25. Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter twenty-five
Nash
I get home and wonder if I should have stayed with Carter longer.
Teddy’s adoption really messed him up, more than either of us expected it to.
Though, that could be because of who adopted him.
I can’t deny the strange coincidence that the only person who had any interest in that dog today was named Ryan.
It does feel like a sign, if you believe in those sorts of things.
I’m not sure I do. But that’s because I don’t need to. Maybe Carter does, and that’s okay.
It’s still early, and I walk aimlessly around my house, trying to figure out what to do with myself.
A nap would be nice, but I’m not sure I could sleep, and it’s nearing five so I’d be up all night if I tried now.
Not a great idea. I drop onto the couch and turn on the TV to see if I can find something that’ll keep my interest.
I don’t want to bury myself in work. Not today.
I said I would take the weekend off to help Carter, and that’s what I’m doing—what I’ve done.
Yesterday, I was there most of the day helping everyone clean, prepare, pick up items, set everything up, and so much more.
I woke up earlier than usual this morning to grab breakfast for everyone and get there on time.
And maybe right now, I just want to do something other than work—in any capacity.
I’m flipping through channels to see what’s on and not much catches my attention.
I settle on a Rambo movie because I remember watching them with Jericho when we were kids, but I don’t pay full attention.
I browse furniture options for my backyard to prepare for the better weather.
Hell, I could sit out there now if I got a fire pit, but it feels rushed.
What’s the point in getting it if I won’t use it?
But if I did, it would be something to do—something other than working.
My phone dings with a text as the notification pops up at the top of the screen, immediately pulling me away from the over-priced patio furniture sets.
Carter: Do you think she’s doing okay?
Me: I think she’s doing just fine.
Carter: Are you just saying that?
Me: Do you think I’m someone who would just say something to make you feel better?
The bubbles dance and go away. They start up again, and I stare at my phone until the text comes through.
Carter: Honestly?
Me: Always.
Carter: I used to think that’s who you were, but now I don’t.
Me: What changed your mind?
Carter: You’re just… different with me than you used to be.
I think about what he could mean, the way the last couple weeks have gone, and I can’t deny it. I am different with him. I care more. I care about him. It’s not just about the case now; it’s more than that.
Me: What are you doing right now?
Carter: Laying on the couch and watching TV. Why?
Me: Do you want to come over?
Those little bubbles dance again, on and off for two full minutes. I’ve crossed a line. Gone too far. He tells me he thinks I’m different, opening up to me, and I invite him over like some kind of creep. What is wrong with me?
Carter: Okay.
I breathe a sigh of relief and respond.
Me: I’ll pick you up.
Carter: I’ll get an Uber.
Me: Why? I can pick you up.
Carter: Nash, let me take an Uber.
Me: Fine. I’ll see you soon.
Carter: Text me your address.
I do, then close the text thread.
I head into the kitchen to look through the options for food. I have to make him dinner if he’s coming over, even if I can’t cook. There are no options, literally none, but I can’t have him here with nothing. I’ll have to run to the store.
There’s one right around the corner that should still be open.
I grab my jacket, phone, wallet, and head out.
While I walk, I scroll recipes to find something simple that I can whip up in about an hour.
I settle on Shepard’s Pie because it seems simple enough and I always liked it as a kid.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to make it the way my mom did, but I guess I could try.
Maybe I could surprise Jericho and Hollis with it one day, if it comes out right.
I need to talk to them. Plan a get together.
Make sure Hollis is actually doing okay.
Usually, if we don’t hear from him, that means he’s fine.
But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t talk to him.
That’s shitty and unfair. Work shouldn’t always be my top priority.
My family should be, even if they’re far and I’m worried about them seeing too much of me.
The store is thankfully open, and I get everything I need. As soon as I’m back home, roughly twenty minutes later, I take everything out of the bags and start on the potatoes since they’ll take the longest. Everything is prepped when my doorbell rings.
I wash and wipe my hands, then hurry to the door. A wave of nerves hit me when my hand grabs the handle, but I push them away—because why am I nervous? I open the door to find a smiling Carter on the other side. I can’t help but smile back and move aside for him to come in.
He walks in, his gaze bouncing around the room, taking it all in.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding about this place, were you?” he says.
“I don’t know how, nor do I care to, decorate this place.”
“Don’t you want to enjoy where you live?”
“Paintings and chairs won’t do that.”
“You’ve obviously never sat on a giant bean bag sofa.”
I raise a brow. “A what?”
“A bean bag sofa. It’s like a full-sized couch but made out of the bean bag stuff.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“It’s actually heaven. It hugs you.”
“How do you know this?”
He sighs. “I had one at my last apartment—well, my and Ryan’s apartment. He used to lie in it and read, but I couldn’t take it with me because I didn’t have the space for it.”
I nod, not sure what to say as I look around the room, trying to imagine pictures on the walls or vases on end tables. It doesn’t make me feel any type of way. Those things don’t mean anything to me; they don’t have any value. They’re just things that cost money.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I finally say.
He grins at me. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“I should have brought you to eat right after the event.”
“It’s not your job to take care of me, Nash.”
I give him a so what? look, the words on the tip of my tongue.
But I want to.
“I’m making dinner,” I say as I head toward the kitchen.
“Wait—as in cooking it?” he calls after me. “You can cook?”
“Guess we’re about to find out.”
“Oh my God!” he says with a laugh. “Had you told me this before, I never would have come over.”
I shake my head, pointing a finger at him. “Now that is crossing a line.”
He laughs, biting on his bottom lip. I try not to stare at it, try to ignore what it does to me.
I turn toward the counter and try not to get overwhelmed by everything I need to do, and instead just get to work, following the recipe while Carter sits at my kitchen table, aimlessly scrolling on his phone.
We drink beers and chat. It all feels so natural.
“Does it look done?” I ask, squinting my eyes.
Carter shrugs. “Could be. It’s all bubbly on the sides. I think that means it’s done.”
We’re standing shoulder to shoulder, bending over to look into the oven through the glass door at the pie to see if it’s done. I don’t know how to tell. Apparently, neither does he.
“Everything was cooked before I put it together, so it’s not like it’s not cooked.”
“Well, what’s the point in putting it in the oven then?”
“To get the top of the potatoes brown and crispy.”
“Brown and crispy? What’s the point in making mashed potatoes then?”
“Beats me. I just followed the recipe.”
“If the timer is up, it’s bubbling, and everything was cooked before, I think it’s fine.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. Definitely. It has to be….” Carter glances at me. “Right?”
I shake my head and stand straight to grab the oven mitts. “I’m sure it’s done. Back up.”
He does as I say, and I turn the oven off, open it, and pull out the dish of Shepard’s Pie. It smells good. Looks good, too. Not exactly like the photo, but close enough. Definitely doesn’t look like my mother’s, but I went into this knowing that wouldn’t happen.
I let it sit for about twenty minutes. Carter and I finish our beers, and I bring him to the back patio to show him where I was thinking of setting up furniture and a fire pit. He gets excited about the fire pit.
“S’mores,” he says with a smile.
“Never had a S’more in my life.”
“What?” he barks. “How the hell not?”
I shrug. “Never went camping or anything.”
“Well, yeah, but like… no family gatherings, no cookouts? None of that?”
“None of that,” I say.
His face falls, but then he gets a determined look on his face. “When you get your fire pit, I’ll make you the best S’more ever.”
I look at him. “Promise?”
I don’t know where the word comes from. Or why it hurts. Carter makes me realize all the things I’ve missed out on in my life. Things that never bothered me before, but somehow now… they do.
“Yeah, I promise.”
I plate up the food, and we sit at the table to eat, both of us staring down at our food like it may jump up and run off.
“You’ve never made this before?” he asks, picking up his fork.
“Nope. But my mom used to make it all the time. It was my favorite growing up.”
I feel him staring at me, and when I look up, he has this strange smile on his face.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing, it’s just… nothing.”
“It’s something.”
Sighing, he rests his forearms on the table and says, “You invite me over. Cook me dinner, after you’ve never cooked before, and you make a meal that reminds you of your mother. It’s just… sweet.”
“Yeah,” I agree, but that’s all I can say about that. If I think too much into it, I’ll start feeling too much.
“All right, well, I guess if we get food poisoning, we’ll get it together.” He digs in, getting a big scoop and holding it out. It takes a moment for me to realize what he wants, and when I do, I get my own scoop. We tap forks, then take the bite.
His face goes through different emotions. Same as mine probably.
His eyes narrow as he swallows.
“This is…” he begins.
“Good,” I say, surprised. I huff a laugh. “This is good.”
“It’s so good,” he agrees.
“Holy shit,” I laugh. “I made good food.”
“You made amazing food,” Carter says with a proud smile. A smile that is now burned into my brain.
After dinner, we watch TV. He convinces me to buy a painting.
Just one. It takes me a long time to find it, and I don’t even get it off a chain store.
Carter shows me these artists—this Russian couple that illegally climbs to the top of spires and other tall buildings to take photos.
He says it’s ironic to have it in my house, since I’m a cop and the shots were taken illegally.
I think it’s kind of funny, and the pictures are pretty cool, so I agree.
Carter helps me pick out patio furniture, giving me all sorts of advice like he’s been selling furniture his entire life.
There isn’t an exact shipping date, but if it ships to store and I pick it up, it’ll be here sooner, so I go with that option and make a mental note to keep an eye out for that email.
After that, we watch a movie. Fight Club. I’d heard of it but never seen it. Carter looked almost offended, so he put it on immediately.
He’s on one side of the couch, and I’m on the other.
At least, that’s how we started. But somehow, we keep shifting toward one another and our socked feet have brushed a time or two.
“The only person I’ve ever had in my home is Jericho, my brother,” I admit.
“You’re the only person who’s been in my apartment,” he says.
“You’re the only one that’s been here, in this house.”
Carter smirks. “It’s crazy to still be someone’s first at this age.”
“We’re not old.”
“Speak for yourself,” he says.
“I’m older than you.”
“Doesn’t feel like that.”
“Yeah, I get that,” I say. “Sometimes, I think I should be a grandpa.”
“Hot grandpa.”
The words leave his mouth and I can tell he regrets them immediately, looking back at the TV too quickly and clearing his throat.
“Thank you,” I say. “You’d make a hot grandpa too.”
Hopefully that keeps it light and takes away the awkwardness he’s feeling. It doesn’t feel awkward to me. I mean, I feel something, but definitely not awkward. A little warm, maybe.
“You think so?” he says, sneaking a glance at me. I don’t miss the way his cheeks have turned slightly pink.
“Absolutely.”
He smiles again, then brings his attention back to the movie.
“I’m still not sure what’s going on here,” I say, gesturing to the TV.
“That’s the point. Just wait until the end. It’ll explain everything.”
I do as he suggests and pay attention. We make it to the end, and I am thoroughly surprised.
“That is not what I expected.”
“Coming from you, I think that’s a compliment to the writers.”
Carter yawns, his arms stretching up above his head. A sliver of skin shows at his waist and I can’t help but stare. It’s a little paler than his arms and face, and it looks so soft.
“Do you want me to take you home?” I ask, flicking my gaze back to his face.
“Do you want to take me home?”
“No,” I answer honestly.
“Me either.”
He lays down more, curling up on his end of the couch, his legs and feet stretched toward me more. Closer.
“Oh, put that one on,” he says.
“This one?” I click the button to select the movie one back.
“No, over two.”
“Momento? Never heard of it.”
“You are so missing out on all the good movies,” he complains.
“I don’t have time to watch movies.”
“Liar,” he laughs. “You have plenty of time; you just choose to work instead.”
I wave him off and press play to start the movie. He’s right, but I’m not getting into that conversation.
This is another movie I need to pay attention to, but I feel my body getting more relaxed.
Tired. Normally I’m up much later than this, but I had a busy day, and something about this—sitting on the couch with Carter, watching movies after a homemade meal—makes me feel settled. So I get more comfortable too.
Our feet brush again, because the couch isn’t big enough for two men to spread out on and not touch.
Then our legs are pressing together. My eyes fall closed, but I pop them open to watch the movie.
This happens a few times as I fight the sleep.
Carter’s breathing is soft and shallow. Eventually, I give in and let sleep take me over.
Until I’m woken up by someone crawling over and lifting my arm, slipping beneath it and against my body.
Instinctively, I wrap my arm around him and pull him tightly against me. He fits perfectly, like he was made to be in this position, in my arms, protected.