Chapter Forty-Six
Forty-Six
And Carson…
Carson’s been my gravity.
The constant through the churn. Therapy. Long days. Longer nights. He’s there when the shadows stretch, arms open and heartbeat steady. He’s there in the mornings too, finding new ways to make me feel whole again.
Just yesterday, his alarm went off at six. Rather than hit snooze, he did something better. He rolled over, pressed his face into the crook of my neck, and breathed warmth into my skin on a groan.
“Don’t wanna move.”
Still half-dreaming, I drew him closer, shifting until his weight settled perfectly against me. “Nap after training,” I mumbled.
What he said next snapped me awake
“It’s not sleep I’m fighting for, baby. Wanna stay here, with you.”
It’s the little things with Carson. The way it comes so effortlessly to him, like breathing. He’ll never know how much moments like that loosen the ugly tangles of guilt I’ve been carrying.
“I’m sorry for all the mess,” I told him after we got back from dinner one night.
His room, once all crisp lines and clean surfaces, was now an explosion of me.
Beauty products on the dresser, hair clips scattered on the floor, my clothes spilling from his drawer. “I feel like I’ve ruined your space.”
But he stopped cold, brows knitting. “Brielle,” his voice went gruff, “you’re apologising for making this place feel like a home?
” He closed the gap, palms firm on my cheeks like he was pressing a truth into me.
“I fucking love this. Your candles, your mess, your things tangled with mine. Don’t ever apologise for making it ours. ”
And just like that, he makes me feel like I belong.
It’s not always linear though; some of the lows have been lower than ever. Like last Thursday, when he found me on the bathroom floor, knees to chest, sobbing like the cold tiles could take it all away.
He was there instantly, dropping down beside me. “Woah, hey.” He folded me into his chest, arms wrapping like he could hold me together through sheer will. “Hey. Shhh, I’ve got you. You’re okay, Bri. You’re okay.”
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” I choked. “I don’t want you to think I’m not doing better.”
He only pulled me closer. “Healing’s not about never hurting, baby. Maybe it just means not doing it alone.”
And I’m not—doing it alone. He asks so much about her. What kind of music she liked. Her favorite thing to do. What having her as my twin was like.
“Protected.”
His breath was a steady touch at my nape as his fingers threaded through my hair. Golden light spilled through the window, curling around our cross-legged forms on the bedroom floor. It was tender. Still. Another sunset to carry with me when all was said and done.
“There was this boy in fourth grade who hated me for no reason,” I told him. “Just picked me out one day on the playground and decided I was his target.”
Carson’s hands slowed. “Yeah?”
“One day he smuggled in scissors. Said he was gonna cut off my braid.”
That made him halt completely. “Then what?”
“I froze. But Bryce…” A smile crept up, unbidden. “Bryce decked him before he even got close. Just stomped over and punched him square in the face.”
Carson let out a whistle. “She was fierce, huh? Always had your back.”
Like you, I almost said. But I buried it under bone and heartbeat. It’s true, though. He’s always there. Maybe more than I am for him. But I try. I am trying. Because I’m not the only one in need of a helping hand sometimes.
He wasn’t his usual self at dinner. We might have done our usual song and dance of cooking and dining as a house, but I knew him well enough to see it was only motions.
Normally, I’d hang back, slip onto the back deck where Dylan would eventually find me with his quiet company.
But not tonight.
Carson sat on the edge of the bed when I found him, head bowed as he towelled off his neck.
I lingered in the doorway. “Hey.”
The leftover drip-drip of the showerhead answered louder than he did. “Hey.”
He didn’t look up. Why didn’t he look up? “You okay?”
He gave a tiny dip of his shoulder. Not a yes. Not a no. Just a holding pattern.
I moved closer, careful with each step. Slipped the towel from his hands and worked it through his hair. He let me, unmoving except for those little exhales that rolled in and out like waves.
My fingers slid through his damp hair, combing it the way I’d done a few times before. “You cut it,” I murmured. Back to that clean, cropped look.
His voice came, a little low, a lot worn, “Yeah.”
“You want to talk?”
The pause that followed was long enough for hope to stir. Then he gave the smallest shake of his head, and it slipped away.
He didn’t want to, and that was okay. I wouldn’t push.
“Lie down.” I nudged his shoulder. “On your stomach.”
His gaze finally lifted, and his jaw loosened just enough for exhaustion to show through.
“Trust me,” I whispered.
He did. He rolled over and stretched flat across the bed without preamble. I reached into the bedside drawer, grabbed the lavender oil, then climbed over him, knees bracketing his sides.
Slow. Steady. Intentional. Each pass of my hands worked deeper into the knots I found. His muscles told me where the weight lived; his stuttering breath told me when I was easing it loose.
I loved this, I realised. Taking care of him.
When I dug into a coil near his shoulder, his exhale escaped rough. “God, that feels so good, Bri.”
I bent to kiss the spot, lingering there for a heartbeat. “I’m glad.”
Silence followed, except for the muted slide of my hands over him. Then, quietly, “Thanks. I needed this.” A pause, followed by something he didn’t owe me but gave anyways. “It’s just… some shit with my grandfather. That’s what’s got me like this.”
It’s crazy how that little in makes me feel warmer than ever, even though the light’s fading earlier and summer’s edging toward its end.
My head rests in his lap. Normally the sun, the cradle of his thighs, and the cadence of his voice are enough to pull me under. But not this time. This time I’m awake, listening. Not to the story, not to the words.
To him.
My head lifts and falls as he shifts, adjusting just enough to tuck me closer. I barely notice.
“Carson?”
“Mhm?” He carries on reading, but his fingers slow in my hair.
“What happens when summer’s up?” There’s a lot I think about these days, but there’s still two things I can’t face. This is one of them.
That makes him stop. More than stop. He might try to hide it but I feel the change ripple through his frame beneath me. His gaze drifts to my face, and I feel like he’s not reading the book anymore, he’s reading me.
“What about it?” His tone is careful, but his body has already betrayed him.
“I mean…” I swallow, gaze slipping away even though he’s all around me.
That’s when he sighs. “There’s still a few weeks left, Bri.” He tilts my chin until I’m looking at him again, pinned by the seriousness in his stare. “And just because summer’s ending doesn’t mean this is.”
This.
This is the other thing I don’t like to think too hard on. Because whatever it is, it terrifies me.