CHAPTER 5. Carter #2
I spin to face him, cheeks on fire. “Of course not. It’s just—Logan knew you were coming to Jason’s party, and he kept making jokes, and I didn’t actually plan anything, okay?”
Thomas just chuckles. “Relax, I’m messing with you.”
I let out a breath, cheeks still burning. “Sorry,” I mutter. “That was just a dumb joke. I didn’t plan anything.”
“I know,” he says, grinning. “Though the quick-access kit in your car was a little suspicious…”
“Shut up,” I groan, laughing despite myself. I’m going to murder Logan for that text. Slowly. With flair.
I glance up at Thomas, and for a second we just look at each other. And it hits me again—this absurd, impossible thing. Thomas Moore is standing in my brother’s kitchen, gazing at me like I’m something rare. Like he’s in love with me. And somehow, unbelievably, he is.
He leans in, resting his forehead against mine. “Is this normal?” he murmurs. “How easy it is?”
I know exactly what he means. It’s new, sure—but it doesn’t feel new. It feels like something that’s always been there, just waiting to be named.
I nod, our noses brushing. “Yeah. We’ve known each other forever. The only weird part is how much time we wasted.”
“No more wasting time,” he says—and then he kisses me, deep and hungry, like he’s trying to erase all the years we didn’t get to have.
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. It’s still him—still the same Thomas I grew up with—but now I get to touch him, taste him, keep him. For real this time.
Thomas’s hands slide under my sweater, warm palms against my lower back, and I forget everything—Logan, Jason, pancakes. All of it. There’s only his mouth, his hands, the slow press of his body against mine.
“We should—” I manage between kisses, but Thomas makes a disapproving noise and pulls me closer.
“Shh,” he mutters against my lips.
I laugh, breath hitching as I arch into him. “I was going to say we should make the pancake batter.”
He pulls back just far enough to give me a look of pure betrayal. “You’re thinking about pancake batter right now?”
“No,” I say, tugging him back in. “I’m not thinking at all.”
That earns me a grin—right before he kisses me again, deeper this time, more insistent. His body pins mine gently to the counter, one hand sliding into my hair, the other drifting higher up my back, splaying over my ribs.
I’m so caught up I don’t hear the footsteps. Don’t register the presence in the room until a sharp, pointed cough slices through the haze in my head.
We spring apart like we’ve been electrocuted.
Standing in the doorway, arms folded and hair sticking up, is my brother.
“Uh, what the fuck?” Jason says, blinking at us like he’s not entirely convinced we’re real.
My face goes up in flames so fast I’m surprised I don’t spontaneously combust.
“Jason,” I squeak. “You’re up early.”
“Apparently,” he says, deadpan.
Thomas clears his throat. I glance over, expecting him to look as wrecked as I feel—but of course not. There’s a faint flush on his cheekbones, but otherwise, he’s perfectly calm, like getting caught making out with his best friend’s brother is just a casual start to the day.
“Morning, Jase,” he says smoothly.
Jason blinks at us, like he’s trying to recalibrate—processing what he just saw and realizing he’s not exactly thrilled about it.
The silence stretches, and I can feel myself shrinking into the awkward teenager I used to be—the one who got caught stealing his hoodies and using his cologne.
Thomas stays annoyingly composed, like this is a minor detour in the morning, not a full-on scandal in my brother’s kitchen.
“So,” Jason says, dragging the word out, “what is this?”
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
“I’m making pancakes,” I say finally.
Which, technically, is true. But also spectacularly irrelevant.
Jason just stares, clearly waiting for a real answer—one that doesn’t involve breakfast. I glance at Thomas, who gives me a small, maddeningly calm nod, then back at Jason, who’s still standing there with his arms crossed.
This is not how I pictured this conversation going.
Not when I haven’t even figured out what the hell I’m supposed to say.
Not without game-planning with Thomas first to make sure Jason wouldn’t flip.
And definitely not while we’re both kiss-swollen, half-hard, and wearing the world’s worst poker faces.
“Alright,” Jason says, leveling a look at both of us. “Are you guys fucking?”
“No,” I blurt.
“Yes,” Thomas says at the same time, stepping toward me—closing the gap I’d frantically put between us the moment Jason showed up.
“Since when?” Jason demands, jaw tight.
I clear my throat, scrambling. “Since…recently? Not that long ago? It’s new?” It comes out as a string of panicked questions—not exactly the calm, responsible image I was hoping to project.
Jason’s eyebrows shoot up even higher. “Did you hook up last night?”
“Yes,” Thomas says—and he doesn’t even look faintly embarrassed. I, on the other hand, want to dissolve into the floor and be absorbed by the tiles. Of course Jason would connect the dots. He’s always had an infuriating radar for my private life, no matter how hard I try to keep him out of it.
“It’s not what you think,” I say—then stop, because it absolutely is. “Okay, it is what you think, but can we maybe not have this conversation?”
Jason uncrosses his arms and drags a hand through his hair, clearly trying to wake himself up from whatever nightmare he’s found himself in. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. Then he looks at Thomas. “Can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?”
“No, you cannot,” I cut in before Thomas can answer. “Whatever you need to say, you can say in front of me. I’m thirty-three, Jason—not sixteen. You don’t get to pull some weird shovel-talk-in-the-garage move on my boyfriend.”
“It’s fine,” Thomas says, resting a hand on my arm.
“It’s not,” I shoot back, already wound up.
“Boyfriend,” Jason echoes, like he’s testing the word for stability. “So this is serious?”
Thomas’s hand tightens gently on my arm. “It is. We’re dating,” he says—and somehow that simple answer turns my insides upside down.
Jason watches him for a beat, then says, “Alright.”
He drags out one of the kitchen chairs, spins it around, and straddles it with his arms on the backrest. It’s such a dramatic power move I have to actively stop myself from rolling my eyes. I love my brother, but sometimes he forgets he’s not auditioning for a crime procedural.
“Was your car actually broken down last night,” Jason asks, now laser-focused on Thomas like I’ve ceased to exist, “or was that just an excuse to get some alone time with my brother?”
“Jesus,” I mutter, exasperated. “How can you even think that?”
Jason shrugs. “I don’t know what to think. You two barely saw each other last year, then you get snowed in and now you’re dating? It’s weird.”
Thomas clears his throat. “It’s true—both our cars broke down last night,” he says. “And Carter and I didn’t just fall into something. We’ve had feelings for each other for a long time. We just finally admitted it yesterday.”
“How long is ‘a long time’?” Jason says, sounding suddenly more focused, like he’s trying to confirm a hunch.
Thomas doesn’t miss a beat. “Sixteen years for me.” And hearing him say it—to my brother, out loud—somehow makes it feel even more real.
Sixteen years. That’s basically half my life. I still can’t fully wrap my head around it.
“Twenty for me,” I say, trying not to meet Thomas’s eyes, even though I can feel him watching me.
Jason’s jaw actually drops. I feel a flicker of satisfaction—followed immediately by the urge to crawl under the fridge.
“Sixteen? Twenty?” he says, looking between us. “Are you being serious right now?”
Thomas nods.
Jason narrows his eyes. “But you always said you were straight. So what, now you’re suddenly bi?”
Heat rises in my face. “Jesus, Jason, that’s not—”
“I’ve always been bi,” Thomas says, cutting in calmly. “I just didn’t want to admit it. Not to myself, not to Carter, and definitely not to anyone else.”
A beat of silence stretches out. I watch Jason’s expression shift—his skepticism softening into something more thoughtful. Like he’s rewinding, replaying old moments, starting to see them in a different light. I’ve been doing the same thing since last night—since Thomas told me he loved me.
“And you’re sure about this?” Jason asks finally, his anger mostly gone, voice low, like he’s run out of things to say. “About Carter? This isn’t just some phase?”
I’m about to say he’s being a dick, but Thomas speaks first.
“I’m more sure about Carter than I’ve ever been about anything in my life,” he says, and the way he says it knocks the air out of my lungs.
Jason studies him, clearly checking for cracks. Then he looks at me, that big-brother protectiveness written all over his face.
“And you?” he says. “You sure about this?”
“Can you chill, please?” I sigh, my embarrassment curdling into frustration. “It just started. But yeah, I’m sure.”
Jason raises his hands in surrender. “I’m just looking out for you. Both of you,” he adds, glancing at Thomas. “This affects me too, you know.”
We both nod, because yeah—it kinda does. If this falls apart, he’ll be the one stuck in the middle.
Jason looks at Thomas again.
“So what are your exact intentions for my little brother?” he asks, completely serious.
I let out a strangled groan. “Oh my god, Jason. You sound like someone’s Victorian father.”
“It’s a legitimate question,” he says with a shrug.
“It’s fine,” Thomas says again—and I honestly don’t know how he’s staying so calm when I feel like I might combust from secondhand embarrassment. “My intentions are to be with Carter. For as long as he’ll have me.”
Something in Jason’s expression eases a little, but he’s not done. “And what does that actually mean? Are you thinking long-term? Like…getting married?”
My heart stumbles in my chest. We haven’t even talked about any of this.