37. Haven
37
Haven
I watch Carter, my question hanging between us making the weight of everything that’s happened feel even heavier, more confusing.
I need to know, I need to hear it from someone who understands him. Someone who can make sense of the way Tate looks at me, the way he pushes me, taunts me, plays with me like I’m his favorite thing to mess with.
Carter’s jaw tightens. His arms flex where they’re wrapped around me, his body shifting slightly, his breath slow, measured, like he’s trying to find the right words.
After a long moment, he sighs. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low, tired, something unreadable laced in it. “I think he does.”
Something sharp jabs in my stomach, unexpected, the answer sitting heavier in my chest than I thought it would. “Then why…” I hesitate, licking my lips. “Why is he like that? Why does he act like he doesn’t give a fuck at all sometimes?”
Carter scoffs, shaking his head, a humorless laugh slipping past his lips. “Because he’s just… Tate.”
I let Carter’s words sink in, settle over me, press into my skin like something permanent, something that shouldn’t surprise me but still does. Maybe, deep down, I’ve always known. Tate doesn’t do feelings. He doesn’t give them, doesn’t take them, doesn’t let himself be seen. But with me, he’s been reckless.
He’s never hidden the way he wants me, not behind a mask, not behind a screen, not behind his usual arrogance and detachment. It’s always been there, threaded through his teasing, his taunts, the way he’s tested me for months, the way he pushes and pulls, the way he won’t just fucking leave me alone. Maybe he never wanted to.
Carter lets out another quiet breath, his fingers tracing patterns along my hip, his hold on me tight, like he’s grounding himself just as much as he is me. “Tate…” His voice drops lower, a hint of something softer. “He doesn’t know how to just like someone, Haven.”
I tilt my head, my eyes locked on his, my throat tightening. “What do you mean?”
Carter’s lips press together, his brows pulling in like he’s debating saying more, like he’s weighing how much to tell me, how much I should know, how much is his to share. Then, quietly, he says “He only knows how to want.”
A slow, unsettling realization that makes too much sense. Tate doesn’t do soft, doesn’t do sweet, doesn’t do things carefully. He takes. He demands. He pushes and pushes until he gets what he wants, and even then, it’s like he’s testing how much more he can have. I swallow hard, my fingers curling into Carter’s shirt, my thoughts a tangled mess of things I don’t know what to do with. Maybe Carter sees it, because his arms tighten around me, his lips brushing my forehead, his voice softer now.
“It’s not just you, Haven,” he murmurs. “I promise, he’s like that with everything. With everyone. He just… he doesn’t know how to want something good without completely consuming it. Moderation isn’t something that exists to him, and sometimes by no fault of his own, it’s not on purpose. It’s engraved in him.”
I can feel the weight of it all pressing down on me, filling every breath, every thought, tangling in the spaces between my ribs, tightening, constricting, demanding an answer I don’t have.
With Carter, who holds me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to him, like he’d do anything to keep me close, to make me feel safe, wanted, cherished in a way I don’t think I’ve ever been before?
Tate, who pushes every single one of my buttons, who makes my blood heat, who drives me insane, who tests my limits, my control, who forces me to admit things I don’t even want to admit to myself? They’re completely different.
Carter is the golden light breaking through the storm, warm, steady, a kind of comfort that feels too good, too rare, something I could sink into forever and never want to come up for air.
Tate’s the storm itself. Wild, reckless, completely untamable. A force I’ll never be able to control, a pull I can’t ignore, something darker, something that challenges every part of me and dares me to take it.
I want both. I want Carter’s soft smiles, his careful hands, his whispered reassurances, the way he breathes my name like I’m something holy, something he’s wanted for so fucking long. I want Tate’s sharp grins, his rough touch, his filthy words, the way he looks at me like I’m a challenge he refuses to lose, like he’ll ruin me just to prove that he can.
I want the balance they give me, the way one keeps me grounded while the other makes me feel like I could burn the whole world down just to see what happens. I want them both, and I don’t know how to tell Carter that without completely fucking everything up.
So I swallow hard, force myself to breathe, to think, to find the right words, the ones that won’t make him shut down, the ones that won’t send him spiraling.
“Carter…” I hesitate, turning slightly, my fingers gripping his arm, holding him closer. “I don’t—” I exhale, shaking my head, hating how fucking hard this is to say. “You and Tate… you’re both so different.”
His jaw clenches, his throat bobbing as he swallows, his body stiff beneath mine. His fingers flexing against my waist like he already knows where this is going, like he’s bracing himself for something he doesn’t want to hear.
A part of me doesn’t want to say it. What if this ruins everything? What if this is the thing that makes him push me away? What if he thinks I only want the parts of him that feel safe, that I don’t want all of him, that I don’t want him just as much as I want Tate?
But I do, I want him just as much. Carter isn’t just safe. He isn’t just soft, just sweet, just the golden boy who loves too much and falls too hard. He’s so much more than that. I need him to know that before he starts convincing himself otherwise. So I breathe in deep, force myself to keep going, even as my throat tightens, even as my pulse pounds against my ribs.
“But you both—” I hesitate, my voice catching, my grip on him tightening. “You both give me something I don’t think I’ve ever had before, things I don’t think I’d ever find again.”
His eyes find mine, and fuck, there’s so much raw emotion, so much fear, so much hope, all tangled together in a way that makes my chest ache.
“And what’s that?” His voice is quiet, careful, like he’s afraid of my answer.
I swallow hard, my heart slamming against my ribs. “You make me feel like I can be both.”
His brows furrow, the tension softening just slightly, the way his fingers ease against my skin like he’s trying to understand, trying to make sense of what I’m saying.
So I keep going. “Tate makes me feel reckless,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “Like I can lose control, like I can give in to the parts of myself I’ve always kept locked away. The less softer side I show to everyone. And you—” I exhale, moving closer to him and pressing my forehead against his. “You make me feel like I don’t have to be afraid of that, of anything. That no matter what, I have a soft place to fall.”
Carter’s breath stutters, his arms tightening around me, his forehead pressing harder against mine like he’s trying to memorize this moment, like he’s trying to hold onto it before it disappears.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low in a way I don’t think I’ve ever heard before. “You can.”
The words hit me deep, sinking into my chest, filling every empty space inside me, every doubt, every fear, until all that’s left is him, his voice, his warmth, his promise.
Carter doesn’t say anything else, he doesn’t need to. His arms just tighten around me, pulling me closer, holding me like he’s afraid to let go, like if he does, I might slip through his fingers, might change my mind, might leave before either of us is ready for it. But I can’t change my mind. Not about him, not about Tate and not about any of this.
I let my body sink into his, let the warmth of him press into every aching muscle, every sore spot, every bruised and wrecked part of me, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt this kind of exhaustion before. Not just the kind that settles into my limbs, but the kind that makes my mind slow down, that makes my thoughts finally quiet, that makes it impossible to focus on anything but him.
In the morning, I have to leave. I have to go back to my world, back to my apartment, my routines, my carefully constructed independence. Back to pretending this thing between us is just a moment, not something that’s been burrowing under my skin since the first time Carter messaged me. Back to acting like the weight of his eyes on me doesn’t make me feel seen in a way that terrifies me.
Carter buries his face against my hair, his lips brushing over my temple, his voice low and wrecked as he whispers, “Sleep, Haven,” I know that, at least for tonight I don’t have to think about anything else. So I let my eyes close, let my body melt into his, let myself stop fighting against whatever this thing is between us.