Chapter Thirty-Seven
The warmth of the sun and the sting of salt still clung to Ethan’s skin by the time they got back from swimming.
He tugged on a pair of jeans, still buzzing with that loose, radiant energy that always hit him after being in the water.
Carter looked steady as ever—calm, focused—while Ethan tried not to stare too long at the way his shirt clung to his shoulders.
They took the truck with the bikes loaded in the back, heading toward the motocross trails, and the sight of those machines in the rearview already had something sparking under Ethan’s skin.
Just knowing they were back there—real dirt bikes, not the junk he used to patch together as a kid—sent a warm rush through him.
His pulse kicked up, his fingers tapping against his knee like they were trying to match the rhythm of an engine that wasn’t even running yet.
He could practically feel the throttle in his hand, the vibration in his bones, the freedom of it waiting for him the second they hit the trail.
Once they unloaded the bikes, Carter turned to him with that look—the one that said I’m serious, don’t test me.
“Safety,” Carter told him. “No wild moves or attempted stunts. Nothing that can get you hurt.” Carter’s voice had that low, steady weight to it. “This is your only warning. Ignore the rules, and I’ll beat your ass with a paddle.”
Ethan’s shoulders pulled tight at that—half embarrassment, half… something he wasn’t ready to look at too closely.
He’s not kidding. Don’t be stupid, he told himself. Where did he get a paddle?
At first, he wasn’t. He followed every rule, kept his speed reasonable, stayed on the marked path. Carter kept glancing over, giving him these small nods that loosened something in Ethan’s chest, made him want to keep doing everything right.
But then the engine growled under him, the wind slapped his face, and muscle memory kicked in.
One second he was cruising; the next he was leaning too far into a turn, kicking up dirt, letting the back tire slide just because it felt good.
He hit a small rise and—without thinking—pulled a stunt he used to do in high school.
The rush shot through him like a live wire. God, he’d missed this.
Right up until Carter’s voice cut through the engine noise—sharp enough to jolt the breath out of him.
“Ethan! Enough!”
Ethan slowed, heart still hammering, adrenaline fizzing under his skin.
Carter pulled up beside him, jaw tight, eyes dark with that mix of fear and anger Ethan knew too well.
He knew he’d messed up. Not a little—big.
The kind of big that showed in the way Carter’s whole posture went rigid, shoulders squared like he was bracing for impact.
Carter’s voice dropped low, steady in that way that made the back of Ethan’s neck prickle. “You’re in big trouble when we get home.”
And just like that, the adrenaline twisted into something else—heat, guilt, and a tiny spark of yeah, he probably deserved that all tangled together. Ethan swallowed, very aware of how fast his heart was pounding.
Yeah… I really messed up this time.
“Get off the bike,” Carter said. “Walk it back to the truck. We’re done.”
Ethan blinked at him. “Walk it? Why? I can just—”
Carter’s eyes snapped to his. Sharp. Furious. Hurt underneath it.
“Walk. It. Back.”
Ethan froze, hands still on the handlebars. His brain scrambled for something—an excuse, a joke, anything to soften the moment—but nothing came out.
Carter’s voice cracked like a whip. “Now!”
Ethan jerked as if he’d been physically pushed. His heart thudded hard against his ribs as he swung his leg over the bike and started walking it toward the truck. The gravel crunched under his boots, loud in the silence stretching between them.
He could feel Carter behind him, pushing his own bike, radiating heat and anger like a furnace. Ethan’s face burned.
God, why did I do that? Why couldn’t I just listen for once?
They reached the truck without a single word. The air thickened enough to choke on. Carter grabbed the ramp and slammed it into place harder than necessary. Ethan flinched. He hated that he flinched.
They loaded the bikes in silence—Carter’s movements clipped and controlled, Ethan’s too careful, like he was afraid to make it worse. Which he was.
Clambering into the truck, Ethan found the cab uncomfortably cramped. The door shut with a heavy thud, and he stared straight ahead, hands clasped in his lap, trying not to fidget.
The truck door thudded shut, sealing them in with the kind of silence that made Ethan’s pulse trip over itself. The cab didn’t feel suffocating this time—just tight, like the space had shrunk around Carter’s anger. Every breath had been borrowed, like he was waiting for the next thing to crack.
Carter didn’t look at him. Not once. He just gripped the wheel, knuckles pale, jaw locked so tight Ethan could practically hear the teeth grinding.
They pulled out of the dirt lot, gravel popping under the tires. His mouth went dry as Ethan stared out the window, the world outside rushing by in a blurry, unmemorable streak.
He hated this feeling—this sinking, twisting guilt that sat low in his stomach.
Why did I do that? Why couldn’t I just listen? He told me once. One rule. One warning.
The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
Ethan finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “Carter… I shouldn’t have pushed it.”
Carter didn’t answer. Didn’t even blink. His hands stayed locked on the wheel, knuckles pale, like keeping the truck steady was the only thing stopping him from saying something he’d regret.
Ethan shifted in his seat, shoulders curling in. “I wasn’t trying to make you worry. I just… got carried away.”
Carter’s voice came out rough. “Well, you did.”
Ethan winced. That hurt more than yelling. More than anything.
The truck hummed along the highway; the sun dipping low, painting everything in warm gold that didn’t match the icy knot in Ethan’s stomach.
He shifted in his seat, fingers picking at a loose thread on his jeans. “I just… I got excited. It felt—”
“Ethan.” Carter’s tone cut him off. Not loud. Just sharp. “Stop talking.”
Ethan froze. His throat closed up.
Okay. Yeah. He’s really mad. Like… really mad.
Carter exhaled through his nose as if he were trying to keep himself together. “You could’ve gotten hurt. Badly. Do you understand that?”
Ethan nodded quickly. “I do. I swear I do.”
“Then why didn’t you act like it?”
Ethan didn’t have an answer. Not one that wouldn’t sound stupid. “I don’t know,” he said.
Carter shook his head, eyes still forward. “You’re damn lucky we’re even having this conversation and not sitting in an ER.”
Ethan sank lower in his seat, heat crawling up his neck. Shame. Embarrassment. And something else—something that made his pulse jump every time Carter’s voice dropped like that.
The closer they got to the beach house, the thicker the air grew. Like the truck itself knew what was coming.
Beside Ethan, Carter’s anger simmered, a quiet, controlled rage that hadn’t at all subsided. Every mile made Ethan’s stomach twist tighter.
He glanced at Carter’s hands on the wheel. Strong. Steady. Furious.
Ethan swallowed.
Yeah… I’m in for it. And he’s not cooling off at all.
As the beach house’s driveway came into view, Ethan’s heart hammered against his ribs, the forceful beat echoing in his throat.
Whatever was waiting for him inside… Carter wasn’t letting this go. Not tonight.
The truck rolled to a stop in front of the cabin, gravel crunching under the tires. Carter killed the engine, but he didn’t move. He just sat there like he was counting to ten in his head.
Ethan didn’t move either. His hand hovered over the seatbelt buckle, but he didn’t click it. His entire body tightened, as if he shifted even an inch he’d set Carter off again.
Finally, Carter spoke—short, clipped. “Get out.”
Ethan swallowed. “Carter… can we just—”
“Ethan.” Carter’s voice cut through the air, sharp enough to make Ethan flinch. “Out. Now.”
That tone—low, controlled, furious—sent a shiver down Ethan’s spine. Not fear exactly. More like… oh, I really did it this time.
He unbuckled slowly, fingers fumbling, and pushed the door open. The ocean breeze hit him, cool against the heat crawling up his neck. He stepped out, boots crunching on the gravel, and shut the door carefully, as if being gentle with the truck might somehow help.
Carter slammed his door. Hard.
Ethan winced.
Carter rounded the front of the truck, movements clipped and controlled, eyes dark.
He didn’t look at Ethan—just walked past him toward the porch with a kind of deliberate stillness that said he needed space before he trusted himself to speak.
The distance was like a cold draft, sharp enough to make Ethan stand a little straighter.
Ethan hesitated at the passenger side, heart thudding.
Should I follow him? Give him space? Stay put? God, I don’t know what he wants right now.
Carter stopped halfway up the steps and turned, eyes locking onto Ethan’s. “Well?” he snapped. “You planning on standing there all night?”
Ethan’s breath caught. “I—I didn’t know if you wanted—”
“I want you inside,” Carter said, voice low and tight. “We’re not doing this out here.”