Twenty-One
R ome drove us back. I sat in the backseat, quiet, peering out the window at the deserted streets. My chest felt heavy with indecision. The closer we were getting home, the closer I was to confronting the dreaded truth.
Rome kept trying to catch my eye in the rear-view mirror, silently asking me what the matter was. Always attentive, he never missed a beat. Carter, on the other hand, kept his gaze out the window too, equally quiet.
He sensed it.
When he drew near to me under the awning of the bar, he could see the conflicted look in me as I pulled away from him. He’d almost looked powerless.
“Chin up,” Rome whispered to me as we parted ways at the house. He went to the front door, and we went to the back where our suite was located. I followed Carter in the dark, feeling the sweat from the summer air trickle between my shoulder blades. It would be good to get this damn uniform off. Mel was a size smaller than me, and the uniform had felt constricting all night.
Carter pulled out the keys and shoved it in the door. He pushed it open, and we walked in. I stared at his back as he turned on the light and threw his keychain down on the kitchen counter.
We didn’t say a word.
He went to the bathroom, and I heard the shower pipes go on. I tidied up around the apartment before he got out. It was a feat of its own not ogling him in a towel on my way into the bathroom to have my turn.
I spent a lot of time under the hot spray, running what happened through my head. I thought of the way he said friend , how he looked when he said it, and the anger for being put in that position. My body shook with the urge to go out and ask him where I stood in his life, but speaking when I was this emotional didn’t seem like a good idea.
I bottled it up instead.
When I finished, I wrapped the towel around me and headed for my bedroom—because sleeping together was still against his rules. Walking in, I was startled to find Carter leaning against my dresser with his arms crossed. He was usually sprawled in bed at this point, not standing there in nothing but his usual briefs, looking like we were going to discuss something heavy.
I stared at him once before opening the drawer of the scratched-to-shit tallboy. The drawer creaked annoyingly, reminding me why second-hand furniture that sold at a bizarrely cheap price wasn’t always an investment. I pulled out my nightgown and then tried closing it. The drawer shuddered and the tallboy shook as I pushed and then stopped because it wasn’t going to fucking close.
“I’ll fix it,” I heard Carter say.
I sighed and turned around. “Okay.”
Then we just stood there for several moments.
The air was charged, and I was very uneasy. He stared at me for a long time, his eyes hard, his mouth pressed in a line. He seemed cloudier than usual. He’d had a few beers, so perhaps he was a little tipsy.
“You’re not your usual self,” he finally muttered.
I didn’t want to talk about this now. I looked away instead.
“Leah,” he pressed softly. “I can read you like a book. I know you were upset at the table.”
Without helping it, I opened my mouth and retorted, “You mean when you referred to me as your friend ?”
He exhaled loudly. “It was an asshole move, I get it.”
“It’s not an asshole move if that’s how you really feel. I’m actually glad to know that’s what I am to you. Just a friend—”
“Fuckin’ hell, Leah, I was put on the spot. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“You weren’t thinking straight,” I repeated sceptically.
“That’s the truth.”
“And if someone asked you again what I was to you, what would your answer be?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He shut it back and readjusted his stance against the dresser, no longer looking me in the eye.
Well, there you go.
“Wow,” I mumbled in shock. “Now that’s the truth, huh? Well, look, I’m not going to start a fight about what happened. I’d like some space tonight to think things through.”
“Think what through?” he demanded, his eyes back on mine, wider than before.
“Just… things ,” I said sharply.
“Don’t overthink it, Leah.”
I didn’t reply. I left the room and returned to the bathroom. Shutting it, I threw my towel off and shrugged into my nightgown. Then I sat on the edge of the tub and tried to avoid addressing the ache in the pit of my being.
What were my options?
Why did I want to cry and keep crying?
Why did I want the one man to ease me when he was the reason why I wanted to cry in the first place?
That looming depression formed like a cloud over my head once more. My patience was depleted. I thought time would help bring us closer together, that he’d look at me one morning and tell me I was it for him.
That day wasn’t coming.
Forget it.
I had to focus on other things. Like my impending school year at Uni. Yeah, see, this was more important.
Boys were not.
I repeated that mantra over and over again until I calmed down.
He was in his room by the time I returned to mine.