Chapter 25 #4
She chuckled, the sound low and melodic in the quiet room. "You absolutely do, darling. And I intend to remind you of that fact for a very, very long time."
My heart leapt into my fucking throat. A very long time. The suggestion of a future—of more nights squeezed into this bed or hers—made a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the coffee.
Carrie stood and moved toward my chest of drawers, flicking through my clothes with a focused, quiet authority. I just sat there watching her. She pulled out my favourite worn-in jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and a thick hoodie, laying them on the bed.
But she didn't stop there.
She reached back into the drawer, her fingers lingering as she brushed past my usual comfortable pairs to pull out a rare set of matching black lace.
I felt a sharp, familiar fucking tingle as she set the lace on top of the pile. I almost never wore lace, and she knew it. Leaving the soft cotton behind was a deliberate choice—a subtle power play that reminded me exactly who the fuck she was and what she did to me.
If anyone else had tried this—tried to call me a fucking brat, or tell me what to wear, or command my family’s kitchen—I would have laughed in their fucking face.
I’ve spent my whole life being the one in charge, the one who didn't need anyone. But with Carrie? Shit, I’d do just about anything she told me to do.
"Dress, Alex," she said, glancing at the clock. "Visiting starts in an hour, and your father is already downstairs pretending he hasn't been pacing the kitchen for twenty minutes."
"Yes, Dr. Carter," I rasped, a cheeky smirk finally breaking through my exhaustion.
She paused at the door, looking back at me with a gaze that was both fiercely protective and dangerously soft. "And put on the hoodie. It’s freezing out, and I’m not having two of you in hospital beds."
I dressed as quickly as I could and headed downstairs toward the kitchen. Dad was standing by the counter, nursing a mug and staring blankly at the toaster. He looked better than he did yesterday, but there was still a lingering shadow of worry in the set of his shoulders.
"She’s a fighter, Lex," he said as I joined him, his voice gravelly. "She’ll be home before we know it."
"She will," I agreed, leaning against the counter. "And look, Dad—I’ve already thought about it. This is the last week of uni before Christmas anyway. Most of my coursework is online submission, so I can stay here. I’ll look after her so you can get back to the site.
I know the bills aren't going to pay themselves. "
He looked like he wanted to argue, to tell me I should focus on my finals, but the reality of our fucking bank balance was a hard thing to ignore. He just nodded, a small, grateful sigh escaping him. "You’re a good kid, Lex. Really."
In the lounge, I could hear the low, clipped tones of Carrie’s voice.
She was on a business call, her professional persona back in full force.
I found myself glancing toward the door, wondering if she was going to head to the university after the hospital drop-off.
Part of me wanted to ask, to tell her she had done enough and should go, but I caught myself.
I knew better than to fucking push her buttons right now.
After the warning in the hallway last night, I was not about to test the waters by questioning her schedule or suggesting she had better places to be.
If she was here, it was because she wanted to be, and arguing with Dr. Carter when she had made a decision was a fucking losing battle I was not in the mood for.
A few minutes later, the call ended, and Carrie entered the kitchen. She looked effortlessly sharp in her cashmere and jeans, her phone already tucked away.
"Are we ready?" she asked, her gaze sweeping over the two of us.
Without even fucking thinking about the fact that my dad was standing three feet away, I stepped forward. I reached out, my hand settling on her arm as I leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.
"Ready," I whispered.
Carrie paused, her eyes searching mine for a long, quiet second.
She was perceptive—dangerously fucking so.
I could tell she was trying to read the unsaid things hovering in my mind, the guilt and the gratitude and the fear of taking up too much of her time.
But she didn’t push. She didn't demand an explanation for the extra weight behind that kiss.
Instead, she just gave my hand a firm, reassuring squeeze.
"Good," she said, her voice steadying the air in the room. "Let’s go see your mother."
She guided us toward the door, the three of us walking out into the crisp morning air.
As she led the way to her car, I realised how quickly the rhythm of my life had shifted.
Fuck, it was mental. It was no longer just me and my parents against the world.
Somehow, in the middle of a fucking nightmare, we had gained an architect.
And as Carrie started the engine, I knew she wasn’t planning on going anywhere.