12. Carter
12
Carter
S he’s still standing there, half-smirking, completely unaware of the way her words just punched me straight in the fucking ribs.
Like it’s a joke, as if she’s not talking about the same guy she thinks is a complete pain in the ass, the same guy she would never have agreed to visit if she knew the truth.
I try to smile, to play it off, to act normal. But I don’t think I pull it off, I can still feel it.
The words twisting low in my stomach, sinking into something thick and miserable. Guilt, and not the kind I can ignore anymore.
I should tell her, I should tell her now . I just stand there like an idiot, hands clenched, the weight of everything pressing down so fucking hard I can barely breathe.
She’s waiting for me to respond, waiting for me to say something, still thinking this is funny, still thinking this is nothing.
I force a breath, dragging a hand through my hair, knowing I need to say something before the silence stretches too long, before she realizes how fucking wrecked I am by one stupid comment.
So I shrug, saying the weakest thing possible. “Yeah. He’s… a lot.”
Haven snickers, shaking her head. “Figures. I feel like I can already guess what kind of player he is. Loud? Obnoxious? Thinks he’s the best one on the server even though his K/D ratio is probably garbage?”
I should stop her before she digs this hole too deep, before I have to stand here and listen to her tear into someone who is literally in the next room.
But I don’t, I let her keep talking. Every word makes the guilt sit heavier, deeper, worse. She doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve to be lied to, manipulated, strung along. She came here for me.
I’ve been standing on a fucking fault line this whole time, just waiting for it to crack open beneath me. And the worst part, I think I’ve already passed the point of no return.
I can’t stand here any longer. Can’t listen to her keep talking about him, not when my pulse is still running too fucking fast.
So I grab the remote, shut the TV off, and nod toward the door.
“Come on,” I say, keeping my voice easy. “You can judge my show choices on a bigger screen.”
Haven glances up, blinking like she hadn’t even noticed how quiet I’d gotten. Then she shrugs, setting down whatever magazine she’d been flipping through. “Lead the way.”
“You cool for a sec?” I ask, keeping my voice easy as we reach the living room and she settles into the couch. “I’ll be right back.”
Haven doesn’t even look up. “Sure,” she says. “I’ll just sit here and judge your show recommendations.”
Normally, I’d tease her back, throw some dumb comment about her own trash taste in movies or the fact that she rewatches the same comfort shows like it’s a personality trait.
Right now, I just need to go. I take the steps two at a time, each footfall a little heavier, a little sharper, a little more deliberate.
When I’m at his door, without knocking, without giving him the chance to play innocent, I shove it open. Tate’s already sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, like he was just waiting for me to finally show up.
I exhale sharply, forcing my shoulders to stay loose, forcing my voice to stay level even as my chest tightens. “You think this is funny?” I ask, my voice low.
Tate tilts his head, mocking, unimpressed. “Which part?”
My jaw locks. “The part where you left your mask out on purpose . ”
Tate doesn’t even pretend to play dumb. He just sits there, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking up at me like he’s already won a game I didn’t even agree to play.
I shut the door behind me, not slamming it, but close. “Real subtle move, leaving that out,” I grit out, voice low, sharp, controlled.
Tate tilts his head, the corner of his mouth twitching up, amused. “She noticed it, huh?”
We both know she did, and we both know that if she had connected the dots just a little faster, this whole thing would be over.
Tate leans back against the headboard, arms sprawling out at his sides like he’s got all the time in the world. “Let me guess,” he grins. “She made a joke about me.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. That’s all the answer he needs, he huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “God, that’s good.”
I step forward, jaw tight. “You’re fucking with her.”
Tate raises his brows, mocking. “No, Carter. You are.”
That hits harder than I want it to. Haven doesn’t know, she doesn’t know how this entire night has been one long balancing act where I’m just waiting to fall straight through the fucking floor.
I breathe slow, force my muscles to relax, keep my voice steady. “She doesn’t need to know,” I say, the words coming out even, but the weight behind them isn’t up for negotiation.
Tate watches me for a second, studying me, weighing his options. Then he sits forward again, voice quieter this time. “What if I want her to?”
My breath locks in my throat. I’ve spent this entire time trying to keep the truth away from her. I take another step forward, lower my voice to something quiet, even, firm. “This isn’t a fucking joke, Tate.”
Tate smirks, like I’m the one missing something. “Who’s joking?”
I don’t answer, because I don’t like where this is going. For the first time since she got here, I’m starting to think Tate isn’t just fucking with me. He’s finally making his move.
Tate’s smirk doesn’t waver, his body already coiled like he’s about to launch into some new bullshit. He moves like he’s about to stand, but doesn’t. Instead, he tilts his head, considering, measuring, dragging this out just to make me sweat.
Then, right as I step forward, right as I reach to stop whatever the hell he’s about to do, he grins, eyes flashing with amusement. “You sure you don’t want to introduce me, little brother?”
My stomach drops. Before I can stop him, before I can throw out some excuse, before I can block the doorway or grab his arm or do anything to slow this down, he’s out of the room in a flash, down the hall in seconds, taking the stairs two at a time, moving so fast that I barely have a second to react.
“Fucker—” I bolt after him, tearing through the doorway, pushing off the railing, following the sound of his footsteps pounding against the hardwood.
He’s already there, standing at the bottom of the staircase, grinning like the devil himself, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes cutting toward Haven like this is the best thing that’s happened to him all night.
Haven? She freezes. I see it, the sharp inhale, the way she physically stills, the way her head tilts just slightly, like her brain is trying to process what the hell she’s looking at.
I reach the bottom of the stairs right after him, heart hammering, pulse racing, already waiting for the moment she pieces it all together. Instead, she blinks. She looks at me, then back at him. Then back at me again. Her mouth opens, closes.
“…Wait,” she finally breathes, brow furrowing, voice laced with pure disbelief.
Before either of us can say anything, before I can explain, before I can control the damage, before Tate can do whatever the hell he’s planning, she blurts out the obvious. “You’re twins?”
Tate grins wider, soaking in the moment like he’s been waiting for this exact reaction. I just stand there, gripping the railing, bracing myself.
I don’t know if I just got lucky, or if Tate just gave himself a front-row seat to the destruction that’s coming next.
She looks at Tate like her brain is still working through the fact that there’s another one of me standing in front of her, but not me at all because we are not the same, and she sees it instantly.
She sees it in the way I’m still gripping the railing, still coiled tight, still standing too close to the stairs like I could drag him back up if I had to. Her lips part, her brows still furrowed, her voice coming out softer now, half-formed, still catching up to her thoughts. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Fuck.
I knew that was coming. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hit like a goddamn hammer to the chest.
Tate huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, Carter. Why didn’t you tell her you have a twin?”
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. I can’t answer that, not right now. Not while Tate is standing right here, watching me like this is his own personal highlight reel, waiting to see what I’ll do with the fact that I just got caught in a half-truth. I inhale slowly, force my voice to stay even, steady. “I— uh it just… never came up.”
Haven tilts her head, expression sharpening. “Never came up?” she repeats, like she’s trying the words on her tongue, testing them, seeing if they sound as ridiculous to me as they do to her.
I don’t answer because there is no fucking answer that’s going to make this sound better than it is.
Tate pushes off the banister, stretching like he’s already bored of this conversation. “Well, guess it’s out now,” he says, his voice teasing, but I know him too well.
That makes me want to shove him straight back up the stairs and lock the goddamn door. I exhale hard, rolling my shoulders, forcing my expression to stay blank. Haven is still looking at me, still waiting for more. But I don’t have more to give her, not yet.
So I do the only thing I can. I turn to him, voice flat, firm. “We’re good here.”
Tate’s brows lift slightly, amused at the dismissal, but he doesn’t argue. He just smirks, shrugs, and makes his way back upstairs without another word. The second he’s gone, the silence he leaves behind is so fucking loud. Haven is still sitting there, staring and waiting for something I don’t know how to give her.