Chapter Twenty-One
Carter felt lighter than he had in days.
Breakfast had gone smoother than he expected; Ethan looked calmer, and for once the cabin didn’t feel like it was holding its breath.
Saturday meant no ranch duties unless something was on fire, and Carter figured they both needed a break from the week’s bullshit.
He leaned back in his chair, stretching. “We’re taking the day off.”
Ethan looked up from rinsing his plate. “We are?”
“Yeah,” Carter said. “It’s Saturday. And after the crap we dealt with yesterday, we deserve it.”
Ethan acted like he was unsure he’d heard right. “Are we doing something together or do you need a break from me?”
“I want to spend the day with you.”
“Is that because you don’t trust me?”
“Trust is a two-way street.” He paused. “But I don’t spend my free time with just anyone. And my decision has nothing to do with trust or not.”
The grin across the kid’s face made it all worth it.
“What are we going to do?”
Carter grinned. “Motorcross bikes.”
Ethan’s entire face lit up. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. I’ve got two in the shed. We’ll take the trails behind the ridge. Blow off some steam.”
“Where did they come from?”
“Texas. I did a lot of riding back in the day.”
Ethan nodded fast, excitement flickering through him like a spark catching dry grass. Something warm settled in his chest at the sight. The kid needed this. Hell, he needed this.
They grabbed jackets, boots, and helmets. Carter was halfway to the door when his phone rang. He checked the screen and groaned.
Mr. Evans.
Of course.
He answered. “Yeah?”
“What the hell is going on?” Mr. Evans snapped. “Why was Officer Duarte at your cabin last night looking for Ethan?”
Carter closed his eyes, jaw tightening. So much for a peaceful Saturday.
Ethan froze beside him, shoulders tense as if he expected the world to collapse again.
Carter stepped outside onto the porch, keeping his voice even. “He wasn’t looking for Ethan. He came to issue a frivolous complaint Tomás made.”
“A complaint?” Mr. Evans barked. “About what?”
“Some bullshit fight Tomás started,” Carter said. “It’s handled.”
“Handled how?” Mr. Evans demanded. “Because Duarte called me this morning asking if I knew my son was involved in an assault.”
Carter pinched the bridge of his nose. “I talked to Tomás. He withdrew the complaint.”
“You talked to him?” Mr. Evans repeated, tone sharp. “Carter, you can’t just—”
“I handled it,” Carter said, firmer this time. “Ethan’s fine. It’s done.”
There was a long silence on the other end. Carter could practically hear Mr. Evans grinding his teeth.
Finally, Mr. Evans exhaled. “I don’t want that boy getting into more trouble.”
Carter glanced back through the open door. Ethan stood there, helmet in hand, looking like he expected to be blamed for everything again.
Carter’s chest tightened. “He’s with me,” he said. “I’ll keep him out of trouble.”
“You’d better,” Mr. Evans muttered. “Because if Duarte calls me again—”
“He won’t,” Carter cut in. “I said it’s handled.”
Another pause. Then Mr. Evans hung up without a goodbye.
Carter lowered the phone and let out a long breath.
Ethan stepped onto the porch, voice lowered. “He’s pissed off at me, isn’t he?”
“He’s always mad,” Carter said. “Don’t worry about him.”
Ethan nodded, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes.
Carter clapped a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, firm but gentle. “Come on. We’re still going. I’m not letting him ruin our day.”
Ethan’s expression softened, relief flickering across his face as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to feel it. That familiar ache hit Carter right in the chest again—sharp, warm, dangerous. He tried to ignore it. He always tried.
He patted Ethan’s shoulder once more and headed toward the shed. “Let’s ride.”
They each rolled out a motorcycle, engines rumbling low and eager. Dust puffed under the tires as they eased down the dirt path. The morning sun cut through the trees, warming Carter’s neck. He glanced over—Ethan already looked lighter, wind tugging at his hair, shoulders not so tight.
Good. The kid needed this.
A few minutes in, Ethan pulled up beside him, grinning as if he had a secret. “Wanna see where I used to race?”
Carter raised a brow. “You raced?”
“Yeah,” Ethan’s grin widened. “Bet I can still smoke you.”
Carter snorted. “You think so?”
Ethan revved his engine. “I know so.”
That spark—wild, reckless, alive—flashed in Ethan’s eyes, and Carter felt something twist low in his gut. He hadn’t seen that side of him before. It was… something.
They took off.
Ethan shot ahead like he’d been born on the damn machine. He leaned into turns with a confidence Carter didn’t expect, kicking up dirt, taking lines Carter wouldn’t have risked himself. The kid was a natural—fast, fearless, almost too fearless.
“Slow down!” Carter yelled, even though he knew Ethan wouldn’t.
Ethan laughed—loud, bright, carried by the wind—and pushed harder.
Carter kept up, but barely. Ethan knew the terrain like muscle memory, weaving through old trails, cutting across dips and rises with a kind of wild grace. Carter felt his own grin tugging at his mouth despite himself.
They reached the old clearing—a rough oval of packed dirt—and Ethan skidded to a stop, triumphant.
“Told you,” he said, breathless, cheeks flushed.
Carter shook his head, laughing. “You’re a menace.”
“A fearless menace,” Ethan corrected.
“Yeah,” Carter murmured, watching him. “I noticed.”
They rode again, a few more laps, until Ethan slowed and waved Carter to follow him up a narrow trail. They parked on a ridge overlooking the lake, the water catching the sun like scattered glass.
Ethan killed his engine and sat there for a moment, staring out at the water. His shoulders dropped, the adrenaline fading into something quieter.
Carter leaned back on his hands. “You were good out there.”
“Yeah. I used to be.”
Carter waited. He could feel something coming—Ethan’s posture, the way he kept his eyes on the lake, the way his fingers tapped against his thigh.
Finally, Ethan spoke. “You wanna know why I stole the bikes?”
Carter didn’t move. “If you want to tell me.”
Ethan swallowed, jaw tightening. “We were all racing back then. Me, Alexander, Mateo. There was this one race—a big one. Only one rider would be picked to go to San Francisco. Real sponsors. Real money.”
Carter nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“My bike was… expensive.” Ethan’s voice dropped. “I took money from my dad’s safe for it. He didn’t know. And Alexander and Mateo—they thought I had an edge. They hated it.”
Carter already didn’t like where this was going.
“During a practice run,” Ethan continued, “they cornered me. Forced me off the track. I jumped before the bike hit the ground and burst into flames. Saved myself, but the bike was totaled.”
Carter’s jaw clenched. Hard. “They could’ve killed you.”
Ethan shrugged, small and bitter. “Didn’t care. They just wanted me out.”
Carter stared at him, anger simmering low and steady. Not at Ethan—never at Ethan—but at the idiots who’d treated him like that.
“So,” Ethan said, voice barely above a whisper, “the night before the race… I stole both their bikes. And I trashed them. Completely. Figured if I couldn’t race, neither could they.”
Carter let out a slow breath. “Hell.”
“Yeah.” Ethan rubbed the back of his neck. “I know it was stupid.”
“It was,” Carter said honestly. Then softer, “But I get it.”
Ethan looked over, surprised. “You do?”
Carter nodded. “Someone takes something from you—something you worked for, something you cared about—you wanna hit back. Doesn’t make it right, but it makes sense.”
Ethan’s eyes softened, something warm flickering there. “Thanks.”
Carter pretended to adjust his gloves. That warmth in his chest flared again, too bright, too close. He didn’t know how to stop it. Didn’t know if he even could.
Ethan nudged him lightly with his shoulder. “Hey… thanks for today.”
Carter swallowed. “Yeah. Anytime.”
Ethan smiled—small, real—and Carter felt himself fall a little deeper into trouble.
Carter stayed quiet for a minute, letting the breeze off the lake cool the heat still buzzing in his chest. Ethan had gone still beside him, staring at the water like it held all the answers he’d never gotten.
Carter asked, “If you were that good… why didn’t you go back to racing? After all that?”
“Because my father threatened me.”
“Threatened you how?”
“He told me if I ever raced again, he wouldn’t pay for college or any of my mistakes. Not one.” Ethan’s voice was flat, but his hands were shaking a little. “And my father doesn’t make idle threats. He does what he says.”
Carter felt something cold settle under his ribs. He’d known Ethan’s father was strict, but this… this was something else.
“So I stopped,” Ethan said. “That’s why Duarte hates me.”
Carter frowned. “What does Duarte have to do with racing?”
Ethan swallowed hard. “It’s the reason I don’t drink.”
“Ethan…”
“I was drunk out of my mind that night,” Ethan said, voice cracking around the edges. “When I stole their bikes. When I trashed them. I set them on fire.”
Carter’s heart dropped. Not because of what Ethan had done—but because of the shame in his voice. The way he couldn’t look up.
“When I went home,” Ethan continued, “my father saw how drunk I was. So it wasn’t a surprise when Duarte came to arrest me the next morning.”
Something hot and fierce rose in Carter—anger, protectiveness, something he didn’t want to name. Ethan wasn’t a criminal. He was a kid who’d been cornered, bullied, and then punished for breaking under it.
Ethan blinked fast, trying to keep the tears from falling. “I know it was stupid. I know I messed up. I just—”
That was it. Carter couldn’t sit there and watch him unravel.
He reached out and pulled Ethan into his arms. Ethan stiffened for half a second, as if he weren’t sure he was allowed to be held, then melted against him, forehead pressing into Carter’s shoulder.
Carter wrapped both arms around him, one hand sliding up to the back of Ethan’s neck, thumb brushing lightly against warm skin.
He hated seeing Ethan tear up. Hated that the kid had been carrying all this alone. Hated that no one had ever stepped in before now.
“Are you okay?” Carter murmured, voice low. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”
Ethan’s fingers curled into Carter’s shirt like he needed something solid to hold onto.
Carter closed his eyes for a moment, letting the weight of Ethan against him settle deep. Too deep. Dangerous deep. He knew he shouldn’t hold him like this—not this long, not this close—but he couldn’t make himself let go.
Not when Ethan wasn’t pretending to be fine. Not when Ethan trusted him enough to fall apart. And not when Carter’s own chest ached like he’d been waiting for this moment without realizing it.