Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
“Do you remember the night we met?”
It whirs through the humid air, splintering my thoughts. I turn to Carson.
Since getting into his truck, his demeanour’s been different. There’s been nothing in his expression to indicate it, but I’ve felt it. It’s there in the silence, hovering.
I didn’t think he’d cut through it to broach that. “Yes.” How can I not?
He steers a left.
Glimpses me briefly.
In that single glance, I know I’m right about something being wrong. His eyes, usually so consuming, are startlingly empty.
“You must’ve wondered,” he muses, tenor low. “Why I was cold with you.”
My fingers are too stiff around my iced-latte. I place it in the cup holder and nod. As small as it is, he catches it.
“I was fucked up that night,” he starts, each syllable heavier than the one before it.
“I’d woken from a nightmare. One of the bad ones.
” A pause. “They’re like yours. Old stuff.
Stuff I don’t talk about. I had all this adrenaline and nowhere to put it.
So I swam.” His thumb keeps time against the wheel.
“And I saw you. Long before you probably noticed me. Earphones in, head tipped to the sky, looking fucking unreal.” His voice roughens, catches, then steadies.
“I watched you walk toward the water. Seeing you… thinking you were… it dragged me back into that memory.”
I’m frozen. “Carson?”
The car coasts to a stop. He pulls the key from the ignition but his eyes don’t leave the windshield.
“You went under,” he recalls, “and I just stood there. Watching. Waiting. Figuring you’d come up any second.” He twists the key fob around his finger, his only tell. “But you didn’t. So I swam over like it was life or death, because to me, it was.”
Guilt. I feel it in droves right now.
“I was so fucking relieved when I pulled you out. Relieved that it wasn’t too late. But I didn’t know how to act or what to say.”
I remember his hands on me, so gentle, making sure I didn’t shatter.
“You were perfect,” I whisper. “I was the one who blew it. I made some dumbass joke—“
“It’s the blow,” he mutters, almost to himself.
Then he turns to me, eyes storm-dark with pain.
“For a second, I hated you. You made me relive the worst thing in my head, and then you tossed that exact reason at me. You didn’t know, but still.
” A crooked smile cuts sideways, bitter.
“So I boxed you in. Told myself you were just another pretty face with a sharp tongue and no depth. A party girl.” He shakes his head. “I had you pegged so fucking wrong.”
The sting of it lands, but I push through it to reach for him. “You’ve already apologised, Carson. And I’m so, so—”
“That’s a rehab centre,” he interjects, jerking his head forward.
My hand falls, my pulse thundering in my ears. What? I blink, finally taking in where we are.
Pale stone. Manicured green. A sprawling estate that stretches so wide the road seems to wrap around it.
“My mom’s in there.” Said so flatly, so clinically, but it lands like a blow.
I open my mouth, to say what I don’t know, but he goes on before I can figure it out.
“She’s in for drug addiction. After Dad dying, Hannah being born… postpartum hit her hard. Doctors gave her meds. They worked, until they didn’t. That’s when she gave cocaine a shot.”
All the looks.
“From there, it was a free fall. I tried to help her. I did. But it’s a one-way street if the other person won’t walk beside you. And she wouldn’t. Not then.”
He tries for detachment, but the cracks show. His hands by his knees, half-formed fists curling.
I’m speechless. Inside, some fragile, aching place quivers. I start piecing it together, his life after losing his dad. The weight he shouldered. The void he tried to fill.
So many losses. So much responsibility.
No wonder Hannah looks at him like he’s the sun, the sky and everything in between. Was he all she had?
Without thinking, I reach for his fist. He gives in immediately, fingers sliding through mine like it’s second nature. His gaze, though, remains fixed ahead.
“She used to lie to me, say she was clean, but I always knew better. Her pupils would blow out, and it was clear as day to me. We have the same eyes.”
Eyes never lie. Suddenly, the way he always searches mine makes sense. I squeeze his hand, thumb tracing the ridge of bone across his knuckles.
His voice thickens, coarser when he continues, “She went to rehab a lot over the years, but none of it stuck. Not until last year. Something shifted. I don’t know why or what happened, but she actually stayed clean for seven months.
Not even a drop of alcohol. For the first time, I thought maybe Hannah would get the mother she deserved. ”
He closes his eyes. Long lashes fall against sun-browned skin.
The air is dense.
“I was wrong.”
Empty.
The plummet in my stomach immediate.
“I walked in a few months ago and found her overdosing.” His eyes stay shut, but he doesn’t need to open them.
His body tells me everything. “I knew what to do. I made sure I knew. I recognised the signs as an opioid overdose, called it in, then went straight for the naloxone.” When he winces, I feel it like a blade brushing too close to skin.
“I still feel it sometimes. How my hand was shaking so damn hard it took me five tries to get the needle on.”
I don’t need proof. The hand I’m holding trembles.
“Carson.” It comes out all choked up. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
His eyes open at last, but shame drags mine down. My cup is ringed with fog, turning blurrier by the second. It’s only when Carson nudges my chin and swipes a finger under my eye that I feel the hot tears.
With our interlinked hands, he pulls me across the console and into his lap. One arm wraps around my back. “Don’t cry, Bri.”
The nickname burns. I should be the one holding him together. Not this. How shitty of a person am I?
“I—I caused you so—” The words strangle on my tongue and dissolve. Shame flares stronger, and I retreat until the wheel digs into my spine. I don’t deserve his comfort.
What have I done?
God, no wonder he was a wreck yesterday. I’ve been spinning so deep in my own orbit I haven’t even seen how I’ve been pulling him apart at the seams.
“Brielle, baby.” His hands frame my face, urgency in every motion. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” His thumbs chase every tear, over and over, as if trying to hold me steady. “You’ve helped me more than you know. Don’t cry.”
I try to stop, but my chest won’t settle.
Each inhale catches like glass, splintering down my lungs.
I let my hand find his hair, searching for some calm, but my mind doesn’t want to follow.
It reels. Too fast. Too dark. Rewinding, pausing, ripping through every second I must have missed—every clue—
Then it slams into me. A click so loud I almost choke on it.
“Was it… was it Janson?”
His arms drop. His face is stone again. “Yeah.”
I force myself to lock down everything ugly and dark the same way I do with Bryce. This isn’t my time to fall apart. It’s his and he needs me steady.
“Did she actually take opioids?” My voice comes low as my nails trace his scalp. “Or was it a bad batch?”
Laced coke. Accidental overdoses. You hear about them all the time. I’ve taken the same risks—nose to the mirror, begging the pain to blur.
How close have I come?
“Bad batch.” A flicker cuts across his face, there and gone before I can catch it. “First thing she touched in months… laced with fentanyl.”
I swallow. “What happened?”
He knows what I mean. With Janson.
His whole body stiffens, every muscle coiled. “I broke him. I beat him so badly and I wasn’t going to stop.”
My fingers falter mid-stroke. His gaze shoots to mine, cold. “Does that scare you, Jameson?”
Jameson. A wall coming down between us. Of all the times to push me away…
I force myself to stay loose in his lap, my hand threading through his hair like nothing’s changed.
His own flexes against my thighs, restless, but he doesn’t touch.
“The last time I got high,” I tell him, “was my first night here.” He stills. His expression isn’t as chilling. “And I can count on one hand how many times I’ve used.”
The confession lands exactly as I intend, tugging at something deep inside him. His gaze flicks rapidly between mine, as if weighing everything, and when he sees what he sees, the air rushes out of him. His hands fly back to my cheeks. “You swear it?”
“I promise.”
Something in him caves. The walls don’t just fall, they shatter, and for a heartbeat I see the wreckage beneath before he closes in.
Urgent. Fast. A collision of desperation and relief, every shift like he’s fighting to breathe through me.
The sound that leaves me is half-gasp, half-cry, and he seizes it, pulling me deeper into the moment, closer, until it’s too much—until he tears himself away with a violent curse, his head slamming against the headrest. “Fuck.”
My chest heaves. His wince finds my wide eyes, guilt carved into his features.
“I’m sorry.”
My heart races, and I have to fight the urge to press back into him. What was that? We’re friends. We’re friends.
His mouth opens, then closes again. He gives a clipped head shake. “Don’t think on it.” It’s a command on the surface, but frustration seeps through.
I swallow and nod. His eyes refuse to let me go. “Why’d you use that first night?”
The whiplash of intensity nearly knocks me off balance.
“I… I wanted to forget. I heard my parents say something, and it hurt.” Before he can probe, I push back. “What stopped you from Janson?”
“The fact that his blood brother’s my friend. He’d never stepped in before, but that night he did. He begged me, even.”
“You beat Janson more than once?”
His laugh is harsh. “Yeah. He never wanted to learn his lesson. Maybe ‘cause I was friends with Camden or maybe because his girl came onto me one time and he never got over it. I never even touched her.”
I ignore the prickling under my skin.
Carson smiles like he’s remembering something, only it’s not joy. It’s sadness.
“You know how I found out she was using? I followed her. Ended up seeing who was dealing to her too, and I was so angry I went for him. He was a burly fucker but I was so furious I could take him. I was taking him, but then I just… stopped. I let him beat the shit out of me, thinking if she saw me like that, she’d quit.
” His mouth twists. “Black eyes. Broken nose. She just swapped dealers.”
My heart hurts, and I trace the ridge of his nose. Before I can think better of it, I press the tenderest of kisses to it.
His eyes shut, his voice guttural. “You can’t do shit like that.”
I freeze. Like what? Kiss him on the nose? But he can kiss me the way he just did?
“Why?”
“It makes it harder for me to be patient. To be considerate of your feelings. Whether you’re ready or not.”
A jolt shoots through me, confusion tangled in the thrum of my pulse. Ready for what?
“Ready for what?”
“Me.”
The world halts. I stare at him, frozen. He stares back, holding me there.
He can’t mean it. No. I won’t let myself believe it.
So I reach for the only out I have. “Why’d you bring me here, Carson?”
Nothing. His gaze doesn’t waver.
I shift against the wheel, completely off-kilter. “Do you… do you want me to come with you?”
Something gives—hope, fear, maybe both. Then, the tiniest nod. “Please.”