CHAPTER 2. Thomas #2
“This is ridiculous,” he mutters, snorting softly—but he’s already leaning into my chest, chasing the warmth.
“Desperate times,” I say, though his words sting a little.
We sit like that for a while, the silence between us filled with the sound of our breathing. Carter gradually stops shivering as my body heat sinks into him, but I can still feel the tension in his shoulders—the way he holds himself, even as he leans against me.
Fuck. This might be too much. It’s been so long since I’ve been this close to him—but now he’s here, pressed against me, and it’s messing with my head. The smell of him, the weight of him—it’s all too familiar. Too easy to fall back into.
I shouldn’t be enjoying this. Not after what I put him through. Not after I made him cry.
I need to say something. It’s not how I pictured it, and he probably doesn’t want to hear it—but I might not get another chance. I open my mouth, trying to find the right place to start—
And then I feel it. A new kind of tremor moves through him—sharper than before. I glance down just as he turns his face away, but the way his shoulders shake is unmistakable.
He’s crying again.
It hits me like a punch to the gut. In all the years I’ve known Carter, I’ve seen him cry plenty—at movies, during arguments, once when he dropped an entire pizza face-down on the floor.
But never because of me. Never twice in one night.
And never like this—quiet, his whole body trembling as he tries to hold it in.
“Carter?” My voice comes out rough. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
He turns his head slightly but doesn’t look at me. “Nothing. I’m fine. Sorry.”
But he’s not. Another sob tears through him, and I can’t take it anymore. I pull him in closer, shifting until he’s practically in my lap, and wrap both arms around him. He resists for a second—then gives in, collapsing against me, face pressed to my shoulder.
“Talk to me,” I murmur, one hand moving to his hair, stroking it the way I used to when he was upset. “Please.”
He shakes his head again, his tears soaking into my sweater. I can feel his fingers curl into the fabric.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my mouth close to his ear. “I’m so sorry, Carter. For everything.”
His crying worsens, and I tighten my hold on him, heart breaking with every muffled sob. I press my lips to the top of his head, then his temple—soft, comforting kisses. The kind you give someone you love when they’re falling apart.
Carter goes very still at the touch of my lips, then pulls away abruptly, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.
“Don’t,” he says, voice raw. “Please don’t do that.”
I freeze, a cold wave of dread washing over me. “Sorry—”
“I can’t.” He shakes his head, shifting away from me as much as the backseat allows. “I can’t do this with you, Thomas. Not again.”
The rejection feels like a bucket of cold water.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, even though it doesn’t feel like enough. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Yes, you did,” he cuts me off, his voice stronger now despite the tears still wet on his cheeks. “You always mean it, in the moment. And then you shut me out.”
I freeze.
He’s right, and we both know it. I’ve been playing this game with him for years—getting close, pulling away, over and over. Last year was just the breaking point.
I’ve hurt him. More than I realized. More than I let myself believe.
Shit.
It’s time to tell him the truth—even if it’s too late. Even if he’s moved on. Even if he never wants to see me again after tonight.
I take a slow breath, watching it fog in the cold air between us.
“You’re right,” I say finally, my voice low. “I did mean it. Every time.”
Carter looks at me—surprise flickering in his red-rimmed eyes like he hadn’t expected me to admit it. He doesn’t say anything, though—just waits for whatever comes next.
I sigh and close my eyes for a second.
“I was supposed to do this after the dinner tonight,” I say, staring down at my hands. “I had a whole plan. Gigi helped me practice what I was going to say.”
“Gigi,” Carter repeats, and there’s something in his voice I can’t quite identify—hurt, maybe, or resignation.
“She’s just a friend,” I say again, needing him to understand that before anything else. “Not a girlfriend. Just someone who’s been helping me figure some things out.”
I glance up and catch the flicker of confusion in his expression.
“Figure what out?”
My heart’s pounding hard enough that I’m convinced he can hear it. This is it—the thing I’ve been rehearsing for months. The conversation I’ve gone over in my head a hundred different ways. Except none of those versions involved a dead car, a snowstorm, and Carter crying.
“Why I ran last year,” I say. “After I said all that stuff—” I stop, swallow hard. “Why I almost kissed you that night.”
Carter goes still. The car feels smaller now, the air too thin to breathe.
“I was drunk,” I say, when he doesn’t respond. “But not so drunk I didn’t know what I was doing. I wanted to kiss you. I’ve wanted to for…God, I don’t even know how long.”
His eyes stay on me—wide, unblinking—like he can’t believe I’m saying this out loud.
“But I was terrified,” I admit. “Of what it meant. Of what people would think—my parents, my friends…” I shake my head. “Mostly, I was scared of what I’d think of myself.”
I’ve never said any of this out loud before. Not even to Gigi—not really. She pieced it together from half-formed thoughts and clumsy explanations, but I’ve never just laid it all out like this.
“I had this idea of myself—being the masculine jock with a father in the military—” I trail off, only now realizing how ridiculous it sounds. “It was scary to admit that wasn’t all I was.” I swallow. “So after that night at Drip, I freaked out and ran. And then I panicked and started dating Carol.”
Carter is still silent, watching me, waiting for me to finish.
“She’d been flirting with me for months, and I just… I thought if I could make it work with her, then maybe I wasn’t really…” I trail off, still unable to say the word.
“Bi?” Carter says.
I nod, cheeks burning despite the cold. “I didn’t want to be anything other than what I’d always assumed I was.”
Carter shifts but doesn’t respond. I wish I knew what he was thinking.
“But it felt wrong,” I say, my throat tight.
“I felt like shit. And Carol figured it out way before I did. She ended things—told me I needed to stop lying to myself.” I glance away, eyes stinging.
“But I still wasn’t ready to hear it. So I shut down.
Threw myself into work. Avoided everyone. Especially you.”
I pause, trying to gather whatever’s left of my courage.
“Then I met Gigi at Lone Star,” I say, pausing for a second.
“She’s gay, and she’s really open about it.
One night we were working late, and she started talking about her girlfriend—just saying how much she loved her, how happy she was.
And I don’t know…something about how easy it was for her made me think maybe I didn’t have to keep fighting it.
Like maybe I could start accepting it too. ”
The memory of that night comes rushing back—Gigi’s surprised but kind expression when I blurted out that I might be into guys.
Well—one guy, specifically. The relief that hit when nothing fell apart after I said it.
How we stayed in that empty office until two in the morning while I told her everything about Carter.
“So I came out to her,” I say. “She was the first person I ever told. And she’s been helping me figure it out—how to accept it, how to talk about it, and how to tell people. How to tell you.”
The car feels warmer somehow, even with the temperature still dropping. Or maybe it’s just nerves—my palms are sweating, my chest feels tight, and I can’t get my heart to slow down.
Carter doesn’t say anything, but he looks thrown—his eyebrows pulled together like he’s still trying to catch up.
“Last night, we went over what I was going to say to you today. After the dinner. How I was going to tell you that I—”
The words hang in the freezing air between us. My chest aches, and I can’t seem to take a full breath.
This is it. This is the moment.
It feels like I might die if I say it—but keeping it in is already killing me.
“Shit,” I breathe out.
My chest tightens. I’m dizzy, sick to my stomach—but I still meet his eyes, even as mine start to sting.
“Carter,” I say, blinking through the blur. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for the past sixteen years.”
That’s true. I counted it last night when I couldn’t sleep. I’ve wasted sixteen fucking years.
Carter doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at me, eyes wide.
Then he blurts, “Are you out of your damn mind?”