31. Chapter 31
Chapter 31
T he moment I unlock the front door to the house, soft chords escape from inside and wrap around me.
I barely make a sound as I step inside, then lean against the wall to watch Carter play from his spot on the couch. It’s the first time I’ve seen him pick up the guitar since the show he played in Detroit, but looking at him, you would never guess he stopped playing for years. The notes come out of his fingers like it’s second nature. He’s not playing on my father’s old acoustic guitar but on the electric one I’d seen in his apartment when I’d visited. My hand clutches my chest as I watch him, all tall and strong but looking so very vulnerable at this moment.
When he strums the last chord, I applaud him loudly, making him jump and turn my way.
In a second, he’s on his feet, guitar forgotten. “You’re done already? Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I could walk just fine.” I agreed to pick up a few shifts here and there to help out at the bar—something that’s much less of a burden now that Jayson leaves me alone—and since the bar was pretty much empty all day, he sent me home at 9:00 p.m. “Barely dark out.” My car somehow found a way to the garage once more. At this point, I should probably get rid of it since it spends the majority of its time broken, but I can’t part from it. Every time I sit inside, I’m brought back to short summer drives with Dad to go grab ice cream in town. Even though he had his deadly accident in this same car, it brings me more comfort than pain to keep it, like he’s still here with me, in this small way.
“I would’ve come to get you anyway,” he says, then tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, sending tingles down my neck. The past few days have been a whirlwind, between my shifts and Carter’s newfound success. After he went on stage with the band, some people recognized him from his time with Fickle, and some even made the connection between the guitar player/producer who’s also married to me, and suddenly there were mentions of him online and edits with old pictures I know he hates. However, that recognition brought forth interviews and magazine articles— who is Andrew Carter, guitarist and now producer? —so his label is more than pleased with him, already planning on involving him in more projects. With all of that, we’ve barely had time to see each other. Even so, our cohabitation is nothing like it was before we left on tour. Sure, the most time we’ve spent together has been our few hours of shared sleep in my bed, but the differences are in the details. The way I can feel him looking at me when I pack up my lunch, the mindless brush of his hand against my waist when he passes me in the hallway, the short texts he sends me to know when I’ll be back home and what I’d like to eat for dinner. What we did after the wedding should’ve complicated everything, and yet life has felt so natural since. We haven’t clarified anything, but I don’ t feel the need to. Not when I can enjoy him in this simplicity for now.
“I know you would’ve.” I take a seat on the opposite side of him on the couch. “But I didn’t need you to.”
He grunts. “What are you doing all the way over there?”
I lift a brow, then yelp as he grabs me under the legs and arms and pulls me closer to him so there’s no space between our bodies.
“Better, caveman?” I ask, laughing.
He nods once, ever so serious, which makes me laugh once more. Then I let my head fall to his shoulder as he resumes his playing. It feels surreal to be doing this next to Carter. Even after sleeping together, after waking up tangled up in him, his breaths warm on my neck, I’m still not sure I’m not dreaming right now.
Carter has clearly cleaned around the house today, and with every blanket and pillow cleared up, my attention is dragged toward the box sitting at the edge of the living room and foyer. One I placed there yesterday.
“Maybe not tonight, okay?”
Carter continues playing soft, mindless notes, but his eyes find mine.
“Just…not yet,” I add in a small voice.
I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve put the box in this exact spot, expecting Carter to bring it with the trash on his way out. The first time, I woke up in a panic at five in the morning, running to the door to make sure it was still there and bringing it back with me to my room. Since then, I’ve tried again and again to get rid of it, to no avail .
“You know you don’t have to throw it away, right?” Carter says.
“Hm.”
“What are you thinking?” he asks, voice feather soft.
I nudge myself closer in his embrace, cold seeping through my bones. “I’m thinking that I don’t want to keep the reminder of all I might have missed in my home, but it also feels wrong to get rid of it.” My gaze stays blank on the box. “You were right, weren’t you? He did have a problem.”
Carter’s hand lands on my scalp, rubbing once. “I’m sorry, honey.”
There’s no lying to myself anymore. As much as I wish it wasn’t true, the facts speak for themselves. He wouldn’t have had all those documents hidden in his room for no reason.
“I don’t understand why he didn’t just tell me.”
Carter’s hands move from the guitar to rest against my nape, playing with my hair.
“He was suffering, and he never let me help.” My voice is steady like all the tears and sleepless nights I’ve spent over this have finally settled into quiet acceptance.
“I’m sure he had his reasons.”
The smell of Carter’s detergent is a balm against my bruised heart. I pull back, enough that I can look him in the eye. “I need you to promise something.”
He swallows, then nods.
“Promise me you’ll tell me if you’re ever struggling again. Don’t leave me in the dark. ”
“I promise.” He then presses a gentle kiss to my lips, one that feels like a seal to the deal.
Music resumes once more, like this conversation doesn’t trouble him. He’s not scared of broaching the harder topics, of seeing the parts of me I never let out of this house. He trudges on.
Now that the box doesn’t loom above me so much, I tuck my legs to me and snuggle while I pull my phone out of my pocket. I need to answer messages from potential collaborators I didn’t have time to respond to before.
The song he decides to play is one I love, an old rock classic, making me move my feet to the beat, but my body stills as a rock when I open my phone and see missed texts from Finn and Lexie, among others.
Lexie: Are you okay? I’m here if you need to talk. x
Finn: Need me to go beat up his ass?
Finn: That fuckface.
Finn: I’m sorry. But I also wish you’d let me beat up his ass.
I frown, entering my password before opening my social media platforms, knowing somehow that I’ll find my answer there. I’m right. The first thing I see is a picture that’s been shared by so many people I follow, one of a beautiful brown-haired girl showing off her massive ring while the man I used to call mine sits next to her, smiling as he presses a kiss to her temple.
I recognize her after a few seconds. She’s also big on social media, a beauty influencer I’ve crossed paths with at a few events over the years. To be honest, I didn’t even know he had a girlfriend. I don’t follow him, and except for reshared posts here and there, I have no idea what he’s doing with his life. At the end of our relationship, with the cheesy excuses he gave me for dumping me— I need some time to figure out what I want with my life, it’s not you, I swear —I’d guessed another girl had caught his eye, but I never thought it would become something serious.
And here he is. Engaged.
“What’s wrong?”
“Hm? Nothing.”
“Lili.”
My heart stutters at the nickname as if he fought using one for so long but finally lost. Still, he didn’t use the same one as everyone, like he wanted something that was solely his. Solely ours. It fills me with warmth, enough that I feel okay saying, “My ex just got engaged.”
Even though I’m not looking at him, I feel the physical way he takes this in, the muscles I’m leaning on contracting.
“Are you okay?” he eventually asks.
“I don’t know.”
Another pause, then, “Do you still love him?”
“No! God no.” I pull back so I can look at him. I hate that the thought even crossed his mind. “I don’t even miss him.” In fact, I haven’t missed him for a long while, and once Carter came into my life, he flew right out the window of my thoughts.
Carter doesn’t need to speak his next question. It’s written all in the careful, confused way he’s studying me. Then why are you reacting like this?
I look at the photo once more. They both look so happy, so in love. Did he ever look at me like that? Or was I blind?
“He kept telling me he didn’t want to get married, ever.” I let out a short huff of air, but there’s no humor in it. “I guess he just didn’t want to get married to me .”
“Then he’s even dumber than I thought he was.”
I smile, squeezing his tense thigh. “You’re sweet.”
“I’m not. I’m being honest.”
I can’t with this man. He is everything.
“I was with him for three whole years. Gave him all I had, tried everything to make him see me as someone worthy of him, and he never even considered a future with me. And I was dumb enough to stay.” It doesn’t matter that he gave me so many mixed signals and led me on. I should’ve seen that he’d never truly love me, that he’d stayed with me out of pity. I should’ve been smarter. I shake my head, turning my phone off. “This is embarrassing. I’m sorry. Please go on.” I try to put his hand back on the guitar so we can pretend this moment never happened, but he doesn’t cooperate.
“It’s embarrassing for him, honey, not for you.”
“Sure,” I say, wanting to get it over with. In fact, I’d very much like to go to bed and move on from this crappy moment. That Greg decides to get married to another girl is one thing, but that everyone treats me with kid gloves, thinking I’m about to break down, makes it so much worse. I hate when people see me like some fragile thing that needs to be handled with care. It’s probably how Greg saw me too. I was too frail for him to leave when he wanted to but too delicate to imagine a real future with.
I get up, but he stops me with a soft hand around my wrist. “I’m not done. He’s the dumbass for having someone like you and letting you go.”
I smile at him. He truly is the best.
“I’m being serious. I don’t even think you realize how fucking out of this world you are.”
“Being the messy girl with no health insurance and stable job that I am?” I say with a laugh that isn’t returned.
Carter shakes his head, grabbing my other wrist so he can pull me in front of him. “You’re killing me with this. Every step of the way, people tried to knock you down, but you’re still here. Don’t you see?” His eyes burn, speckles of yellow blending with the dark green. “There’s nothing more impressive than this. Life worked against you and you still made it.”
I don’t want to cry. I really don’t, but he’s making this damn near impossible. I don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear those words, fighting day in and day out, crawling myself out of dark holes and sinuous roads that felt endless and always trying to do it with a smile because things could be worse. I’m so thankful for everything I have, but there are days when I’m so exhausted, I don’t know how to pull myself out of bed.
And he’s seen it all. Past the walls, past the barbed wire smiles, right to my core. And I can’t even be mad at it because it feels so good to be seen entirely, the good, the bad, and the ugly all revealed. Nowhere to hide.
When a treacherous tear slips from my eye, Carter gets to his feet and wipes my cheekbone with a delicate thumb before he wraps me in a hug that feels like I’m finally where I’m supposed to be.
Against his chest, I whisper, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you utter so many words in a row.”
He huffs a laugh, then pulls my head even closer to him. “Shut up and hug me.”
That I can do. Forever if I need to.