Chapter 11 Carter
CARTER
“Dude, that practice sucked ass.” Noah drops onto the bench that runs parallel to our lockers. “You heading back to the apartment after this?”
Most of our teammates are busy bitching and moaning about the grueling workout Coach just put us through, but not me.
I welcome the suicides and hitting drills.
I want my muscles to scream bloody murder when all is said and done.
I want to be so freaking tired that when I fall into bed an exhausted heap, I won’t dwell on the girl sleeping twenty feet down the hall from me.
Or the curve-hugging tank top and short shorts she likes to torment me with.
I push those thoughts away and shake my head before they can do further damage. “Can’t.” I focus on the inside of my metal locker. “I need to stop at my parent’s house.”
Noah falls silent for a moment and then asks, “Do you want me to come with you?”
“Nah,” I mutter. That would only make matters worse. Just thinking about what I have to do makes my shoulders tense up.
He grabs a T-shirt from his locker and pulls it over his head. “Are you sure that you don’t want some company?”
Because I pride myself on not being a pussy and confronting matters head-on, I turn and meet his concerned gaze. “Yeah, it’ll be fine.”
“You know I’ll come with,” he reiterates in a lower voice. “It’s not a big deal.”
It takes a concerted effort to loosen my muscles and slow my heart rate. “I appreciate it, but it’s not necessary.”
I fucking hate going home, and Noah knows it. He’s one of the few people I trust enough with the truth. Which is exactly why Daisy is off-limits. The last thing I would ever do is destroy my friendship with Noah. He’s like a brother to me. His parents are like my family.
And you don’t fuck with family.
Period.
All I have to do is keep my distance from Daisy. It’s the only way I’ll get through the school year in one piece. But I can’t continue pushing her away or being a dick. It’s exhausting, and I don’t have it in me anymore. Not when all I want to do is tug her close and hold on tight.
The last few days have been cordial between us. This morning we actually made small talk about the unseasonably warm weather we’re experiencing.
Yeah…the weather.
It was the most stilted conversation I’ve ever been forced to participate in.
After a while I started babbling about the importance of staying hydrated.
Daisy cut me off saying that she had to meet up with Olivia and ran out of the apartment like her ass was on fire.
She couldn’t flee fast enough. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a female try to escape my company so quickly. Daisy is the first.
Not exactly great for the ego.
I don’t know what’s worse. Awkward interactions like that or us sniping back and forth. I hate to admit it, but I kind of enjoy our verbal skirmishes. Daisy has a sharp tongue and a wry sense of humor.
With Daisy occupying my brain, Noah and I walk out of the locker room toward the parking lot near the stadium where practice is held.
Noah claps me on the shoulder and slips behind the wheel of his Jeep Wrangler. “If you need me, just call. Okay?”
I nod, even though I have no intention of doing anything of the sort. I don’t want anyone else witnessing my family at their worst. It only deepens the humiliation.
With those thoughts whirling through my head, I slide onto the leather seat of my Mustang and start the engine. The deep purr it makes as it roars to life is music to my ears, but it’s not enough to turn the tide of my darkening mood.
I always feel shitty when I head home.
When I was a kid, I clung to the notion that everything would improve once I escaped the house. But that hasn’t turned out to be the case. There are times when I have to remind myself that I’m not the scrawny eleven-year-old boy I used to be.
The drive home takes about forty-five minutes. Every mile of pavement the tires eat up makes my nerves stretch ever tauter. By the time I roll up to the guard shack and get waved through by a man in uniform, an uncomfortable pit sits in the bottom of my gut.
The gated community my parents reside in is affluent, with sprawling, well-manicured lawns. My parents’ massive brick-and-stone mansion is situated on two acres of land and is larger than the ones surrounding it because my father is the developer who built this subdivision of monstrosities.
With any luck, Dad won’t be home yet. He works at least sixty hours a week, so it’s entirely plausible that he’s still at a job site.
If that’s the case, I can slip in before he’s made aware of my presence.
Dad might not be home, but there are security cameras everywhere on the property, so he’ll know the moment I pull into the driveway.
I park in front of the house and jog up the stairs. I don’t bother ringing the bell and just slip inside. The door closes and silence echoes throughout the first floor. It’s as quiet as a tomb, reminding me there was never much laughter or joy while growing up in this house.
Nothing has changed in that regard.
I find Mom in the kitchen preparing dinner.
Her face lights up with pleasure the moment she sees me. “Carter! You didn’t mention that you would be stopping by.”
She comes around the massive marble island and wraps her slender arms around me, squeezing like she’ll never let go.
I press her tightly against me. We’re like two survivors clinging to one another during a storm.
Even though neither of us acknowledge it, we both know why I don’t give advanced warning as to when I’m going to visit.
“It was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” I say, just like I always do. “Thought I’d see how you were doing.”
As much as I hate coming here, I like to see for myself that she’s okay. It’s the reason I stayed close by for college.
“I’m good.” She smiles brightly.
Sometimes I marvel at how she does it. How she manages to act like there’s nothing wrong, as if her life is perfect. It’s mind boggling.
As we separate from one another, my gaze rakes over her.
Mom looks like she’s dropped a few more pounds since I last saw her.
She stands a few inches above five feet and has always been on the petite side.
But now she looks frail. Delicate. Her dark hair is pulled back into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck.
Her makeup is flawless. She’s wearing a summery dress with short sleeves, and her feet are bare.
Even though she looks like she could walk out the door any moment, I know she’s not going anywhere.
Dad expects her to look and dress a certain way. Even when she’s at home.
I gnash my teeth together.
Dad’s a total control freak. He always has been.
I’ve escaped. Sort of. Even though I’ve encouraged Mom to leave, I doubt she ever will. I don’t know how she deals with his constant bullshit. By the time I walked out the door at eighteen, I promised myself that I would never go back. And other than to check on my mother, I haven’t.
Her bottle green eyes settle on me as she continues prepping the steaks on the counter. “Would you like to join us for dinner?” she asks with a hopeful note in her voice even though she knows it’s a bad idea.
I shake my head. “Sorry, I can’t. I just finished up with practice and have a paper due at the end of the week.”
It’s not a lie. It is due on Friday, but it’s practically finished. I just need to add the bibliography.
Disappointment flashes in her eyes.
Wanting to make it up to her, I say, “What about lunch next week? You can come to BU, and we’ll find a restaurant near campus.”
Her face lights up and slowly falls as her mind immediately goes to what Dad will say. She’s wondering if he’ll allow her to meet me for lunch.
I clench my hands as the urge to punch something careens through me.
Her shoulders droop, and she drops her gaze to the steaks as she salts and peppers them. “Let me check my calendar and get back to you.”
That’s code for I’ll ask your father for permission to leave the premises.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to snap that she’s a grown woman and doesn’t need his consent. But I don’t. Somehow, I manage to rein it in. She’s the last person I want to explode on.
It’s a frustrating situation. I love Mom more than anything, but this behavior and the way Dad’s trained her…it’s difficult to watch.
And even more difficult to stomach.
Once my emotions are locked down tight, I shrug as if it’s no big deal. “Let me know what you decide.”
The corners of her lips lift. “I’ll do that.”
As soon as those words are out of her mouth, the garage door opens. Her body goes on high alert as her breath catches.
“It’s fine, Mom,” I say soothingly through gritted teeth.
She nods, but her eyes dart around the spacious kitchen with its endless sea of white marble counters and stainless-steel appliances, checking to make sure nothing is out of place.
Even though she’s in the middle of preparing dinner, everything is perfect and clean.
Wiped down and polished. As soon as she uses a spice, it’s put away in the cabinet.
As soon as she’s finished with a dish or pan, it’s washed and set back on its shelf.
How the fuck does a person live like this?
It makes me want to smash everything in my path just to tick my father off.
The back door slams and Mom flinches as the sound reverberates through the first floor. A fine tremble racks her hands as she brushes them over the silky material of her dress, making sure it’s in place.
Heavy footfalls land with sharp clicks that echo against the polished marble tile in the hall.
I straighten my shoulders and pull myself up to my full height. It’s ridiculous that I have to remind myself that I’m not the same kid Dad used to push around and bully.