Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Lulling strokes sift through my hair as warmth bathes me. I sink deeper into the source, limbs undulating with content, and the rhythm beneath my fingertips falters, one skipped beat, then another.
My lashes flutter. A thin band of light spills across the oak beam above, and just like that, everything rushes back.
Last night.
Him.
Us.
I’m held in Carson’s arm, his hand at my hip brushing back and forth. Not with the force of yesterday’s storm, but with the kind of care that anchors.
Heat climbs my nape, my chest tightening around the realisation.
I’d given in. To him. To us.
And it hadn’t just been good. It had been everything.
I’ve never experienced anything like it.
How he matched me at every turn, fierce where I needed fire, unyielding where I wavered, soft where I broke.
Every exchange between us struck the same unspoken chord, as if our souls understood what our words never could.
His hold didn’t just anchor; it claimed my fear and scattered it.
My own grip wasn’t just holding on; it was trust, raw and unguarded.
By the time his forehead fell against mine, and our breaths tangled, it didn’t feel like we were breaking anymore. It felt like we were carrying the weight together.
The absence of his hand in my hair tugs me out of last night’s haze. White noise hums in my ears, and it takes longer than it should to summon the courage to look up at him.
The light loves him this morning, gold washing across his face, muting harsh angles into something almost gentle, something almost…
boyish. My pulse skips at the sight of the face I now know in a way I didn’t before, at the curl of lashes framing grey eyes that had been intent on me all night, never once straying.
Now, though, they’re fixed on a prescription label stamped across plastic.
That’s all it takes for the ecstasy to snuff.
I let my gaze settle on tawny skin stretched over sinew and ridges, pretending if I stay close enough maybe, just maybe, I can burrow inside and hide from what’s in his hand.
Last night, with Carson consuming every corner of my senses, I managed to forget. But with the break of dawn, walls I built crumble just as easily.
What do I do?
I can’t sweep this under the rug, not like I do with my own mess. I can’t stay silent, not like I do about the distance splintering wider between my parents and me.
And even though it cuts deep, feeling like I’ve already lost them, I can’t bear the thought of them losing themselves too. That’s part of the reason I’ve kept away. I don’t want to be a constant reminder of everything they’ve lost.
Does my father know? He has to. He’s been glued to her side. Maybe this is the real reason we’ve come to Grove. Maybe this is the healing that has to be done.
Carson’s sleep-roughened notes rasp through the air. “These your mom’s?”
My tongue thickens, and I nod against his torso.
His hand finds my hair again, fingers pressing circles into my scalp. “Why did you come here?”
I close my eyes, torn between the comfort of his touch and the weight pressing down on me.
Settled into the curve of his body, the admission is muffled against him.
“There were so many bottles, Carson. In her room. All empty. I didn’t…
” My throat catches, a ball of tension burning its way down.
“I didn’t know she was on anything. Which is stupid, because looking back, the signs were there. I thought she was just…”
“Just?” Carson prompts, strained.
Grieving. I shake my head. “I don’t know.” Silence descends after the lie, and I try to rectify it with a brittle truth. “I think she might be addicted.”
A harsh breath shudders through him. A moment later, something brushes the top of my head, so light, so careful it unravels me.
“I fucking hate that for you, Bri.”
He’s not lying. The way it lands is so unflinching. But there’s something so significant about his word choice. It’s me he expresses sympathy for, not my mother.
My bottom lip wobbles.
“I came here because… Well, it wasn’t really a conscious decision. I just blinked and I was at yours.”
“Brielle...” He intones, tilting my head back. “That’s not normal, baby.”
Baby. The endearment jolts my heart into overdrive, pulse ricocheting everywhere at once. It’s not the first time he’s called me that, but with the deep grey of his eyes muted by tenderness and the imprint of him still burning on my skin, it sounds like I’m his.
I look away, overwhelmed. His fingers don’t let me, brushing stray strands from my forehead and pulling me back into his orbit until I can’t tell where I end and he begins. All I know is this: I exist fully here, with him.
The truth spills before I can choke it back. “I just wanted to be with you.”
His fingers stall.
Silence mantles.
Regret swarms. The words are out there and there’s no taking them back.
Fuck.
Panic surges. I wrench myself from his hold, scrambling back, but Carson is faster, always faster. His hands lock onto my waist, halting me before I can flee. The grip has no give, tugging me into the heat of him until his T-shirt I’m wearing bunches higher on my thighs.
My breathing quickens. I fixate on the sunlit ridges of him I memorised last night, simply because I’m too afraid to lift my gaze. Too afraid to glean that last night was simply a conduit for his hurt, and nothing more. Nothing like what it was for me. Which is absurd, because we can’t be more.
Then, low but firm enough to slice through the panic, his command lands.
“Eyes.”
I incline my head, the gesture faltering midway before I let it land. Instantly I’m bewitched by the molten heat in his eyes. It cools under an observation. “You’re scared.”
I… I nod.
“Why, Bri? Talk to me,” he says. “Give me some honesty.”
So I do.
“I don’t know what…” I point between us. “This is.” I hate how small the admission sounds.
His gaze ticks between mine like he’s trying to read a language only I know. Beneath it, something so intense lurks, betrayed only by the tightening at the corners of his eyes. Then he asks, so measured that it falls like a drawl, “What do you want it to be?”
Everything.
My hands fist. Nothing.
I stare at the bedspread, chin tucked tight into the hollow of my neck as the war wages inside me. My heart wants one thing—him—but my mind wants something else: protect. Him. Myself. We can’t be a thing, it insists.
How am I supposed to grasp that when we felt like a perfect fit?
Being with him was better than any high. His arms were the only place I could set the burden down, the only place the grief didn’t win.
Still, the truth presses in, ice creeping under the skin. Loving means losing.
The clock ticks as my silence drags on. I don’t even notice how tight Carson’s hold has grown until, suddenly, it loosens. He fills the quiet, his tone strangely flat. “I’m your best friend, Bri.”
The column of his throat flexes like he’s swallowed something bitter. When my gaze trails upwards, I see the same blankness carved into his face.
“Best friend?” I echo. The term rolls around in my head, heavy and light at once. Something about it lifts me even as it knots my stomach. It fits, doesn’t it? He’s the one I run to when I need comfort.
Maybe if I cling to that label, maybe if I focus on it hard enough, I can trick my heart. Rewire it to match what he feels for me.
His jaw ticks, then smooths, a nod following. “Whatever you want me to be, I’m yours.”
I probably imagined the slight emphasis on yours, but my heart tingles like I didn’t. “Okay,” I murmur, almost shy. Which isn’t like me at all, so I press my hand to his chest, looking at him head-on. “I’m your best friend too.”
I don’t expect his forehead to fall to mine. Shadows deepen around us. “You don’t regret anything?” Last night.
Regret? That’s the furthest thing from what I feel. “Never,” I whisper. Even if it was a line we shouldn’t have crossed.
His head tilts, lips whispering against mine in the faintest graze. I freeze, but before I can chase it, he’s already pulling back, leaving me off-kilter. His face is suddenly grave. “I wanna take you somewhere.”
“Today?”
“Now.”