Chapter 18 Carter
CARTER
I’m lying on a motel bed that smells like bleach and regret when my phone rings. I shudder thinking about what this room has seen.
Dad. Again.
He’s called twice since we left the cabin. I’ve let both calls go to voicemail, but apparently, he’s not taking the hint.
I stare at the screen, watching it light up. Ring. Ring. Ring.
On the fourth ring, I answer.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Carter.” His voice is warm with relief. “Finally. You’ve not been picking up. I was worried...”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Uh-huh. How’s your research partner? The girl you rescued?”
Right. Because that’s the last thing we talked about. Me, freaking out, calling him in a panic. Him, talking me through the rescue. Me, hanging up and kissing Rhi and thinking everything was perfect.
That was only a few days ago.
It feels like a lifetime.
“She’s fine,” I say flatly. “Physically fine.”
“But?”
“But nothing. Research trip’s over. We’re heading back to campus tomorrow.”
There’s a pause. My dad’s good at pauses. He’s had years of practice knowing when to push and when to wait.
He waits.
“We’re—I don’t know what we are. We were a thing. But…” I finally say. “We got in a fight.”
“About what?”
“About—” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “I don’t really know what. I think she’s scared.”
Scared that I’m too much to handle. I come with too much baggage.
“What do you have?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“With this girl. What do you have?”
I’m quiet, trying to put it into words. “Something good. Something real. Something that makes me feel like—like I’m actually myself.
God Dad,” This is so unusual for us, to be open with each other, but since he talked me through rescuing Rhi, I feel like a barrier is broken down, and maybe it’s about damn time the Wolfe men started being honest with each other. “She makes me feel alive, Dad.”
“This girl does all that?”
“Yeah. She does.” My voice cracks slightly. “Or she did. Before I screwed it up.”
“How’d you screw it up?”
“I told her I was fine with it being over. That she wouldn’t have to see me again.” I close my eyes. “I was frustrated and hurt, and I said it all wrong, and now we’re in separate rooms at this motel, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Do you want to fix it?”
“Of course, I do!”
“Then why are you in separate rooms?”
I sit up. “Because—because I’m angry. And hurt. And I don’t know what to say.”
“Carter.” My dad’s voice goes soft. “Can I tell you something your grandpa used to say?”
My chest tightens. “Yeah.”
“He used to say that the bravest thing a person can do is show up. That’s all you gotta do. Show up. Not when it’s easy. When it’s hard. When you don’t know what to say. When you’re scared, you’ll make it worse. You show up anyway.”
I’m quiet, processing.
“And you know what?” Dad continues. “He was right. That’s what being a first responder teaches you. You show up to the hard stuff. You don’t run. You don’t hide. You show up, and you figure it out.”
“I’m not a first responder.” Yet.
“No. But you acted like one when that girl needed you. You called for help, you stayed calm, you got her out. You showed up. Just like grandpa used to, just like I do.”
“That was different. I had to do that then.”
“Was it? Because it sounds to me like she needs you again. And you’re sitting in your room feeling sorry for yourself instead of showing up.”
The words slash me like papercuts.
“What if I show up and she still pushes me away?” I ask quietly.
“Then at least you tried. At least she knows you fought for her. But Carter—hiding in your room because you’re hurt? That’s not fighting. That’s running. And you’re better than that.”
I’m crying now. Just silently, tears running down my face.
“I miss him, Dad. I miss Dominic.”
“I know, son. I do too.” His voice is thick. “Every single day.”
“And I keep thinking—if he were here, he’d know what to do. He’d know how to fix this. He’d be better at—at all of it. Or I could ask him. He was so good with girls; he always knew what to say.”
“Maybe. But he’s not here. You are. And Carter—you’re doing better than you think. You saved that girl’s life. You called me and asked for help, which takes more courage than you know. You’re letting someone in, which is brave as hell. You’re doing it.”
“I don’t feel like I’m doing it right.”
“There is no right way. There’s just your way.” He pauses. “And Carter? I’m so damn proud of your way.”
I have to swallow hard to speak. “Really?”
“Really. You’re not Dominic. You’re not supposed to be. You’re Carter. And that’s exactly who you should be.”
“Dad?” My voice is small.
“Yeah, son?”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Anything.”
I take a breath. “When I was getting Rhi out of the cave—when I was calling you, using what you taught me—I felt... I felt right. Like I was doing what I was meant to do. Not geology. Just... helping someone. Being there in a crisis.”
“Okaay.”
“And I’ve been thinking. Maybe—maybe after I finish my degree, I don’t go to grad school. Maybe I do what you did. Become a firefighter. Or EMT. Or something where I can actually—where I can help people like that.”
I hold my breath, waiting for disappointment. For “but you’re so close to finishing.” For “don’t waste your degree.”
“Carter.” My dad’s voice is rough with emotion. “Son, I would be very proud if you went down that path. So incredibly proud.”
My eyes burn. “Really?”
“Really. But you finish college first. You hear me? You finish what you started. Get that degree. Then—then you do whatever calls to you. And if it’s firefighting, I’ll be there at your graduation from the academy, front row.”
“I promise. I’ll finish.” Relief floods through me. “Dad—”
“And Carter? This work—what we do—it’s about doing the hard thing. For strangers, for family, for the people we love. Even when it’s scary. Especially when it’s scary.”
“I know.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
I look at the wall separating my room from the rest of the motel. Somewhere out there, Rhi is sitting alone, probably crying, probably scared, probably convinced she’s ruined everything.
And I’m sitting here feeling sorry for myself instead of fighting for her.
Instead of showing up.
“I’m going to fix it,” I say.
“That’s my boy.”
“Thanks, Dad. For everything. For the rescue advice, for this, for—”
“I love you, Carter. Don’t forget that.”
“I love you too.”
That’s the first time we’ve said that to each other in over a year. Maybe we were both so scared of being close again, because we know how much it hurts when you lose someone.
After I hang up, I sit on the edge of the bed and think about what I’m about to do.
I could stay here.
Or I could show up.
I grab my room key and head out.