8. Carter
8
Carter
B y the time I pull into the driveway, the sun has cast the house in that deep orange glow that makes everything look quieter than it really is. But nothing about this feels quiet. Not the way my grip tightens around the steering wheel, not the way my heartbeat hammers against my ribs.
I cut the engine, exhale slowly, try to shake off the tension curling through my shoulders. But it’s no use, the second I push the front door open, Tate is there. Waiting.
He’s sprawled across the couch, one leg kicked up on the coffee table, his phone in one hand, completely at ease like he didn’t just make it his personal mission to fuck with me tonight. I shut the door harder than necessary. “You think this is funny?”
Tate doesn’t look up right away, just continues scrolling, like he’s got all the time in the world. “Little vague, don’t you think?” he finally mutters. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”
I don’t take the bait. I don’t let myself get pulled into whatever twisted game he’s playing. Instead, I step forward, pulse still running too fast from earlier. “You followed us.”
At that, he finally glances up, one eyebrow lifting. “Mm, did I?”
I scoff, dragging a hand through my hair. “Don’t bullshit me, Tate. You were standing right outside the café.”
Tate tilts his head slightly, considering. Then, with that slow, infuriating smirk, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, if you weren’t so damn quick to run, she would’ve met me already.”
My hands curl into fists, because this is what he wanted. This exact reaction. The way my entire body bristles, the way my jaw tics, the way my blood heats with something close to rage.
And it pisses me off even more that I can’t shake it. I step closer, towering over him, my voice low, controlled, dangerous. “You don’t get to play games with her,” I grit out. “She’s not some pawn you get to fuck with just because you’re bored.”
Tate leans back, unbothered. “Who said I was bored?”
I narrow my eyes. Something about the way he says it makes my stomach turn.This isn’t just about messing with me. It’s about Haven. I don’t know what he wants from her. But I know I’m not going to let him have it.
Tate is still watching me, sitting there like this is just another night, like he didn’t just insert himself into a situation he had no business being in, like he isn’t just waiting for me to lose my shit.
I inhale slowly, “she’s not yours to mess with,” I say, voice low but not as steady as I want it to be.
Tate just slowly hums, dragging his fingers along his jaw. “You say that like she’s yours.”
My jaw tics. Because he knows damn well she’s not. Not yet. And I don’t trust him not to make a move just to prove a point.
Tate shifts, tilting his head like he’s analyzing me, peeling back layers of shit I don’t want him to see. “You scared, little brother?”
My teeth grind together. “You love saying that, don’t you?”
Tate’s smirk deepens. “What, stating facts? Plus, two minutes is two minutes, Carter.”
I exhale sharply, hands curling into fists at my sides. “Facts of what exactly huh?”
Tate shrugs, unbothered as ever. “That she might like me better.” The words hit their mark. Right between the ribs, where the doubt already lingers, where the thought has already twisted itself into something dark and festering. Because that’s what Tate does. He finds the cracks and splits them wide open. I roll my shoulders, forcing my voice to stay even. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”
Tate shrugs, bored, calculated. “Tell me, what am I doing, Carter?”
I take another step closer, leaning in slightly, my voice dropping into something razor-sharp. “You want her to see you, but only on your terms. You like control, right? Keeping yourself in the dark, keeping her guessing. You don’t want her to meet you. You want her to chase you, just like in her streams.”
Tate doesn’t move, but I see it, the smallest flicker of something behind his eyes. A hit, but not a deep one. Not enough to stop him. I lean back, shaking my head. “Too bad she’s not the type.”
Tate hums, slow and considering. “We’ll see.”
I exhale hard through my nose, forcing myself to back off. Forcing myself to stop letting him get to me. I know how this goes. He pokes. I react. He waits for an opening, and when he gets one he takes the whole goddamn game.
Not this time. Not with Haven. I move toward the stairs, letting this go, for now. Because she’s waiting for me tonight. Tate can sit in the dark all he wants.
I take the stairs two at a time, my pulse still running too hot, too sharp, the weight of the conversation with him coiling tight in my chest even as I try to push it down, shove it into the same corner of my mind where all the other unresolved bullshit between us lives.
It doesn’t work. Because the second I step into my room, shutting the door behind me, the silence that follows is loud, pressing, impossible to ignore.
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair, my reflection catching in the mirror across the room. I look… tense. Like I just walked away from a fight instead of a conversation I already knew was coming, one I should have been more prepared for, one I should have had the second I knew Haven was coming here.
I stare at myself for a long second, then shove the thought away, moving toward my dresser, pulling open the top drawer.
I need to focus. I need to get ready. Dinner. Haven. That’s what matters right now. I grab a fresh T-shirt, black and fitted, one that doesn’t look like I just pulled it out of a laundry pile but isn’t so put together that it seems like I actually tried. Jeans next, clean but comfortable, something neutral, something easy.
I don’t let myself think too much while I move, don’t let myself dwell on the fact that she’s still in town. That she’s here, just a few minutes away, probably waiting, probably not even thinking about this the way I am.
Probably not wondering what she’s actually walked into. I pause, pressing my hands against the dresser, staring down at the wood like it might give me an answer I don’t already know. Because she should know. She should already know.
About Tate. About what I’ve been deliberately keeping from her. But I haven’t told her. And that’s on me. I know why I didn’t. How do you even explain this? How do you casually drop into conversation that the guy she’s been rival gaming with for months, the one she argues with, the one she goes head-to-head with every time they’re on the same server… is my twin. My older-by-two-minutes, chaos-fueled, mask-wearing asshole twin.
I rake my hands through my hair, blowing out a slow breath. I should have told her before she got here. Now it’s just another lie by omission, another thing waiting to unravel the second Tate decides he’s done keeping quiet, the second he gets bored of this game and flips the whole board. I don’t know when that’ll be. But I know it’s coming. Haven’s gonna hate me for it. I shut the drawer harder than necessary, straighten up, square my shoulders.
Not tonight. Not yet. Tonight, I take her to dinner. I pretend everything is fine. And I pray that Tate stays the hell out of my way.
By the time I grab my keys and head out the door, the sky is a deep, inky blue, the last traces of daylight fading beneath the glow of streetlamps. I slide into the driver’s seat, exhaling slowly, forcing my pulse to steady, my mind to focus.
This is just dinner. I grab my phone, tapping out a quick message before I can let myself overthink any of this. On my way, sweetheart.
I drop the phone onto the passenger seat, pull out of the driveway, and start heading toward the Airbnb. The streets are quiet, the town slipping into that slow rhythm it always falls into after dark, the kind of silence that makes everything feel heavier. Then my phone buzzes. I glance over at the screen, see her name, and reach for it at the next stoplight.
Haven : Cool. Also, heads up, Cassie’s leaving tonight.
I blink. Cassie’s leaving. Tonight. The words sit heavier than they should, pressing into my chest, sending a ripple of something I can’t quite name down my spine. This changes things. Because this means it won’t be the three of us anymore, it’ll just be Haven and me. No best friend watching over her, keeping me in check. Just us. And that’s… fuck. It’s terrifying. And it’s exciting as hell.
I grip the wheel a little tighter, my jaw tightening, my pulse kicking up a notch as I press my foot to the gas. I don’t know what this means. But I do know one thing. Whatever happens next? It just got a hell of a lot more interesting.