Chapter 10 Carter
CARTER
Polly
you and me tonight, how does that sound handsome?
It sounds like quick torture. Badly executed, killing the victim way too early, and getting no result.
It’s bland as fuck, doesn't have any taste. I put my phone back into my back pocket and sigh. A text from the barmaid of our club isn’t going to get her the desired effect she was hoping for.
The chick isn’t ugly, with long black hair, green eyes, and tattoos all over her slim body.
But I have to say, it has as much effect on me as watching a wall of bricks.
Since I changed jobs for the club and got out of my basement to do less violent work, this girl has been chasing me nonstop.
Maybe she likes the idea of redemption, or maybe it’s just the thrill of getting in bed with someone who killed hundreds of men and never blinks an eye at it.
Either way, all my brain can think of is Lana, and I don’t want folks here thinking I’d ever try something with a woman here, especially if things go well and they meet her in two weeks at Ares’s and Mia’s.
“Still up for this afternoon?” asks Ash, his red hair disheveled, with a black pair of jeans and his leather cut as he comes back from the basement while I finish checking the new guns we received.
Today is different. Ares made special plans for Mia, so we’re off duty.
It’s still early, and I’m off to Lana’s in a few.
I’m holding my breath thinking about her hazelnut hair as I answer Ash.
“Of course. We can meet here and go there together if you want.”
“Um, yeah, cool,” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his head.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, a gun in my hand.
“No, nothing, it’s just, I don’t want to take too much of your time with…you know.” I study his face and notice he’s twisting his lips. Ash always does that when he’s embarrassed.
“I want to support you,” I say, my voice blank as hell. Can’t you just fucking smile and hug him? Humans need physical touch, especially when they are unsure or vulnerable, Dr. Parks said. I lift my hand but end up clenching my fist awkwardly.
“What was that?” He frowns, eyeing me like I’m an alien.
“Nothing.”
“Um, that didn’t look like nothing.” He smirks.
“Shut up,” I say before looking back at the Glock I’m polishing.
Ash chuckles, then glances around. “Nice,” he says, whistling softly.
“I’ll see you at two, bro.” He spins on his heel and walks back toward the main hall.
I stay rooted to the spot, the gun suddenly heavy as a ton of bricks.
What am I doing? Trying to comfort a friend?
Trying to seduce a woman who’s clearly out of my league?
I should know better than to chase a life that’s too good to be true.
My phone vibrates again, but this time it does it two times in a row, which is the special setting I chose for Lana.
My mouth runs dry and I look at the screen. Maybe she canceled.
Lana
To do list done ! I’m all set. Waiting for you :)
I exhale deeply. Damn, false alarm. I finish polishing two other guns, then take my cut and head out to see her.
The ride is fast, as if each mile separating me from this angel is too much to bear.
And just as I’m about to reach her porch, I sense my chest tightening as I watch her open her door with a simple white T-shirt and a denim mini-skirt.
Her hair is flowing wildly down her shoulders, the morning light shining on it and making it look like chocolate and caramel melted together to form the most beautiful color.
She’s so beautiful it hurts. I inhale, holding my helmet in one hand and my cut on reverse on my shoulder, watching her gawk at my flexed biceps.
Her lips part. Good. She swallows and pulls a lock of hair behind her ear.
“Hi,” she says quietly, her voice dripping like blood in a fresh wound.
“Hi, sweetness,” I tell her, trying my best not to sound like a fucking stone.
“Come on, get in.” She smiles, and I try to reciprocate that. I try and I fucking fail. But somehow the idea that one day I’ll figure out a way to smile back at her hits me like a truck.
If I can do it for someone, it’ll be for her.
LANA
Ben
Got a gift for our son. I will drop it off around eleven. Or maybe before if you want a little one on one with me baby.
Ew.
Carter just parked in my driveway, and the last thing I want right now is a standoff between my ex and my new…
Um, and Carter. And why does he keep calling me baby?
I hate when he does that. I’m not a baby.
I’m a grown woman with bills to pay and a child to raise.
If anything, the only person who could ever call me that would need to earn my respect and trust. And this person will never be him.
He knows Noah often goes to Nancy's for one or two hours on Saturday morning to play with his cousins, and allows me to do house chores so I can fully focus on him afterward.
But somehow I hate that Ben knows that and keeps showing up at that dedicated time to “drop off” things or “say hi”.
Like, how many times can you play the “I was in the neighborhood” card when you live two hours away?
He knows the rules and he keeps breaking them.
And… And I hate myself for letting him walk all over me.
Look how far you’ve come. Speak up and tell him to never step into your house uninvited. You can do it.
I drop my phone on the living room table and open the door, watching Carter stroll toward me like a model, and clench my teeth hard because if I don’t hold my jaw tight, it might fall on the porch’s floor. He’s so, so…
“Hi,” I say, feeling like a teenage girl when in fact, I’m the older one here.
“Hi, sweetness,” he greets me, and I melt at the nickname. He’s holding his cut on the back of his shoulder, the motion makes his bicep flex, and I’m mesmerized by it. He shouldn’t be allowed to wear a black T-shirt. That should be illegal.
“Come on, get in,” I offer, smiling at him because, for some reason, the sight of him on my front door just made my day a thousand times better. Which is hard to do since Noah and I had a pancake party this morning while watching his favorite cartoon, and I have to say, nothing can beat that.
“Smells good," he says. "Mind if I drop my stuff here?" He nods toward the entry bench.
“No, go ahead,” I say, watching him lay his cut carefully.
This one must hold a great deal of meaning to him.
“Noah and I made pancakes this morning; there’s still some for you if you’re hungry.
” I hope this won’t trigger him about his past and how his mom used to make them for him when he was a child.
Maybe it will bring back a good memory. His jaw flexes, then he looks behind me at the kitchen counter.
“Yeah, I’d like that,” he rasps, and I think he’s smiling. Not from his lips but from his eyes. There’s a slight crease, and it makes my heart thump way more than it should.
We both get around the island, and I smile at how tall he is in my space.
I didn’t realize it when we were in his massive flat, but here, in my small and quirky, colorful house, he’s a giant.
But still, he sits casually on one of the stools, one foot still touching the ground, looking at me like a scientist who has found his next subject of study.
I love when he does that.
There’s something special about knowing you’ve got his full attention. I fix him a plate, adding strawberries, and without catching myself, I realize I made a smiley face like I do for Noah with blueberries for the eyes and chocolate syrup for the mouth.
“Oh no, sorry. I… I always do that for Noah and me, let me fix that—”
“It’s alright.” He shakes his head, taking the plate I’m trying to take back. “I like that you do stuff like this. It’s cute,” he says, and the corner of his eyes crease again and make my heart quicken.
“Is coffee okay?” I ask, turning my back as I grab another cup for him; mine is already on the counter.
“Coffee’s great.” He nods, and even though his tone is even and slightly cold, I know he doesn’t mean it; that’s just the way he talks. Perhaps not everybody can see past it, but I do. I’m learning to.
“How was your week?” he asks, and I bite my lip as I pour coffee in his mug. “Thank you, sweetness. Next time, you’ll just sit and I’ll do it for you now that I know where the mugs are,” he states, the smoke of coffee filling the air between us.
My cheeks turn pink at the mention of him wanting to serve me.
I’ve never been treated…right, and I’m not saying that I’m going to fall head over heels for the first guy who treats me decently, but Carter really has a way of saying things and making me feel…
cherished. And even if I never got to experience that before, I know this isn’t something I’ll ever take for granted.
“Work and one day at home with Noah, he had a stomach ache, nothing serious, but he wasn’t feeling well. Luckily, I had someone to replace me at work so I could come home and take care of him.”
“Is he okay now?” he asks with a frown.
“Good as new.” I chuckle. “He told me the soup I gave him yesterday made him stronger than the Hulk.” I laugh, shaking my head with a bright smile. “He’s obsessed with superheroes. Look—” I nod toward the round diner table behind him, cluttered with a dozen figurines of his favorite characters.
“Is the Hulk his favorite?” he asks.
“Yes. He says he’s the scariest and the nicest at the same time.” I smile, but it falters when I notice Carter straighten in his seat, his hand flexing twice in a row.
Did I say something wrong?
CARTER
Scariest and nicest.
Perhaps he could like me.
Not that I want him to call me dad or anything like that, but not hating me would be great. And if he manages to see past a green scary creature, then perhaps I stand a chance.