Chapter 10
Carter
Isip my coffee slow, watching the way Haven hums to herself as she ties her hoodie around her waist and digs through the mess of her entryway closet. She’s in her element. Loud, bright, and so present.
Meanwhile, I’m just… existing. On her couch, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do with all the feelings eating me alive. Tate’s the one to bottle these kinds up, not me.
“So,” I ask, trying to sound casual, “what’s there to do around here?”
She pops her head out of the closet with a grin. “What, you mean besides streaming, eating greasy food, and driving the two of you insane?”
I smile, but it feels a little tight. “Yeah. Just figured… bigger town than ours, more to see.”
She straightens up, tossing a thick wool blanket over her shoulder, tapping her chin while pretending to think. “There’s an arcade. A bowling alley. A used bookstore that smells like incense and cats. Want a tour?”
“Sure,” I say, but I’m not sure I actually care about any of those places. I just want to be near her.
She grabs her keys off the table and throws me a look over her shoulder. “You driving or am I?
“Depends,” I say, following her toward the door. “You gonna judge my playlist like Tate does?”
“Absolutely.”
We all pile into her car two minutes later—Haven behind the wheel, me riding shotgun, and Tate grumbling as he folds himself into the backseat like a reluctant origami project.
“Fuck,” he mutters, wedging his knees against the back of my seat. “What is this, a clown car.”
Haven snorts as she starts the engine. “It’s a Honda, not a hearse. You’ll survive.”
“Debatable,” he gripes, adjusting his legs and shooting a dramatic glare out the window. “If I get a cramp and die in the backseat, tell my subscribers I went out doing what I loved—suffering.”
She taps the steering wheel in time with the beat, mouthing lyrics to a song she swore she hated earlier.
Her seat’s reclined slightly, hair pulled up in that way that makes her neck look kissable, and I catch myself wondering how I ever lived before this exact moment.
She catches me staring, and winks. I look away.
She grins. “Hope you’re hungry. I’m taking you to my favorite taco truck. Best carnitas fries in town. No contest.”
We pass a mural that makes her sit up and twist toward the window, and I swear, just the way she moves makes my chest tighten.
“That one’s new,” she says, pointing at a spray-painted galaxy over an abandoned warehouse. “They do midnight paint battles out here sometimes.”
“You ever join in?”
“Nah,” she giggles. “But I make great commentary from the car.”
God, I could live in this moment. Just her voice, her laugh, the way she steals the silence like it always belonged to her.
We don’t get back in the car right away after we order.
The three of us linger under the faded string lights hanging above the taco truck’s gravel lot, the air thick with grill smoke and whatever Spotify playlist the guy behind the counter has on shuffle.
Haven leans against the passenger side door, sipping a bottle of Jarritos and pretending not to be watching the way Tate’s still circling the chalkboard menu.
She bumps my shoulder lightly with hers. “He’s been staring at that thing for five minutes.”
I nod. “He’s trying to manifest a burrito that punches back.”
She laughs bright and unguarded and it curls through my ribs like a hook. I want to bottle it, keep it, live in it.
“You good?” I ask, quieter this time, toeing a loose rock on the pavement.
She tilts her head toward me. “Yeah. Why?”
I hesitate, then glance toward Tate again, making sure he’s still occupied. “Just… checking. Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one trying to catch my breath.”
She watches me for a second then takes a slow sip of her drink. “You ever think maybe we’re all out of breath, just hiding it better?” She shrugs before continuing. “We’re in this weird limbo where everything’s new but also moving a thousand miles an hour. It’s not just you.”
My mouth goes dry. “And… is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
She pushes off the car, walks a half-step closer until her shoulder brushes mine again. “Depends,” she says softly. “Are you the kind of person who likes knowing where you’re going before you press the gas?”
“I’m the kind of person who doesn’t want to crash.”
She doesn’t pull away. “Then don’t.”
I look at her. The neon light catches her cheekbone, makes her eyes shimmer like heat mirages. Suddenly I’m so aware of the fact that I’d follow her anywhere, even if I don’t know where we’re going.
“Hey!” Tate’s voice snaps across the lot. “They’ve got a secret menu.”
We both turn. He holds up a foil-wrapped burrito monstrosity.
“Of course you found it.”
She pulls open the driver door, glancing back at me with a smile. “Buckle up, golden boy. This town’s got layers.”
I follow her in, the warm echo of her words still ringing in my chest.
Within a few minutes we’re back at Haven’s apartment. Tate stayed behind at the food truck, said he needed five minutes to “figure out his drink choice,” which we both knew was code for needing space and he wanted to walk back.
So we left him there. Drove back with the windows down and the fries in my lap, Haven humming along to some lo-fi remix while I kept glancing at her.
Now we’re curled up on the couch, the basket of fries between us, her legs thrown over mine, and she’s got this tiny smudge of sauce on her cheek. She’s mid-story, something about a sleepover gone wrong with Cassie and a cursed Ouija board and I’m trying really hard to listen.
But I’ve kind of stopped, not because I’m bored, I’m overwhelmed. I keep looking at her like she’s something I’ll never deserve. The thought keeps clawing at me. What if this doesn’t last? What if we fuck this up? What if I do? I set my drink down. “Hey.”
She stops mid-bite. “Yeah?”
I swallow, trying to work through the knot forming in my chest. “Can I ask you something kind of… serious?”
Her expression shifts, softens. “Of course.” I stare at the ground for a second before glancing back up at her. “Do you ever think about how… messy this could get?”
She blinks. “Messy?”
“I mean us. You, me, Tate. This whole thing we’re trying to make work. It’s good now. So good. But sometimes I lie awake and wonder if it’s all gonna blow up in our faces. If we’re setting ourselves up for something we don’t know how to come back from.”
She sets her fry down.
I press on before I lose the nerve. “I feel so much for you. It’s not just about the sex, or the fun, or the adrenaline. I feel it, Haven. All the way in, I’d rearrange my entire life if you asked.”
She reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together. Suddenly I’m not breathing like I was a minute ago. “Carter…”
“I’m scared, I don’t want to be the reason this gets ruined. Or be the one left behind if it stops making sense.”
She squeezes my hand, even though she doesn’t say anything right away, doesn’t try to fix it I feel a little less like I’m falling. She doesn’t rush to fill the silence either. She just… sits with it, with me. Our knees brushing, our half-finished food forgotten,.
When she finally speaks, it’s softly. “Of course I think about it. How could I not? This… us, it’s complicated. New and insane, in every possible way. Sometimes I feel like I’ve stepped into a story I’m not sure how to write the ending to.”
I glance over at her. She’s watching our hands. “I don’t have it all figured out,” she continues. “I don’t know how this works long-term. I don’t know how to keep everything perfect or prevent anyone from getting hurt. But Carter…” Her eyes lift to mine. “I know what I feel when I’m with you.”
My breath stutters.
“I know how it feels when you look at me like I matter. Like I’m not just some streamer with a headset, but someone who makes you want to stay.”
My throat tightens.
“I know what it feels like to be touched by you, soft, careful, like you’re scared I’ll disappear. I know what it feels like to be held by you like you’d never let me.”
She shifts closer, her knee pressing harder into mine. “I don’t know how this ends. But I know I don’t want it to.”
I blink fast. My grip tightens on her hand, grounding myself in it.
“I feel it too,” she whispers without me having to say anything. “And yeah, maybe that’s terrifying. But it’s also kind of beautiful, isn’t it?”
God, yeah it is. When she leans in, pressing her lips gently to mine, it’s not heat that makes me kiss her back. It’s relief. It’s yes, it’s thank you. Her lips are still on mine when the front door swings open.
“Fuck—” Tate’s voice cuts into the moment like a blade. “The food truck guy said they’re out of pineapp—.”
She jolts back and I flinch so hard I almost knock over my drink.
Tate freezes in the doorway, bag of food in one hand, phone in the other, brows raised. “Jumpy fucks, should I knock next time?”
I bury my face in my hands, trying not to scream. Part of me wants to throw something and part of me wants to laugh. Most of me wants to rewind five minutes and kiss her again without an audience.
Haven snorts beside me, clearly trying not to laugh, her hand still tangled loosely with mine.
Tate walks over to the coffee table completely unbothered, and sets the bag of food down with a dramatic flourish. “I walk back, I get grief. Typical.”
I lift my head and shoot him a glare. “You have the worst timing.”
“Or the best,” he counters. “Depends on what you were about to do.”
She grabs a napkin and tosses it at him. “You’re the worst.”
He catches it mid-air and winks at her. “Can’t say Carter didn’t warn you.”
She blushes, but doesn’t pull her hand from mine. Tate sees it, for just a second I see something in his expression shift then it’s gone. He drops into the chair across from us, kicks his feet up on the coffee table, and starts unwrapping his burrito.
After we finish the basket of fries, Haven excuses herself to wash her hands. I look across at Tate who’s tapping through his phone like he didn’t just derail a perfect moment.
“Did you do that shit on purpose?” I ask quietly.
“What?”
“Walk in like that.”
He shrugs. “Not my fault your timing fucking sucks ass.”
I shake my head. I can’t help it, there’s no animosity behind it. The truth is, we’re all fumbling. Trying to figure out where we fit. Even if he won’t say it out loud, I can see it in his eyes. He doesn’t want to mess this up either, like he vowed.
When Haven comes back, she slides onto the couch beside me, close again. I glance at her, her eyes meeting mine. We don’t say a word, but it’s clear we’re both thinking the same thing, this isn’t going to be easy.