Chapter Thirteen
Carter kept Ethan close on the ride back, the motorcycle’s engine humming under them, the night air sharp against his bare arms. Ethan gripped the back rail so tight his fingers cramped around the metal, the vibration from the bike running straight through his hands.
His gaze stayed locked on the cabin ahead like he needed something solid to aim for.
Inside, Carter flicked on the lights. Warm yellow filled the space, chasing off the cold that clung to Ethan’s clothes. The kid hovered near the door, duffel slung over one shoulder, looking like he wasn’t sure he could step farther in.
“Spare room is this way,” Carter said, nodding down the hall.
He led him to the small bedroom across from his own. Though the bed was already made by force of habit, he still fussed with it, smoothing out an insignificant crease in the blanket. Ethan stood in the doorway, watching him like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
Carter stepped back. “It’s not fancy, but it’s clean. Sheets are fresh. Bathroom’s right across the hall.”
Ethan nodded, but his eyes were still wide, still shaken. The poor kid hadn’t fully come down from the adrenaline.
Carter leaned against the dresser, arms crossed. “You want to tell me who those men were?”
Ethan dropped his duffel on the bed, shoulders sagging. “Two guys from town,” he said, voice tight. “I took their motorcycles once.” The words came out slow, like he had to drag them up from somewhere he didn’t want to look.
“Borrowed them?”
“Not exactly, sort of stole them,” Ethan muttered. “But I gave them back.”
Carter didn’t say a word. He just watched him, the world around them fading into a blur of silent observation.
Ethan rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the floor. “I wrecked and burned them. They wanted cash. My dad covered most of it, but…”
“But what?”
Ethan swallowed hard. “They said the debt was mine, not his. They weren’t leaving without something.”
Carter’s jaw tightened. “So they came here looking to collect.”
“Yeah.” Ethan’s voice went small. “Guess they figured I’d be easy to corner.”
“How would they know you were staying in the barn?” Carter tilted his head, almost not believing Ethan.
“One worker here is friends with them. He must have heard about my dad casting me to the green barn.”
“Which worker?”
“Tomás González.”
Carter knew that name. Trouble with a grin. “Why the fuck is he still working here then?”
“My father doesn’t know Tomás knows them. We all went to high school together.”
“For now, don’t associate with him. He can’t be trusted. I’m sure you’re right. He leaked where you were staying.”
“Thanks.”
Carter pushed off the dresser, the protective pull in his chest flaring hot. “You’re not dealing with them alone. Not now. Not ever.”
Ethan looked up at him, something raw flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t think they’d actually show up. That happened last summer.”
“They did,” Carter said. “And they won’t get near you again.”
Silence settled between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Ethan’s shoulders loosened a little, like the words took some weight off him. And there it was—another thing his father never bothered to mention.
Carter nodded toward the bed. “Get some sleep.”
Ethan hesitated. “I will.”
“Promise me.”
A beat. Then Ethan met his eyes. “Yeah. I promise.”
Carter hoped Ethan would get the much-needed sleep, or he’d be wiped out during work.
He stepped back toward the door. “I’ll be right down the hall. If you hear anything, if you even think something’s off, you come get me.”
Ethan nodded. “Okay.”
Carter paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of the kid standing in the warm light of the spare room—tired, shaken, but safe.
He left Ethan and headed down the hall, but sleep didn’t come any easier than before. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling fan again, listening to every creak of the cabin. Every shift of the wind. Every sound that didn’t belong.
He kept replaying the sight of those two men at the barn door. The way Ethan stood barefoot in the cold, trying to look calm when he was shaking. Carter turned over, punched his pillow once, and closed his eyes. Still nothing.
A soft knock broke the silence. Not loud. Not urgent. Just… hesitant.
Carter sat up. “Yeah?”
The door cracked open. Ethan stood there in the dim hallway light, hair messy, T-shirt wrinkled, eyes too wide for someone pretending to be fine. The bulge in the kid’s underwear, struggling to break free, didn’t go unnoticed.
“Sorry,” Ethan said, voice low. “I can’t sleep.”
Carter didn’t need an explanation. Dressed only in his underwear, he swung his legs out of the warm bed and onto the floor. “Come on.”
They walked to the kitchen. The cabin felt warmer with Ethan in it, like the place had been waiting for him.
Carter grabbed a pot, poured milk into it, and warmed it on the stove.
Ethan leaned against the counter, arms folded tightly across his chest. Most likely Mr. Evans would not approve of this intimate scene with his son in the kitchen. Too bad.
“Have you ever had warm chocolate milk?” Carter asked.
Ethan shook his head. “Not since I was a kid.”
“Good time to bring it back.”
The milk warmed, steam curling up. Carter stirred in cocoa, keeping his movements slow and steady. Ethan watched him as if the simple act was something grounding. When Carter handed him the mug, Ethan wrapped both hands around it, soaking up the heat.
“They’re going to come back,” Ethan said. “Those guys. They didn’t look done.”
Carter leaned against the counter beside him. “They’re not getting near you.”
Ethan stared into the mug. “You don’t know them.”
“I don’t need to,” Carter said. “I know me.”
“I don’t want to drag you into my mess.”
“You didn’t drag me anywhere,” Carter said. “I stepped in.”
Ethan looked up then, eyes tired and scared and trying hard not to show it. “I don’t feel safe.”
Carter didn’t sugarcoat it. “You’re staying here. In this cabin. End of discussion.”
Ethan blinked, surprised. “For tonight?”
“For as long as you need,” Carter said. “No one’s touching you while you’re under my roof.” The words came out calm, but the promise behind them was solid as steel.
“My father won’t let me stay here.”
“I told you I’d handle your father.”
Ethan let out a shaky breath, shoulders dropping a little. “Okay.”
Carter nodded toward the hallway. “Finish your milk. Then get back to bed.”
Ethan hesitated. “You’ll be here?”
“Right down the hall.”
Ethan nodded again, slower this time. “Alright.”
“Sleep well, Ethan.”
He turned around and said, “You too, Boss Carter.”
Ethan walked back to the spare room, mug still warm in his hands. The kid looked smaller in the doorway, but steadier too.
When the door clicked shut, Carter stayed in the kitchen a moment longer, jaw tight, hands braced on the counter. He wasn’t letting anything happen to that kid. Not tonight. Not ever.