Chapter Nineteen Carter
They drove to Tomás’s rented room, a run-down place on the ground floor of a converted house. Carter didn’t bother knocking politely—he pounded on the door until Tomás opened it, eyes wide.
“Get out here. Now,” Carter demanded.
Tomás stepped outside, arms crossed like he thought that made him tough.
“Who the hell do you think you are filing charges against Ethan?” Carter asked.
“He threatened me and hit me.”
“And why did that happen?”
“I don’t know. He’s a thief and a liar.”
Carter’s temper flared. “You told your cousin and his friend to visit Ethan last night, didn’t you?”
Tomás and Ethan exchanged sharp, death glares.
“So what? Ethan owes them money,” Tomás said.
“Mr. Evans paid them, so he doesn’t owe them anything. And you’re on thin ice,” Carter growled. “Either you pull that complaint, or I’ll fire your ass right here. What’s it gonna be?”
Tomás’s bravado cracked. “I’ll remove the complaint.”
“Call Officer Duarte. Now.”
Tomás did, voice shaking as he told the officer he was withdrawing the complaint.
Carter didn’t wait for the call to end. He turned and headed back to the truck, Ethan trailing behind him like a kicked dog.
The drive back to the cabin was quiet—too quiet. Carter’s jaw ached from the sheer intensity of his clenched jaw. He kept one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against his thigh, trying to bleed off the irritation before it turned into something sharper.
Ethan sat hunched in the passenger seat, staring out the window like the trees might swallow him whole. Every few minutes he shifted, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t get the words past his teeth.
Carter hated that. Hated the silence. Hated the way the kid folded in on himself like he expected to be hit with bad news any second.
When they pulled up to the cabin, Carter killed the engine and sat there for a moment, breathing through the leftover anger. He wasn’t mad about Tomás anymore. He was mad that Ethan had been carrying all this alone. Mad that no one had taught him how to trust anybody.
He turned toward him. “Get inside.”
Ethan nodded quickly, almost flinching, and followed him in and they silently removed their boots.
Carter shut the door behind them and leaned against it, arms crossed. Ethan hovered in the middle of the room, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders tight. Carter let the silence stretch just long enough to make sure Ethan was listening. Then he said, “I’m not sending you anywhere.”
Ethan’s head snapped up. His eyes were wide, confused—like he didn’t trust what he’d heard.
Carter stepped closer. “You hear me? I’m not sending you back to the barn. I’m not kicking you out. I’m not dumping you on someone else. You’re staying here.”
Ethan blinked fast, throat working. “But… I messed up.”
“Yeah,” Carter said. “You did.”
Ethan winced.
“But messing up doesn’t mean I’m done with you.”
Ethan’s breath hitched, barely audible. His shoulders dropped a fraction.
Carter kept going, softer now. “I can’t help you if you hide things from me. I need the whole truth.”
Ethan swallowed hard. “I know. I’m sorry.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I didn’t want you to think I was… I don’t know. Too much trouble.”
Carter’s chest ached with a sudden, sharp twist of emotion. Damn kid. Always expecting to be thrown away.
“You are trouble,” Carter said, but there was no heat in it. “But you’re my trouble now.”
Ethan let out a faint breath, eyes dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry, Carter. I should’ve told you. I just… I didn’t want you to look at me like everyone else does.”
Carter stepped close enough to put a hand on Ethan’s back, steady and warm. Ethan froze, then leaned into it like he couldn’t help himself.
“I don’t look at you like they do,” Carter said. “And I’m not going to.”
Ethan’s eyes shone, but he blinked the wetness away fast, embarrassed.
Carter squeezed gently. “You’re staying here. End of story.”
Ethan nodded like he didn’t trust his voice.
Carter let his hand fall but stayed close. “Now go wash up. We’re eating dinner. And after that, we’re talking about how you’re gonna handle things from now on.”
Ethan nodded again, but this time there was something steadier in it. Something like relief. He headed toward the bathroom, shoulders a little less tense, steps a little less heavy.
And for the first time since Duarte knocked on the door, the knot in his chest loosened.
He wasn’t giving up on the kid.
Dinner was quiet—too quiet for two people who’d just dragged a grown man into retracting a complaint.
Carter set the plates back on the table, reheated but still good.
The steaks glistened, the potatoes steaming again, the salad crisp.
He’d cooked it with the hope of a normal night. Now it felt like a peace offering.
Ethan sat across from him, shoulders still tight, fork barely scraping the plate. He kept his eyes down, pushing a piece of steak around like it might bite him back.
Carter studied him for a moment. He looked like he’d been wrung dry. The anger Carter had felt earlier had burned off, leaving something heavier behind. Something protective. Something that made him want to drag Ethan into a hug and shake him at the same time.
He took a slow bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Eat, Ethan.”
Ethan nodded and took a tiny bite, like he was waiting for permission to breathe.
The silence stretched, but it wasn’t sharp anymore. More like a blanket that needed shaking out.
Halfway through the meal, Ethan spoke. “Thanks for… you know. Back there.”
Carter didn’t look up. That earned Ethan a tiny, almost invisible smile. It eased something in Carter’s chest.
When they finished, Carter leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. Time for the part he knew Ethan wouldn’t like.
“Alright,” he said. “We need to talk about rules.”
Ethan froze. His whole body went stiff, like Carter had just told him he was being shipped off somewhere.
Carter sighed. “Relax. I’m not punishing you. I’m making sure this shit doesn’t happen again.”
Ethan gave a nod, though the clenching of his jaw.
Carter continued, “First rule: you tell me everything. And I mean everything. If someone threatens you, if someone shows up, if something happened before you got here—I need to know.”
Ethan’s eyes flicked up, wary. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
“It’s not bothering me,” Carter said. “It’s keeping you safe.”
Ethan swallowed hard. “Okay.”
“Second rule,” Carter said, leaning forward. “No more handling things on your own. You’re not out there fighting every battle by yourself. You come to me first.”
Ethan’s brows pulled together. “I’m not used to that.”
“I know,” Carter said. “But you’re gonna learn.”
Ethan looked down at his hands, twisting his napkin. “I’ll try.”
Carter softened. “Trying’s enough.”
He let that sit for a moment before adding, “And third rule: no more calling Tomás a pussy in front of law enforcement.”
Ethan snorted—an actual laugh, short and startled. “He deserved it.”
“Probably,” Carter said. “Still not the point.”
Ethan’s shoulders loosened. The tension that had been coiled in him since Duarte knocked on the door started to unwind. He looked younger like this. Softer. Like he wasn’t waiting for the world to collapse on him.
Carter stood and started clearing the plates. “You did good tonight. Even if you scared the hell out of me.”
Ethan blinked. “I scared you?”
“Yeah,” Carter said. “Because I care what happens to you.”
Ethan didn’t say anything, but the look he gave Carter—wide, uncertain, grateful—hit him harder than he expected.
Carter turned back to the sink before he said something he wasn’t ready to unpack.
“Alright,” he said, rinsing a plate. “That’s enough heavy shit for one night.”
Ethan nodded. “Okay.”
But Carter could feel it—the shift between them. The trust settling in. The kid believing he wasn’t going anywhere.
And Carter knew, deep down, he’d fight anyone who tried to take Ethan away.
The cabin settled into that deep kind of silence that only came after a long, ugly day.
The dishes were washed, the lights dimmed, and Ethan had disappeared into the bathroom to brush his teeth.
Carter stood in the kitchen, leaning both hands on the counter, staring at the dark window like it might give him answers.
He felt wrung out. Not from the fight with Tomás. Not from Duarte. From Ethan. From the way the kid looked at him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.
Carter scrubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t know when it had happened—when concern had turned into something heavier, something that sat under his ribs and refused to move. He cared. Too much. More than he should. More than made sense. And he didn’t know how the hell to stop.
Footsteps were coming up behind him, real quiet-like. In the window, Carter could see Ethan hovered in the doorway, hair damp, wearing one of Carter’s old shirts that hung off him like it belonged there.
“Carter?” Ethan’s voice was low, hesitant. “Are you… still mad?”
Carter turned, and the kid looked like he was bracing for impact. That hit harder than anything Tomás could’ve thrown.
“No,” Carter said. “I’m not mad.”
Ethan’s shoulders dropped a little, but he still looked unsure. “You were earlier.”
“Yeah,” Carter admitted. “Because you scared the shit out of me.”
Ethan blinked. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know you didn’t.” Carter stepped closer, slow, careful. “But you gotta understand something. When you hide things from me, when you deal with crap alone… it makes me feel like I’m failing you.”
Ethan’s breath caught. “You’re not failing me.”
Carter looked at him—really looked. The tired eyes, the bruised pride, the kid who’d been carrying too much for too long. And something inside Carter twisted again, sharp and warm and terrifying.
He cared. God, he cared so damn much. He didn’t know how to turn it off. Didn’t know if he even wanted to.
He reached out and rested a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, thumb brushing the fabric of the borrowed shirt. Ethan leaned into it without thinking, like it was instinct.
“I’m not mad,” Carter said again, softer. “I’m just… worried. And I don’t want you thinking I’m gonna throw you out every time something goes wrong.”
Ethan’s voice cracked. “I’m trying, Carter.”
“I know you are.”
Ethan looked up at him then, eyes open and raw in a way that made Carter’s chest ache. “I don’t want you to give up on me.”
Carter swallowed hard. “I’m not giving up on you.”
He didn’t say the rest—that he couldn’t, that he didn’t know how, that somewhere along the way Ethan had become more than a responsibility, more than a kid he was helping. Ethan had become someone Carter wanted. Someone he worried about. Someone he felt too much for.
And standing there in the kitchen, with Ethan looking at him like that, Carter knew he was in deeper than he’d ever intended.
“Come on,” Carter said, voice rougher than he meant. “Get some sleep. We’ll deal with the rest tomorrow.”
Ethan nodded, but he didn’t move right away. He just stood there, close enough that Carter could feel the warmth of him.
“Goodnight, Carter,” Ethan whispered.
Ethan walked down the hall and closed the bedroom door.
Carter let out a breath and sighed. He was in trouble. Real trouble. Because he cared about Ethan in a way he wasn’t supposed to. And he didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to stop.