Chapter Twenty
The sheets were too warm, too scratchy, too something. They clung to his legs like they had their own opinion about how he should lie there. Somewhere in the cabin, a floorboard creaked, the kind of soft settling sound that usually would have soothed him, but tonight it only made his pulse jump.
His mind wouldn’t shut up. It kept firing off images like someone flipping through channels too fast—Tomás’s smug grin, Officer Duarte’s flat stare, the flash of anger in Carter’s eyes, the quieter disappointment that hurt worse. Each one hit before he could brace for it.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but that only made everything louder. The fear underneath all of it—the old, familiar one—pressed up against his ribs. People left. People got tired. People decided he wasn’t worth the trouble. What if Carter woke up tomorrow and realized that too?
Ethan shifted onto his side. Then his back.
Then his stomach. The sheets twisted tighter, trapping heat against his skin.
His chest cinched, like someone had pulled a belt one notch too far.
He tried to breathe around it, but the thoughts kept piling up, tripping over each other, refusing to give him even a second of peace.
Finally, he gave up.
Ethan slipped out of bed, padded down the hall, and stopped outside Carter’s door. The cabin held a profound stillness, so deep his own breath pounced off the walls. He hesitated, hand hovering over the wood.
Then he knocked—soft, barely there.
The door opened a second later. Carter stood there shirtless, hair messy, eyes heavy with sleep. He looked big, warm, and safe in a way that made Ethan’s throat close up.
“What’s wrong?” Carter asked, voice low.
“I can’t sleep,” Ethan said. “Can I… stay with you? Just for a little while?”
Carter sighed, but not in a mean way. More like he already knew he was going to say yes. “One hour. That’s it.”
Ethan nodded quickly and slipped inside.
Carter returned to bed, leaning back against the headboard. Ethan climbed in beside him, careful at first, keeping a little distance. But the second he felt Carter’s warmth, something in him loosened.
He rested his head on Carter’s shoulder. Carter didn’t tell him to move. Didn’t stiffen. Didn’t push him away. So, Ethan inched closer, slow enough that Carter could’ve stopped him if he wanted. He didn’t.
For a minute, they remained still in the dimly lit room, the only sound Carter’s even breaths filling the silence.
Ethan spoke. “Did you know Officer Duarte is married to Andrew from the Blue Star?”
“You said Andrew was married to a man. No, I didn’t know they were married.”
Ethan blinked. “Are you alright with that?”
Carter looked down at him, confused. “With what?”
“Two men being married.”
Carter shrugged. “No reason to judge others. People love who they love.”
Ethan stared at him, trying to figure out how someone like Carter—straight-talking, ranch-raised, rough around the edges—could say something that simple and decent like it was obvious.
Ethan settled his head back on Carter’s shoulder. “Officer Rafael hates me.”
Carter’s hand came up, resting lightly on Ethan’s upper arm. “Why would he hate you?”
“He’s wanted to put me in prison since I was fifteen,” Ethan muttered. “Every time something happened at school or in town, he’d look at me first. Like he was waiting for me to screw up.”
“He’s not putting you anywhere.”
“He’d love to.”
“Not happening,” Carter said. “Not while you’re with me.”
Something warm spread through Ethan’s chest at that—something that scared him and comforted him at the same time.
They talked a little more about Tomás, about the ranch, and about nothing important. Carter’s voice stayed low and steady, the kind of voice that made Ethan feel like the world would not fall apart.
At some point, Ethan’s eyes grew heavy. His body relaxed against Carter’s side, the tension draining out of him.
He didn’t remember the moment he drifted off. Only that Carter didn’t move him. Didn’t wake him. Didn’t push him away. Ethan fell asleep with his head on Carter’s shoulder, breathing slow and even, trusting him completely. And Carter let him stay.
***
“Hey,” Carter murmured. “Time’s up.”
Ethan blinked, disoriented. The room was dim; the early morning light barely touched the curtains. His cheek was still pressed against Carter’s shoulder, and Carter’s arm was resting behind him like it had been there a while.
He sat up fast. “Sorry—sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
Carter rubbed a hand over his face. “You were out cold. I didn’t want to wake you.”
Ethan’s stomach twisted. “But I stayed the entire night.”
“I know,” Carter said. “But you can’t sleep in my bed again.”
The words stung more than Ethan expected. He nodded anyway. “Yeah. I get it.”
But Carter didn’t move away. He didn’t get up. He just sat there, looking tired and conflicted, as though he were trying to convince himself of something.
Ethan stared at his hands. “I just… I felt safe. That’s all. I haven’t slept that good in a long time.”
Carter’s expression softened. “I know you did.”
Ethan risked a glance at him. “Are you mad?”
“No,” Carter said. “Just trying to do the right thing.”
Ethan nodded, even though he didn’t know what the right thing was supposed to look like. All he knew was that being next to Carter made the world feel less sharp.
They sat there in the quiet for another moment, both of them clearly uncomfortable but neither making a move to get out of the bed. It was like they were stuck in the space between what they felt and what they thought they were supposed to do.
Finally, Ethan cleared his throat. “Can I… make breakfast?”
Carter blinked, surprised. “You want to cook?”
“Yeah,” Ethan said. “I owe you. And I need something to do.”
Carter let out a slow breath, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Alright. Go ahead.”
Ethan slid off the bed, feet hitting the floor. He wavered at the doorway, looking back at Carter, who was still sitting there, hair messy, eyes tired, and watching him like he wasn’t sure how to let him go.
Ethan gave him a slight, grateful smile. Carter didn’t say anything, but the look he gave back said enough. They were both in deeper than they had meant to be. Neither of them knew how to pull back. And neither of them wanted to.
Ethan made scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon because it was the only breakfast he knew he couldn’t mess up.
His hands still shook a little, but cooking helped.
It gave him something to focus on besides the fact that he’d slept in Carter’s bed all night like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Carter sat at the table, hair still messy, arms crossed like he was trying to hold himself together. He looked tired. And conflicted. And like he’d been thinking way too hard.
Ethan set the plates down and took the seat across from him.
They ate in silence for a minute. The kind of silence that wasn’t angry—just… loaded.
Finally, Carter cleared his throat. “We need to talk about last night.”
A queasy flutter stirred under Ethan’s ribs. “Okay.”
Carter shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. “You can’t sleep in my bed. That’s not… appropriate.”
Ethan nodded, even though the words stung. “I know. You already told me we can’t.”
“I mean it,” Carter said, but his voice wasn’t firm. It wavered. “I’m responsible for you. I’m supposed to keep things… clear.”
Ethan poked at his eggs. “I didn’t mean to make things unclear.”
“I know you didn’t,” Carter said. “It’s just—lines matter.”
Ethan looked up. Carter wasn’t even eating. He was staring at his plate like it might give him instructions.
“You didn’t push me away,” Ethan said.
Carter froze.
Ethan kept going, softer. “You could’ve. But you didn’t.”
Carter let out a slow breath, stroking his beard. “Yeah, well… you were upset. And you needed sleep.”
“That’s not the only reason,” Ethan said before he could stop himself.
Carter’s eyes flicked up, sharp and startled. For a moment, Ethan thought he’d gone too far. But Carter didn’t snap. Didn’t shut him down. He just looked… exposed.
“I’m trying to set boundaries,” Carter said, voice low. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“You’re not doing a great job,” Ethan said, a tiny smile tugging at his mouth.
Carter huffed out something that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Yeah. I noticed.”
They both went quiet again, but the tension had shifted. Softer now. Less like a wall and more like a blanket they were both tangled in.
Ethan pushed his plate away. “I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable. I just… I felt safe. I haven’t slept that good in a long time.”
Carter’s expression softened immediately. “I know.”
“And I didn’t want to leave,” Ethan admitted. “Not even when I woke up.”
Carter looked down at his hands. “Yeah. Me either.”
The words hung there between them, heavy and honest.
Carter cleared his throat again, trying to pull himself together. “Still. You can’t stay in my bed.”
“I know,” Ethan said. “But… thanks for letting me. Even for one night.”
Carter picked up his fork and took a bite, like the conversation had drained him but also relieved him somehow.
He was trying so hard to draw lines. And failing.
And Ethan wasn’t sure he wanted him to succeed.
Carter sitting across from him, not pushing him away, was enough. And Ethan wasn’t going anywhere.