Chapter 18 #3
I know Mrs. Williamson didn’t mean anything by her words, but they still triggered a sense of guilt that stings deeper than anything I’ve felt so far.
It feels like I’ve taken something from Carter. Some opportunity to fall in love—to have his mother see him get married for real.
He’s been ready to love someone since he was fifteen.
I see it in him. The way he’s so kind and gentle and good.
And now he’s married to me.
I sink onto the chaise.
Carter Williamson is my husband.
A moment later, Miles steps through the door. He wore a dark blue suit for the ceremony, but he’s already lost the jacket and tie, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms to reveal a plethora of tattoos. We haven’t talked since right before he walked me down the aisle.
“I thought I saw you come in here,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
I take a deep breath. “I’m married,” I say simply, and he chuckles.
“Yeah. Pretty wild.” He clears his throat, and I get the sense he followed me for a very specific purpose. “So, listen. I know we don’t talk about it much, but none of the guys on the team know how things were with Dad.”
I sit up a little taller. Miles rarely even mentions Dad. He definitely never talks about the abuse.
“The way I see it, Carter is going to be my teammate longer than he’s going to be your husband. So I would appreciate it if you’d help me keep it that way.”
His words are pragmatic and factual. Carter and I only committed to a year. But they still feel like a punch to the gut—like a very callous reminder that all of this is temporary.
Still, the root of his request is that he doesn’t want Carter to know, and I can’t judge him for that.
“Okay,” I say gently. “But Miles, I don’t think it would change the way your team—”
“It would,” he says, cutting me off. “I’m their captain. I don’t want them to look at me differently.”
“They wouldn’t,” I say. “They respect and love you so much. I can see that just from how they interact with you off the ice.”
“But it’s different on the ice,” he says. “They need to know they can trust me. That I’ll always keep my head. I set the tone out there.”
“Which is exactly why it wouldn’t matter,” I say. “How Dad treated you doesn’t define you, Miles. Your life is evidence of that. And so is how you lead your team.”
He pushes his hands into his pockets. “Just promise me, all right?”
I hate promising to keep secrets from Carter, but I also understand that this isn’t really my secret to tell. “Okay,” I say. “I promise.”
He nods and breathes out a sigh, visibly relieved. “Good,” he says, finally letting himself smile. He’s quiet for a beat before he says, “Big day, huh? I can’t believe we actually pulled it off.”
Something about his tone chafes against my already frayed nerves. There’s no awe in Miles’s voice. No true sentiment. Just relief. A sense of completion.
“You don’t have to sound so heartless,” I say, and his brow furrows.
“Heartless?”
“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “I just…you’re making it seem like a scheme. Some giant ploy to fool everyone.”
He moves into the room and leans against the desk, feet crossed at the ankles. “Isn’t that what it was?”
“Yes. But…” I shake my head. “It’s fine. Just forget I said anything. I was talking to Carter’s mom, and she went on and on about Carter being ready to settle down and love someone, and it just made me sad. That’s all.”
Miles’s expression softens. “He didn’t go into this blind, Sarah. Neither of you did.”
“I know,” I say. “But the lying part is still hard.”
There’s a bowl of Poppy’s crayons on the table, and Miles takes a few out, lining them up on the table in a neat row. “It’ll all be behind you soon,” he says. “Now you just have to get certified and find a job. The hardest part is behind you.”
I close my eyes. I really, really don’t want to have this conversation with Miles right now. Not today.
“Speaking of which,” he continues, “I talked to the principal at Poppy’s school the other day. They already have an art teacher on staff, but he mentioned a few other private schools in the area where he has connections. He said he’d be willing to make some introductions whenever you’re ready.”
I shouldn’t be surprised that Miles is networking on my behalf. Despite the many ways I’ve tried to protest, he always circles back to teaching.
But have I really been explicit with Miles? Have I told him outright that I don’t want to do it?
I don’t love confrontation generally, but I particularly don’t love it with my brother. But after all the success I’ve had the past two months, it feels callous for him to throw this at me like it’s the only option on the table.
“I don’t want to teach, Miles,” I say, my voice barely audible.
He scoffs. “Do you want to stay in Georgia?”
“Of course I do. But that isn’t the only way. I keep telling you that—showing you the many ways I’m finding success—and you keep dismissing it like it’s never going to work.”
“Because it might not,” he argues. He scoops up the crayons and dumps them back in the bowl. “I don’t understand why it has to be one or the other. You can still paint if you’re working as an art teacher.”
“Not really,” I say. “Not like I need to. Teaching is a full-time job. It’s also about the optics—about wanting to look like a professional artist.”
He folds his arms across his chest and levels me with his most big-brother stare. “I’m just saying. It seems like a lot to hang your hopes on when Carter has only promised you a year.”
I lift a hand to my neck, massaging at the stress suddenly building there. “I know that,” I finally say. “But I can’t turn myself into someone I’m not.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks, tension hanging heavy in the air. I realize I’m being idealistic. For Miles, who has always lived grounded in pragmatism, it probably seems naive, even childish for me to resist the most practical and obvious solution to my dilemma.
But somehow, deep in my gut, I know that teaching isn’t the answer. That what I would be giving up by pursuing that route would outweigh what I would gain. Even if it means going back to Canada.
Footsteps approach the doorway, and I look up to see Carter leaning into the room.
“Hey,” he says cautiously, clearly clocking the tension between Miles and me. “Everything okay?”
I look at Miles, at the worry etched into his face.
Then I look at Carter, his expression open and easy. No expectation. No pressure.
“Yeah,” I finally say. “But do you think we can go? I’m suddenly feeling really tired.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Carter says.
His eyes dart over to Miles, and his jaw tightens, making me wonder what look my brother is giving him.
Whatever it is, Carter shakes it off easily because when he crosses the room, his eyes are warm and focused entirely on me. He holds out his hand. “Ready?”
As I slip my fingers into his waiting palm, my brother clears his throat. “We aren’t done talking about this.”
Carter squeezes my fingers, giving me the strength to look over at Miles.
“We are, Miles,” I say. “It’s not your concern anymore.”
Carter’s hand settles on my back, warm and reassuring as he guides me through the crowd, through all the well-wishers sending us off with one last Congratulations.
We smile and wave as we make our way out the front door where Theo is waiting in the circle drive, leaning against Carter’s truck.
The crowd spills out of the house behind us, cheering as Theo tosses his brother the keys, then steps to the side.
Carter opens the passenger door for me, then offers me a hand while I hoist myself up, wedding dress and all. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to my lips, eliciting another whooping cheer from the watching crowd, then circles the truck and climbs in beside me.
My situation isn’t any different now than it was five minutes ago, when I was talking about it with my brother.
But something about having Carter beside me makes the whole thing feel easier. Not like everything is solved, but at least like I can breathe again.
And for right now, that has to be enough.