24. Carter
24
Carter
T he second I wake up, I know something’s wrong. The bed is empty, missing the one thing I swore I fell asleep holding. I sit up fast, my heart slamming against my ribs, my brain still groggy but already panicking. Where the fuck is she?
My feet hit the floor, my breath uneven, last night flashing through my head like a fever dream.
Haven, beneath me. Tate, as he took her next. Me, letting it happen. Wanting it. My stomach twists, my entire body wired with the kind of tension that shouldn’t be there first thing in the fucking morning. I yank on a hoodie, shoving my hands through my hair as I stumble out of my room, down the stairs, heart still hammering. And then I hear them. Voices. I step into the kitchen, and there she is. Sitting at the counter, coffee in hand, legs curled up in the chair, looking like she belongs here, like she’s always belonged here. And sitting across from her?
Tate. Like nothing happened last night. Like he didn’t fuck her right next to me, didn’t pull her onto his lap, didn’t—.
I freeze, reality slamming into me all at once. Last night happened. And no we’re here.
Tate lifts his mug, nodding toward me. “Morning.”
I swallow hard, trying to process, trying to make sense of why this feels so fucking normal when it should be the opposite of that.
And then Haven looks at me. She smiles, soft, like she wasn’t just sitting here drinking coffee with my asshole brother, like she wasn’t just part of the most insane night of my entire fucking life. There’s something quiet in her eyes, like she sees it all, like she knows I’ve been holding my breath since the second I walked into this room.
She sets her mug down. Stands. Takes one small step forward. And then she kisses me. Like she’s offering an anchor instead of an apology. Like she wants to remind me she’s still mine, even after all of it.
It works. Leaning in, pressing her lips against mine, slow, easy, warm, like this is just another morning. The tension in my chest eases just a little, my hands finding her waist, my head still swimming but my body already reacting to her touch. She pulls back, her brown eyes climbing up to mine, a question in them that I don’t know how to answer yet.
So instead I exhale, grounding myself, and say the only thing I can. “What do you wanna do today?”
Haven hesitates. Her fingers fidget with the rim of her coffee cup, her lips pressing together like she doesn’t want to say what she’s about to say.
And I already hate it. She sighs, finally looking up at me. “I have to leave before the evening.”
My stomach drops, a weight settling in my chest before she even explains.
“Cassie’s been blowing up my phone, wondering where the hell I am.” She lets out a small, breathy laugh, but I can tell it’s forced. “I kinda ghosted her.”
I don’t like how fast time is running out. Tate just shrugs, sipping his coffee like he doesn’t give a shit either way. I need more. I need something before she walks out of my house, out of my town, out of my reach. So I shift closer, leaning against the counter, keeping my voice light, casual, like I’m not trying to make her stay longer than she already planned. “Then let’s go out for lunch,” I offer, watching for her reaction, waiting for any excuse she might come up with.
She tilts her head, studying me, her expression unreadable. I push forward. “And maybe after, you can help me set up my new PC.”
That gets her. I see it, the way her lips part just slightly, the way her fingers stop tapping against her cup, the way the idea of it sparks something behind her eyes.
So I go in for the kill. “That way,” I murmur, “when you get back home… we can game together.”
She swallows. Slow. Like she’s already considering it. And fuck, I hope she does.
Haven stays quiet for a second, rolling the thought around in her head, weighing it, like she’s trying to decide if dragging this out a little longer is a mistake. I don’t like the uncertainty in her eyes, the hesitation, the way she’s still caught between whatever the hell last night was and the reality waiting for her back home.
She nods. “Okay,” she says, voice softer than before. “Lunch. And then… PC stuff.”
It’s not much. But it’s enough. I exhale, the tension in my chest easing just enough for me to relax back against the counter, nodding like this is normal, like this is just another day. Like my entire fucking world isn’t shifting around this girl.
Tate just snorts, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair. “Fucking nerds.”
I shoot him a glare, but Haven just laughs, rolling her eyes as she lifts her coffee to her lips. She doesn’t miss a beat, she tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly as she fixes Tate with a knowing look, fingers tapping against her coffee cup like she’s just waiting for the right moment to strike. “You’re just as much a nerd,” she fires back, her voice laced with challenge, her lips curling like she already knows she’s won. “A nerd who’s a bully online.”
I grin, because fuck yes, I love watching her snap back at him. Tate doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t even pretend to be offended. Instead, he leans back, spreading his legs slightly, and does the most fucking Tate thing imaginable.
A slow, lazy hip roll in the chair. Followed by a smirk. Like that’s his response. Like that’s his fucking argument.
Haven’s lips part slightly, like she wasn’t expecting that, like she’s trying not to react. I groan, running a hand down my face. “Fucking Christ, Tate.”
He just chuckles, picking up his coffee again like this entire conversation was for his own personal entertainment.
We end up on the couch, sprawled out like last night didn’t happen, like nothing’s changed, like I didn’t just share this girl with my brother in the filthiest fucking way possible. Like I don’t want to do it again.
Haven leans into me, her head resting against my shoulder, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over my stomach through my hoodie. It’s innocent. Soft. Normal.
And I’m fucking dying. Because I don’t know what this is supposed to be now.
If I’m allowed to hold her like this. If I’m allowed to want her like I do. If I’m allowed to fucking keep her.
Tate’s moping around, slamming cabinets in the kitchen, pacing back and forth in the hall, his mood dark but his mouth shut. He hasn’t said a word about last night. Not a single fucking thing. That’s worse than if he was running his mouth.
Because it means something got to him. I just don’t know what. Haven shifts slightly, curling into me more, sighing like she could fall asleep right here, right on me, like she’s completely comfortable being in my space. And then she kisses my neck. Soft. Barely there. I suck in a breath, my muscles locking up.
But she does it again. A slow, lingering press of her lips against my skin, warm and teasing, her fingers tightening against my stomach. I swear to fucking God, she’s going to kill me. I groan, low, quiet, barely controlled—but it doesn’t fucking matter.
Because Tate hears it. From the kitchen, where he’s been slamming cabinets and pretending not to sulk, he hears me. And it pisses him off. I can feel it before I even turn my head. The sharp shift in his energy, the way the air in the room changes, thickens, tightens around us like a vice. She fucking feels it too. Because she does it again.
Another kiss. Another slow drag of her lips against my skin. Another deliberate press of her mouth to the edge of my jaw.
Like she knows. Like she’s doing it just because Tate is here. Like she’s poking the bear on purpose.
I exhale hard, fighting against the way my body reacts, the way my cock twitches at the attention, the way my grip tightens on her waist like I’m trying to steady myself.
Yeah, he’s not taking it well. I hear it. The way his movements get sharper, heavier, more forceful.
The way his fists clench against the counter, his breathing controlled but just a little too slow. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
Haven’s lips curve against my skin. Because she’s definitely not fucking kidding.
Tate finally makes his entrance, and of course, the first fucking thing out of his mouth is bullshit.
He steps into the living room, arms crossed, an easy smirk pulling at his lips as his eyes wandering between me and Haven. “Shouldn’t you be sore, little brother?” He tilts his head. “Or are you just that fucking needy?”
Haven snorts, pressing her face against my shoulder like she’s trying to muffle her laugh. I glare. “Go fuck yourself, Tate.”
Tate just chuckles, already turning on his heel, heading toward the stairs. “I would, but someone wore me out last night.” And with that he’s gone.
Haven lifts her head, watching as he disappears, her brown eyes still shining with amusement. “He’s truly something, you were right,” she mutters, shaking her head. “And chaotic as fuck.”
I exhale, dragging a hand down my face, trying to ignore the way my cock is already hard again, aching for her, desperate to take whatever time we have left and use it to feel her one more time. But I don’t. I can’t. Because as much as I fucking want her, as much as my body is already screaming for her, this can’t just be about that. Not with her. I shift slightly, tugging her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, letting the weight of this moment settle into my chest. She means more, and I need her to know that.