Chapter 24
SARAH
I glance up at Carter, checking to see how close he is to finishing his crossword puzzle.
We’ve done the daily crossword at the same time at least a dozen times, and every single time, I’ve finished before him.
Not that we’ve been racing, exactly. But I’ve watched him watching me, sneaking peeks at my screen to see how close I am.
Hazards of being married to a professional athlete.
The man turns folding his socks into a competition.
Now, he’s totally focused, which I love because it means I can sit here and stare at him without him noticing. Which—I’ve always enjoyed staring at Carter. But it feels different this morning.
After last night, everything feels different.
It was bad enough last week, when I saw Carter holding Fiona right after she was born, smiling down at her with a look of sheer wonder on his face. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so aware of my ovaries or thought so seriously about having a baby.
But not just any baby. In my alarmingly realistic fantasy, I was having a baby…with Carter. It felt like the world tilted off its axis, and I’m still not sure I’ve recovered.
But then Miles showed up on our doorstep last night, and Carter defended me, standing up to my brother with steel in his voice.
I know how intimidating Miles can be, but Carter was firm, steadfast. Completely supportive.
When I wrapped my arms around his waist right after, felt him lean down and press a kiss to the top of my head, I was filled with an overwhelming sense of certainty.
A rightness I’ve never experienced before.
I reposition myself on my barstool and try to focus on my puzzle. I’ve finished all but one clue, but I must have spelled something wrong because the answer I want to use doesn’t fit. I could ask Carter, but that would really spoil the fun of beating him.
I glance at the time on my phone, hating how close we are to him leaving.
He’s dressed for the road, ready to head to the airport, where he’ll leave for the last four away games of the regular season.
Nine days on the road, then the team will arrive back just in time for one last home game at the Vortex.
After that, they’ll get a couple of days off, then the playoffs start with the first two games of their opening series here in Atlanta.
I’ve practically lived at Anna’s since Fiona was born, helping with Poppy and Olive, so I’ve already been missing him. Now he’s leaving, and that’s just going to get worse.
Not that I can truly complain. The whole point of all this was so I could be here for Anna, and I’m so glad I am without the threat of my impending departure looming over me.
Anna is doing great, but she’s nervous about her postpartum depression returning.
She’s judging every little shift in her mood, watching for signs to make sure she’s taking care of herself as well as taking care of Fiona, who, to her credit, is pretty much perfect.
She’s a good sleeper, a good eater. Everyone in the house is absolutely in love with her.
But I’m glad I’ve been there anyway. Olive and Poppy still need a lot of attention, even a little extra while they adjust to the fact that now, they’re sharing their mom with a new baby.
Miles is back with the team this week, so it’ll be even more important that I support Anna.
Even though I’m presently furious with my brother and don’t feel like giving him any credit, he’s been incredible with the baby, maximizing every second of time off the Jaguars gave him.
He’s changed diapers and made dinners and rocked Fiona so Anna could nap.
He’s been endlessly patient with Poppy and Olive, reading books and doing puzzles and taking them for ice cream when he senses Anna needs a break.
We’ll both feel his absence this next week—the girls too.
It’s been a nice reminder that while he’s definitely being an idiot when it comes to me, he’s so good when it comes to everything else. I see the way he’s actively trying to be everything our own father wasn’t, and I have to give him grace for that.
“Finished!” Carter says, pulling me back into the present. He raises his hands from his phone like I might take away points if he touches it again.
“You are not.”
He grins. “Did I actually win this time?”
I press my lips together, fighting a smile. “Did you win?” I say. “I wasn’t aware we were racing.”
He grins. “Did I say win? I just meant, did I incidentally, with no meaning attached at all, happen to finish before you did?”
I finally let myself smile. “Shut up and come over here and help me figure out what I’ve gotten wrong.”
He moves around the kitchen island, setting his arms on the granite, one on either side of me, and looks over my shoulder.
He’s close enough that I feel the warmth of his chest against my back and the tickle of his breath moving through my hair.
I feel a sudden impulse to lean into him, to soak up his solid presence for a little while longer before he leaves.
I probably could. We’ve both been lax about the rules lately. Finding random reasons to touch each other, to lean into “friendly hugs” just a little bit longer than we normally would.
Carter leans forward and taps his pointer finger on the corner of my phone screen. “This is an a not an e,” he says. “You’ve got the right word. It’s just spelled wrong.”
“Ah—cedar with an a. We spell it with an e in Canada.”
Carter chuckles. “You do not.”
“Then we should.” I spin around on my barstool to face him. He’s wearing soft joggers and a Jaguars team pullover that brings out the blue in his eyes. “An e makes more sense.”
His hands are still on the counter which means I’ve got Carter on all sides, and the effect is almost dizzying.
His eyes gleam as he says, “Just accept defeat. You’re already the best artist in the city. You don’t get crossword puzzles too.”
His words send a warm fizzle of heat shooting through my chest. “Pretty sure with an eleven to one record, I actually do get crossword puzzles.”
“Says the woman who wasn’t aware it was a competition.” He reaches up and taps my forehead right between my eyes. “You get this line right here when you’re really focused. And you’re only really focused when you’re trying to be faster than me.”
I purse my lips to the side. He’s not wrong, and something inside me loves that he’s watching me so closely. “I’ll regret that line in my forties,” I say, but Carter shakes his head.
“Don’t. You’re beautiful now. You’ll be beautiful then.”
His words almost sound like he’ll be around then. Available to tell me I’m still beautiful, even in my forties. The thought brings a sharp yearning to my chest.
Carter lifts one hand to my cheek, slowly brushing my hair back, his fingers lightly grazing over my skin. He looks like he wants to kiss me, and I desperately want him to, but I know him too well.
He might fudge the boundaries of “friendly touching,” but he won’t break this rule even if he wants to.
Unless I ask him to.
The voice in my head sounds like Emerson, urging me on, willing me to own what I want and go for it. But I can’t bring myself to say the words.
What if I’m wrong about how he feels? What if he doesn’t want to kiss me? What if I ask him for more and it ruins everything and we still have to stay married for a year?
Carter’s watch buzzes with a message, and he glances down, then takes a step back and lets his hands fall from the counter. “Theo will be here any minute.”
I nod, swallowing against the sudden knot in my throat. I’m really, really going to miss having him around. I bite my lip. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”
“Yeah, me too.” He holds out his hand, and I scoot off my barstool, letting him tug me into an enormous hug.
It’s not a kiss, but it’s a close second. I will never get tired of the magic that is being wrapped up in Carter Williamson’s arms.
“Nine days,” he says, his voice close to my ear. “It’ll go by fast.” His hands move to my face, and he presses his forehead to mine. His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow, and I get the sense he’s fighting the same pull that I am.
I tilt my face up until my nose brushes against his, waiting, willing him to just do it. Kiss me. His lips part, his fingers pressing into my scalp, but then a car horn honks outside, and he breathes out a sigh. “That’s Theo.”
I swallow my disappointment, as well as a million curse words I wish I could yell at his brother.
I should have done it. I should have just pushed up an inch more and kissed him.
Carter takes a step back, letting his hands move to my shoulders. “Take care of yourself while I’m gone.”
“I will,” I say. “Travel safe.”
He lifts his duffel bag and hoists it over his shoulder. “Nine days,” he repeats, as he slowly backs away, then he turns and disappears out the door.
I stand there, my body still fizzing with unreleased tension. I lift my hands to my cheeks and feel the warmth there, then breathe deep, trying to slow my racing heart. I hate that he’s gone, hate that he’s—
The front door opens again, and Carter steps inside. He quickly crosses the foyer to where I’m standing in the kitchen and suddenly, I’m in his arms again, my back pinned against the wall.
Before I even know what’s happening, his mouth is on mine, his fingers sliding through my hair. I wrap my arms around his back, hands gripping his sweatshirt as I pull him closer, closer. His lips part, the kiss deepening as I taste him, breathe him in.
I have never been kissed like this. Even my other kisses with him pale in comparison. There is nothing careful about what’s happening now. Nothing scripted. Nothing that makes it fit for public consumption.
This is real and raw and desperate and perfect.
Carter pulls back, his breathing heavy, and presses both hands against the wall behind me. “We’re going to talk about this when I get home.” There’s no question mark at the end of his sentence. It comes out more like a command. A little growly. A lot sexy.
“Talking is good,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “But kissing is better.”
I pull him down and find his lips again. The kiss is softer this time, more tender than the first.
“You’re killing me, Sarah,” he says against my mouth. “Because I have to go, and I really don’t want to.”
He leans back, blue eyes sparkling as he looks down at me, the sweetest expression on his face.
“Here,” he says, and then he shrugs out of his pullover, revealing a plain gray t-shirt underneath.
The penny he always wears around his neck is resting against his sternum.
“Keep this for me,” he says, handing me the pullover.
“I don’t know how I’m going to make it nine days without touching you, but it’ll help to know that at least something of mine is against your skin. ”
“This and all your t-shirts,” I say.
He grins. “Those don’t count because I already consider them yours.”
Outside, Theo honks the horn so many times in a row, I know our time is up for real.
Carter kisses me one last time. “Nine days,” he says. “Then we’ll talk.”
I nod. “Nine days.”
I clutch Carter’s pullover to my chest, breathing in his scent, already missing him with an ache rooted deep in my gut.
I can hardly process what happened. But then, it feels like we’ve been building to this for weeks, cranking the tension up higher and higher, daring each other to be the one who breaks first.
I have no idea what’s going to happen when he comes back. What we’ll talk about. How things will look moving forward.
But I know I’m probably going to wear this pullover for nine days straight. And I dare anyone to tell me I shouldn’t.