Chapter Thirty-Five
Carter packed fast, movements sharp and controlled.
Shirts folded into neat lines, duffel zipped before the fabric even settled.
He hauled the gear outside, the cool air hitting the tension riding high in his shoulders.
He set everything in the truck a little too carefully—trying to hide the edge he hadn’t shaken off.
They lifted each bike into the truck bed, muscle memory doing most of the work. Still, Carter’s grip stuck on the handlebars a beat too long, knuckles pale against the metal. The ratchet straps snapped tight, each click louder than it should’ve been in the quiet morning.
Ethan didn’t say anything, but Carter felt the kid watching him. Curious. Maybe worried. Carter kept his eyes on the bikes, pretending to check the straps again even though he’d already checked them twice.
Mr. Evans had already sent the directions.
Glass Beach.
The family’s beach house.
Carter tried not to think too much about what it meant that Ethan’s father trusted him enough to send them there together. Every ounce of the weight of trust settled upon his shoulders.
They hit the road, grabbed food, then ended up at the mall because Ethan needed clothes. Carter told himself it was practical—Ethan did need new things after the break-in—but the truth slipped through in small ways he couldn’t hide.
Every time Ethan held something up—jeans, a shirt, even that stupid backwards cap—Carter felt his mouth twitch. The kid lit up over everything, and it got to him more than he liked to admit.
He used Mr. Evans’s card to grab the basics: jeans, shirts, shorts, trunks.
Ethan pointed at a tablet, and Carter didn’t even think—just added it.
Then he saw the boots. His kind. Slip ons, no laces.
He grabbed a pair in Ethan’s size before he could talk himself out of it.
Something about Ethan wearing boots like his hit deeper than he wanted to unpack.
He tossed trunks, boots, and sandals for both of them on the counter with his own card.
Too much. He knew it. But Ethan looked happy, and Carter couldn’t bring himself to say no. Ethan thanked him each time for everything.
Back in the truck, he gripped the wheel instead of starting the engine. His thumb tapped against the leather, nerves running ahead of him. Ethan shifted beside him, waiting.
Carter stared out at the parking lot lights, everything a little blurred at the edges. The words slipped out before he could stop them. “What if I’m taking advantage of you? What if she was right?” It wasn’t careful or planned—just fear hitting hard and fast. His knuckles went white on the wheel.
Ethan turned toward him immediately. “Carter, stop.”
But the panic was already there, buzzing under his skin. Carter couldn’t. The words had been sitting in his chest since they left the cabin.
“I mean… yes, your father hired me to protect you as my secondary job. My primary job is to run the ranch. And I’m here, not at the ranch, buying you half a damn mall with his credit card and taking you to your family beach house like—” He exhaled hard. “Like I forgot what my job even is.”
“Carter,” Ethan said again, softer this time. “I came out to you. I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.”
“Ethan, you’re only twenty-one and I’m twenty-eight. I’m seven years older than you.”
“So what? I want an older man. You can’t tell me what I like or want.”
Carter wanted to believe that. He did. Doubt continued creeping in. “But one day soon we have to tell your father.”
“Then what happens if we tell him?” Ethan shrugged. “If he hates us, then he hates us. Like your family.”
That hit harder than Ethan probably meant it to.
Carter swallowed, finally started the engine and drove, eyes fixed on the road, fingers tightening on the wheel until the leather creaked.
He wanted to reach for Ethan’s hand—just a brush of his knuckles, something small—but he kept both hands where they were, like moving even an inch would cross a line he wasn’t sure he had the right to blur.
“I want to be with you,” Carter said, the words rough around the edges. “I just… there’s a lot tied up in this. More than I know how to explain.”
He didn’t look over. Couldn’t. Not when the weight of Mr. Evans’s trust sat between them like a third passenger.
Ethan leaned forward in the seat, watching him with that steady, earnest look that always made Carter feel seen in a way he wasn’t used to.
“You’re protecting me,” Ethan said. “And during… we fell for each other. Right?”
Pressure gathered beneath Carter’s ribs, sharp and sudden. Yeah. They had. And that was the problem and the truth all at once. He nodded. “We did.”
They reached the coast just as the sky started turning that soft, late-afternoon gold.
Carter pulled into a beachside restaurant with a wooden deck that overlooked the ocean.
The distinct aroma of grilled fish and the briny scent of the sea filled the air, accompanied by the persistent roar of the ocean meeting the stone shore.
They ordered dinner, and while they waited, Ethan pointed out toward the water. “I used to come here with Sarah,” he said. “We stayed with our grandparents. We’d swim all day. They took us kayaking, tide pooling… all kinds of stuff.”
“Why did your family choose this beach near Fort Bragg?” Carter asked.
Ethan leaned back in his seat, watching the water with a soft, familiar smile. “My grandfather retired here,” he said. “He was an Admiral. Coast Guard. This was his favorite stretch of the coast.”
Carter’s grip stilled.
An Admiral.
Ethan kept talking, voice warm with memory. “He used to bring us down to the station sometimes. Not inside, but close enough to see the boats go out. He loved it here.”
“Did your father also enlist in the Coast Guard?”
“No, he told me he was too busy at the ranch.”
Carter didn’t say anything right away. The idea of Ethan’s childhood tied to this coastline—sun, salt, a man in uniform teaching him how to read the tides—settled over Carter in a way he didn’t expect.
“The odd thing was my grandparents didn’t speak to my father because they hated my mother. So, my grandfather picked us up in front of our home and took us here and returned us.”
Carter almost had to laugh at his grandparents not approving of Ethan’s mother, but he didn’t. She was a major problem for the Evans family.
Ethan reached across the table and took Carter’s hand, thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. “Tell me why you’re not smiling.”
Carter blinked, caught off guard. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” Ethan squeezed his hand. “Why are you so upset? Did you… change how you feel about me?”
The question hit Carter like a punch. He sat back, trying to find the right words. He didn’t want to scare Ethan. He didn’t want to lie either.
“No,” Carter said. “I didn’t change how I feel. That’s the problem.”
Ethan frowned, confused.
He didn’t look at Ethan when he spoke. He didn’t trust what might show on his face.
“Something changed. I feel it,” Ethan said.
“It’s been a long day.”
It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. The truth sat somewhere deeper—tight, unsettled, shifting every time Ethan leaned closer or brushed his knee against Carter’s under the table. Carter’s hand twitched like he wanted to reach back… and didn’t. Ethan noticed. Of course he did.
“You keep doing that,” Ethan murmured.
“Doing what?”
“Pulling away like you’re afraid someone’s watching.”
Carter hadn’t realized he was doing it, not consciously.
Ethan leaned forward, studying him with that open, earnest look that always made Carter feel too seen. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
Carter didn’t answer right away, instead he watched a wave break against the rocks with the spray glinting in the last of the light.
“I’m not pretending,” Carter said, voice low. “Just… thinking.”
Ethan didn’t push, but his hand drifted across the table, stopping just short of Carter’s. Not touching—waiting. An invitation, not a demand.
Carter hesitated. His fingers twitched toward Ethan’s, then curled back around his glass instead. The ice clinked, betraying the tremor he tried to hide.
Ethan’s expression shifted—hurt emerging there for a second before he masked it with something gentler. “If you don’t want to hold my hand out here, that’s okay,” he said. “Just… don’t shut me out.”
Carter closed his eyes for a beat. He hated Ethan could read him this easily. Hated that he couldn’t explain the mess in his chest without saying too much. Without saying the wrong thing.
“It’s not you,” Carter said, barely above a whisper.
“Okay, then.” Ethan paused. “But it feels like something’s eating at you.”
Carter didn’t answer. He couldn’t—not without laying everything bare. Instead, he reached out and brushed his thumb against the back of Ethan’s hand. Ethan’s shoulders eased. Just a little.
And Carter’s guilt shifted again—no longer a weight, but a soft ache that settled behind his ribs. Not gone. Not even close. But different now, shaped by the way Ethan looked at him. Carter pulled his hand back slowly.
Ethan leaned in, voice low and steady, like he was trying to pull Carter back from whatever edge he’d wandered onto. “Carter… you didn’t take advantage of me. I know what I’m doing. I know what I want.”
Carter swallowed hard. The room felt too tight, too loud, even though no one else was paying them any attention.
“I’m not worried about us ending,” he said. “That’s not it.” His fingers curled against his knee, trying to hold the rest in place. “I just… I don’t want to fail you. Or betray what your father trusted me with.”
The words came out rougher than he meant, but they were the truth. And saying them didn’t make the guilt any lighter.
He took Ethan’s hand again and squeezed, letting the warmth of it bleed into him. “I’m okay,” he said. “Just… thinking.”
Ethan creased his brow. “About us?”
“About everything,” Carter said, which was true enough.
Ethan smiled.
Carter squeezed Ethan’s hand again, softer this time. “Let’s finish dinner,” he said. “We’ll talk more when we get home.”
By the time they climbed into the truck, Carter kept his eyes forward, jaw set, hands steady on the wheel. He didn’t pull away from Ethan. But he didn’t reach for him either. The coastline stretched out ahead of them, wild and open. The shift inside him—was a weight he wasn’t ready to name.
Not yet.
You’re supposed to protect him, not fall for him.
You’re supposed to honor his father’s trust.
You’re supposed to know better.
The road to the beach house curved along the coastline, headlights catching the white churn of the waves.
Carter kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, fingers tapping restlessly.
Ethan watched the coastline roll by, occasionally glancing at Carter like he was trying to read him without making it obvious.
When they pulled into the long sandy driveway, the house came into view—a turquoise beach place with white trim and a wide porch built for ocean breezes. The sign above the steps read SEA GLASS, the letters worn soft by years of salt and sun.
Ethan leaned forward, eyes bright. “I remember playing here in the summers,” he said. “We used to run up and down that porch. Sarah and I would race to see who could get to the water first.”
Carter climbed out of the truck, stretching his back, pretending the tightness in his shoulders was from the drive and not from the mess in his head. Ethan came around the front of the truck and stopped beside him, looking up at the house with a smile.
“This place is beautiful,” Carter said.
“Yeah,” Ethan murmured. “It always felt safe.”
Safe. Where wasn’t he safe as a child? And here Carter was, tangled up in feelings he wasn’t sure he had any right to have.