Where Happiness Begins (Evermore #3)

13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

T he next day, I find Carter in the same spot in the parking lot, waiting to drive me home from work.

And the next day. And the next.

It doesn’t matter that I haven’t asked him once for a lift. Every night, he’s there, even when I finish a little early.

During all those drives, we remain silent, and while it’s never uncomfortable—soft music playing as Carter drives with one hand on the wheel and the other propping up his head—I don’t know what they mean. It’s confusing. I’ve had a full schedule at the bar since we didn’t have any shows planned, so other than during those moments, we haven’t seen much of each other.

However, tonight, as I exit the bar with Jayson right behind me, the back of his hand accidentally brushing my ass, I couldn’t be more thankful to spot Carter’s car in the driveway, one tattooed arm hanging out of his window.

I’ve had a feeling since the shift started that tonight was going to be the night my boss would truly shoot his shot, and I wasn’t ready for all that would entail. More than that, I hated the thought of being alone in a hidden parking lot at 3:00 a.m. when I rejected him .

“All right, good night,” I tell Jayson over my shoulder, already walking toward the Mustang that feels like a beacon of safety.

“Wait,” my boss says. I wince. “Don’t leave so soon.”

I don’t turn around. “I’m pretty beat, actually.” When I go to take another step, a bony hand wraps around my wrist, sending a frigid flood down my body. I knew he’d do something like this. I pull against it to see how tightly he’s holding me, which somehow is amusing to him.

His voice grates against my skin as he chuckles. “Come on, don’t—”

“Take your hands off my wife. Now.”

We both startle at Carter’s voice that seemingly comes out of nowhere. His car door has been left open behind him and while he’s walking and not running, the giant footsteps he’s taking bring him to where we’re standing in a second.

My breaths come in ragged, either from the threatening feel of Jayson’s fingers or from those words coming out of Carter’s lips.

“Wife?” Jayson says with nervous laughter as he finally lets me go. I take a step in Carter’s direction, wanting to put as much space between us as possible. “She never said she was married.”

She. Like some person whose name doesn’t even deserve to be mentioned.

“So that gave you free rein to touch her?” Carter still sounds calm, but this is nothing like his usual aloof self. His body radiates lethal coolness.

Jayson lifts his hands in front of him. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean no harm. ”

Carter’s jaw clenches, the only sign that he’s about to burst. “Apologize to her. And next time, keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

Jayson stammers something unintelligible, and I’m too tired to try to play nice with him. Instead, I put a hand over Carter’s tense forearm. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

He stays put for a moment as if he has more to say, but when I pull on his shirt, he throws Jayson one last murderous look and follows me to his car.

We remain silent as we get in and pull out of the parking lot, both of us probably needing a second to cool down. I could nag him for probably getting me fired, but honestly, I’m thankful for him stepping up for me. He’s got more balls than I do, that’s for sure.

“Is this fucker always there when you work?” is the first thing Carter says to me after another five minutes of silent driving.

“No. Well, sometimes he’s there during my shifts, but he never stays until close time. Tonight was the first time.”

He makes a noncommittal sound.

“I don’t think he’d have ended up doing anything, but thanks for intervening anyway. I appreciate it.”

“You were uncomfortable. He should’ve seen that.”

That, we can agree on.

We finish the drive in silence, Carter yawning twice before we finally get home, fatigue written all over his face .

I unclasp my seat belt and turn to him, deciding this has gone on long enough. “I’m really thankful for tonight, but how long are you planning on doing this?

“Do what?” he asks before exiting the car.

I follow him out. “Coming to pick me up in the middle of the night.”

He doesn’t stop walking in front of me as he says, “When are you going to stop walking home in the middle of the night?”

“I usually go with my car.”

“Fine then. I’ll stop when your car’s back.”

Which won’t be for another two days. Apparently, keeping my dad’s 1995 Ford was not a sure way to have a reliable car.

“And when I know that creep’s not there with you,” he adds. I’m not about to tell him he’s my boss and he’s there most of the time. I think Jayson will probably have learned his lesson tonight.

“You don’t have to.” I don’t know if it’s coming from a place of guilt over rejecting me at first or a strange sense of duty, but it’s only making me feel bad about keeping him awake.

Carter stops in front of the door, head hung between his shoulders, defining the muscles in his back under his black T-shirt.

Stop ogling.

“Would you question it if it were Finn or Lexie doing it?”

Surprise must be evident on my face because when he turns around, he raises a brow. I never would’ve thought he’d remember their names.

“Maybe I wouldn’t,” I say. “But it’s not the same thing. They’re my friends. ”

“So?” he says, not contradicting my statement.

I lift a tired shoulder.

“You’re still mad. That’s why you’re against it.”

“I’m not.”

He gives me that same eyebrow quirk.

“I swear I’m not. And I’m not against it. I just…” I walk to open the door, the early summer breeze cool against my face at this time of night. “I don’t like you feeling like you owe me something.” I’m in his debt enough. I’ve seen the first insurance payment go through two days ago, which means he followed through with his end of the deal, and the relief that inhabited my body the second I saw that amount felt like breathing for the first time with eighty pounds off my shoulders.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Carter says. “I’m just trying to be a decent person.” Even though his face doesn’t let up anything, I’m pretty sure I hear a hint of humor in his voice.

My lips twitch up. Using my own words against me. A good one.

“Fine. Thank you , then.”

“You’re welcome,” he says as he crosses the threshold, then removes his boots and places them right next to where I’ve left my own shoes. The picture is so domestic, it’s almost caricatural.

As I take off my coat and tie my hair in a bun, unable to stand it being loose a second longer, my stomach grumbles so loudly it makes Carter glance my way.

“I haven’t eaten in twelve hours. Sue me.”

He shakes his head with round eyes as if to say he wouldn’t dare, and I bypass him on my way to the kitchen. I don’t usually cook after an evening shift, but I know I have no leftovers and I can’t go to bed like this.

I scavenge through the cupboards until I find a can of white beans and a jar of sauce. I pull a pan out, turn the stove on, and jump when I hear, “What are you making?”

It almost feels like seeing a ghost when I turn and find Carter sitting on my kitchen countertop, watching me. That’s definitely a first.

“What are you doing here?” It seems I keep asking that question as of late.

“Should I leave?”

“I—No, of course not,” I babble, still uncertain whether this is real or I’m already asleep and dreaming. I’m not about to complain about it, though. Not when that was the exact outcome I was wishing for a few weeks ago.

Carter dips his head. “So?”

I look back at my pan. “Oh.” The sauce is sizzling, so I pour the contents of the can in. “Just beans in pesto.” My voice is hesitant when I ask, “Want some?”

Perched on the counter, he looks younger than he usually does. From looking at his ID when I filled out the marriage license, I know he’s thirty, but here, in the dim kitchen light, with his head cocked and his hair a little mussed as if he’d been sleeping before coming to pick me up, he reminds me of a kid waking up for a piece of cake by the refrigerator light in the middle of the night.

“Sure,” he says, once again surprising me. Who is this man and what has he done to the grumbling guy who moved in with me ?

I decide not to make a big deal out of it. He might return to his basement exile tomorrow, and this would only be a blip in our cohabitation, but if this is the only thing I get, then I’ll take it.

Carter remains silent as I stir the sauce and hum one of the Crash it’s also out of sheer happiness, that maybe the two years we’re forced to spend together aren’t doomed after all.