stove and the counter, flipping something over in the pan while humming under his breath.
Tate hovers nearby, pretending to help. Mostly he’s just swiping bites when Carter turns his back, and I catch him every time.
“Stop,” Carter says without even looking.
“I’m taste testing,” Tate says, a full fork in hand,
“You’ve taste-tested six times.”
“I’m consistent.”
I laugh, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, letting the warmth of the kitchen wash over me. “You’re both ridiculous, you know that?”
“Yet here we are,” Tate says, tilting his fork toward me like he’s making a point.
“Here we are,” I echo, smiling.
Carter finally slides the pan off the stove, setting it down with a soft thud. “We’ll sit before it all gets cold,” though neither of them moves fast enough to escape the habit of hovering.
We grab our plates and settle in the living room, our knees pressed together, balancing food as if we’re afraid one wrong move will tip it all over. The TV plays quietly in the corner, but no one’s actually paying attention.
I catch Tate’s gaze on me out of the corner of my eye. Carter nudges my foot with his own, just a light tap, and his eyes flick up to mine. “You good?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Tate leans back, arms resting on the couch behind him. “You sure?”
I glance between them, feeling it—the strange gravity of this tiny, messy orbit we’ve created. “I’m really good.”
They both relax a little. Carter lets out a soft exhale, shoulders loosening, and Tate leans forward again.
I take a bite, and chew slowly, letting the rhythm sink in. I watch them, and for the first time since everything I met them, since the tournament, since all of it, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
