Chapter 31 #3
I scrambled to my feet. I started fucking talking before she could even take a step toward me, the words tumbling out in a nervous, rambling rush.
"I should go home today, Carrie. I’m back at work tomorrow, and Uni starts again on Monday, and I just...
I need to get back into a routine. I’ve got coursework, and my parents are probably wondering where I’ve been gone so long, and it just makes sense, you know?
To be back in my own space before everything kicks off again. "
I wanted to reach out and catch every fucking word, to shove them back into my mouth the second I saw it—that flash of raw, unfiltered vulnerability in Carrie’s eyes. It was gone in a heartbeat, replaced by her practiced composure, but the damage was done. I’d hurt her. Fuck.
Carrie listened until the silence finally forced me to stop. She nodded slowly, a soft, understanding smile appearing on her face, though it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Of course, darling," she said, her voice a little more formal than it had been this morning. "I’ll drop you off."
I didn't protest. I just nodded gratefully, feeling like a fucking traitor in my own skin.
Carrie moved with a mechanical efficiency now, heading to the cupboard by the front door.
She passed me my shoes and my jacket without a word, her movements precise as she slid into her own heels and draped her trench coat over her shoulders.
The house was weirdly, painfully silent.
It was as if the "bubble" hadn't just popped—it had been hoovered out of the fucking room.
Carrie didn't quite meet my eyes as we walked to the car.
She opened the passenger door for me as she always did, waiting until I was settled before closing it with a solid, final thud.
She hung her coat in the back and slid into the driver's seat, the scent of her perfume filling the small space and making my throat ache.
She didn't reach for my hand. She didn't offer a playful comment about my "independence.
" She just started the engine, the low growl of the car the only thing breaking the tension as we pulled out of the driveway and headed toward the reality of my house.
The drive was fucking agonising. Every red light felt like a missed opportunity to say something—to tell her I loved her, to tell her I was just fucking scared, to tell her I was coming back. But Carrie’s profile was a mask of cool, professional distance, her eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead.
I could have handled this so much better.
Instead, she had been greeted by the sight of me sitting on the stairs like a fucking houseguest who couldn't wait to check out.
Of course that would hurt her, you absolute prick.
It didn't look like I was just leaving her house; it looked like I was leaving her.
When we pulled up, I saw my Dad unloading tools from his van.
My stomach was in knots. Carrie slipped out of the car to open my door, but even now, she wouldn’t look at me.
Why did this feel like a breakup? I suddenly fucking hated Mia for poisoning the well.
Carrie was terrifying sometimes—controlling, erratic, and intense—but she had cared for me with a devotion I’ve never known.
She made me feel safe enough to actually feel things, and my reward was seeing the soft, guarded woman who kissed my nose in the morning.
That was the woman I had wounded by packing my bags without a word of fucking warning. You absolute fucking prick, Alex.
As I stepped out, I lingered in the doorway so she couldn’t close it yet.
Please, look at me. I wanted to scream that I was just a fucking idiot who needed a minute to process her own feelings, but the words wouldn't come.
I reached out tentatively, my fingers barely grazing her arm.
When she finally met my gaze, her eyes were searching, desperate for a sign.
I leaned in just an inch, trying to project every ounce of "I’m not going anywhere" into the space between us.
Her eyes widened slightly, a flicker of relief crossing her face as she read the silent reassurance.
“Alright, darl?” My Dad’s voice shattered the moment.
I took a steadying breath and stepped back so Carrie could finally shut the door. I turned to him with a forced smile. “Hey. Got some landscaping work?”
He nodded, wiping his hands on a rag. “Yeah, a fucking rarity in January, but I’d never pass it up.”
I felt the tension in my chest ease slightly when Carrie moved to stand beside me instead of retreating to the car.
“You’re a landscaper?” she asked, her voice steady and curious.
My Dad let out a self-deprecating laugh.
“Well, when I can be.” He tossed his gear into the back and slammed the rusty van doors shut.
“Truth be told, Caroline, it’s my favourite work.
But it’s never been steady. I haven’t got our Alex’s smarts—the thought of tax forms and business plans scares the shit out of me. ”
Carrie hummed, a thoughtful sound. “Landscaping is a formidable skill. It requires a specific kind of vision.”
“Aye, and that’s why a talented man like me does it,” he said with a wink.
Carrie smirked, and I caught a familiar, calculating glint in her eye—the "Dr. Carter" look that said she was already ten steps ahead. But when she turned back to me, the guilt returned tenfold.
“Are you staying for dinner, Caroline?” my Dad shouted over his shoulder as he headed toward the house.
Carrie didn't miss a beat. “No, thank you, Phil. I should get back. There’s a lot to do before the University term begins. Isn't that right, Alex?”
The words were a polite fucking twist of the knife. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. “Yeah,” I managed weakly.
My Dad disappeared inside, oblivious to the fact that the atmosphere out here had turned back to ice.
I tightened my grip on the straps of my backpack, the weight of it feeling like a fucking barrier I'd built between us. "Thank you," I whispered, the words feeling pitifully small. "For everything."
Carrie looked at me, and the expression was so pained, so uncharacteristically raw, that I couldn't fucking breathe. It was the look of someone who had started to trust the ground beneath her feet only to feel it start to crumble.
"It’s been the best Christmas and New Year of my life," I added quickly, my voice thick. "Truly."
I saw her shoulders ease just a fraction, the rigid line of her spine softening. Don’t be a fucking idiot, Alex. Do something.
I reached out, sliding my arm around her waist. It was a bold move out here in the open, in front of my house, but I didn't care.
I pulled her closer, needing to feel the heat of her body against mine.
Carrie didn't resist; she let me tuck myself into her side, but she raised a single, elegant eyebrow—a silent, sharp demand for the truth.
I leaned up, my lips brushing against her ear so the fucking neighbours—and my Dad—wouldn't accidentally hear. "I need this," I whispered, my breath hitching. "I need to get back into a routine so I don't lose my mind. But that doesn't mean I’m leaving you."
I pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, trying to convey everything Mia had nearly made me fucking doubt. "I’m going to be counting down every single minute until I see your car pull up after my shift tomorrow night. Every. Single. One."
The mask finally cracked. Carrie’s hand came up, her fingers grazing the back of my neck, her thumb pressing firmly against the sensitive skin behind my ear—a possessive, grounding touch that made my knees fucking weak.
"Is that right?" she murmured, her voice regaining that dark, velvety edge that told me I was still hers. "Because I find myself rather unaccustomed to an empty house, Alex. I suggest you spend those minutes thinking very carefully about how you intend to make up for this... sudden departure."
She didn't wait for an answer. She leaned in, pressing a brief, firm kiss to the corner of my mouth—deliberate enough to be a brand, but fleeting enough to leave me fucking starving.
"Tomorrow night," she said, her tone a promise and a threat all at once. "Don't be late."
A laugh bubbled up in my chest, more out of fucking relief than anything else. "Nope," I said, my voice gaining a bit of its usual spark. "I’m not spending an entire day without a proper kiss. I won’t survive the shift."
Before she could protest or play the cool professional, I hooked my fingers into the lapels of her trench coat and pulled her toward me.
It was not a polite fucking peck. I kissed her with everything I had been overthinking for the last hour—the love, the fear, and the desperate need to stay anchored to her.
For a second, Carrie tensed, caught off guard by my sudden boldness on a public street, but then she melted.
Her hand slid into my hair, pulling me flush against her, and for a heartbeat, the world around my parents' door simply ceased to exist.
When I finally pulled back, breathless and a little fucking dizzy, Carrie was flushed. Her pupils were blown wide, and her smirk was back—that dangerous, predatory little curve of her lips that made my pulse spike.
"Go inside, Alex," she murmured, her voice vibrating with a subsonic threat. "Because if you stay out here for one more second, I’m going to put you back in that car, take you home, and lock you in for good. You won't see the outside of my bedroom until February."
I shivered, and we both knew it wasn't from the January chill. "Is that a promise?" I teased, though my heart was fucking hammering against my ribs.
"It’s a warning," she countered, though the fondness in her eyes gave her away. "Now, move. Before I lose my legendary self-control."
I reluctantly let go of her coat and started backing toward the front door, my eyes never leaving hers. "Tomorrow night, Carrie. Don't be late."
"I am never late, darling," she said, already stepping back toward the driver's side with that effortless grace.