Chapter 19 The Meeting
THE MEETING
BECKY
Iwake with a start, opening my dry as fuck eyes to a familiar, but out of place, set of open blinds.
I grunt in dissatisfaction and squeeze my eyes shut, rubbing them with the heel of my hands.
They feel swollen, and my head is pounding—all from a mother fucking I-cried-all-night hangover.
My eyes pop right back open at the reminder, and I blearily focus over at the other side of my massive sectional couch at my soundly sleeping companion. Carter.
Stunned at the night’s revelations, we sat in silence, then I broke the uneasy silence by extricating myself from his arms and asking if he wanted anything to drink. He shrugged his answer; however, I needed to do something with my hands, so I decided that was an agreement shrug.
The ritual of preparing the tea was an easy process to lose myself in.
My hands worked through the familiar steps and my mind eased into focusing on the simple movements.
First, the water in the kettle. Then, put the kettle on.
I grabbed his mug, sifted through the selection in our tea drawer, grabbed his favorite, then when I had it in the cup, the water was ready.
I poured the steaming liquid into the cup, the bag floating momentarily before it saturated and sunk back into the cup to steep properly.
I took note of the time, then took care of some of the dishes in the sink and fed the obviously famished dogs.
I checked the clock again after a bit and returned to the steaming cup.
Thankfully, the string remained along the outside, providing me an easy hold to lift and dip the bag.
I dipped it slowly up and back down, until the flavor thoroughly seeped into the hot water, darkening until I could no longer see the bottom.
The imagery was an odd reflection of the darkness clouding my own thoughts.
A small dribble of honey, and I knew it was perfect.
The moon broke out from behind the clouds just as I returned to the living room with his mug and his favorite tea flawlessly prepared.
My eyes fixed on the full, shockingly bright orb when I held Carter’s cup out to him.
I was fixated enough that it took me a minute to realize he wasn't taking it.
I resisted the urge to give it a little shake—because hot burning liquid—and finally checked if he was even looking.
Oh, he was looking. Carter was staring at the mug in my hands with an unreadable expression.
His throat moved in an exaggerated swallow, but otherwise he didn’t make a move to take it.
I didn’t budge, didn’t say a word. I watched him watch the cup, but his eyes grew unfocused.
He opened his mouth to say something only to immediately shut it again.
One of our dogs yelped at the other in the kitchen, causing him to blink a few times before his eyes refocused, and he was reaching out and taking his wrench mug from my hand.
A tentative sip was followed by a softening of his features—exactly what I was aiming for.
What followed was a bunch of talking about pretty much nothing of importance late into the night.
The change from one worded grunted responses to soft laughter and sharing our precious memories was subtle yet natural as breathing.
It only ended when the man started snoring in the middle of one of my students’ shenanigans.
We stayed far away from anything heavy. A tacit agreement that we’ve had enough heavy for awhile.
He slept, and I watched him, thinking about everything I learned. To say I have conflicted feelings would be a wild understatement.
Restless from last night’s memories, I sit up and stretch my arms high over my head, accidentally hitting the blinds and making them rattle.
I freeze at the sound and shoot a quick glance at Carter.
His mouth is wide open, and he doesn’t even flinch at the sound.
Slowly, I bring my hand back down and finish my small stretch in a more contained way.
A giant yawn comes over me and—I can’t think thoughts. Need coffee now.
With another quick peek at Carter, I gingerly ease up off the couch and creep to the coffee maker. There are way too many nuances involved in everything I’ve learned in the last ten hours for me to think about this clusterfuck uncaffeinated.
I nab my perfect blend from the cabinet and frown.
This bag is brand new. And—wait. I haven’t had to buy coffee in a month.
I exclusively buy this brand in the smaller bags.
It’s the one splurge I allow myself. Carter’s large body draped over the couch is all I need to solve the mystery.
I shake my head, prep, and start the machine.
Certain events from the previous night prevented me from having already freshly brewed coffee by this time, so now I scoop the optimal amount of grounds and start the slow drip of caffeinated perfection.
The hypnotizing, slow drip of my coffee brewing lulls me into an easy state of contemplation.
My eyes are on the coffee, but my mind is somewhere else. Namely, on Carter.
The jarring transition from being ninety-nine percent sure my ex-fiancé is a philandering fool to learning what actually happened over the summer is hard to compartmentalize.
It’s nuanced and full of misunderstood and unknown depths.
In some ways, I’m even more lost. Questions I would never ask outloud populate my head.
Am I selfish for still being hurt by everything that he did have control over?
What is his fault? Where do I draw the line? Can I hurt her the way she hurt us?
I believe that I’m going to struggle with what I can be upset over versus what was out of his hands. It makes me so angry, so sad, and so confused.
It also makes me want to wreck a bitch.
Violence foremost on my mind, I move over to my cabinet and find my Still here.
Still bitter. mug. Perfect. Except the coffee is not done brewing.
My head hits the counter with a soft, but still harder-than intended, thud.
I learned at a Stewart family get-together that one does not simply interrupt the brewing process to fill your cup.
It is a cardinal sin in the Stewart household.
The pot continues dripping at a slow, uninterrupted pace. I can’t stop the heavy sigh that escapes me as my mind cycles through what I know now and what I knew then.
I know now that there were signs, but I was taken by absolute shock when Carter had told me he had actually physically cheated on me with another woman so many weeks ago.
That night I confronted him, I was mentally preparing myself for him crossing other boundaries, never physical boundaries.
The revelation was a slap I stupidly never expected, even with what I saw that awful night.
Now, though? Now I’m heartbroken for the same situation but in a completely different way.
The coffee finally completes its all-important job, ending on a beautiful beep, and I pour some liquidsoulrepair into my mug.
The sound of it is a balm on my frayed nerves.
A fortifying sip, “mmm.” Love and hate that flavor.
I pop over to the fridge and grab my milk and creamer mixture, and I pour far too much into my cup and watch it turn a dark cup of coffee into my favorite drink.
I take my second sip and eye Carter on the couch.
The slumped form of my ex-fiancé is a distraction, even in his disheveled, sleeping state.
A sliver of skin shows above his jeans, and I take another sip of coffee, to redirect my wandering thoughts.
Shit, brain. You fucking hussy-ass. What Carter said the previous night was true.
It has always felt like his body and soul belonged to me, almost from the beginning.
Even while we weren’t dating, I felt it.
I knew he was all-in and waiting for me.
I didn’t make it the entire year I asked for before we were practically acting and living like we were together.
We were best friends from the second day we met.
Best friends who wanted to touch each other inappropriately.
I snort. Carter always said that once we made things official.
I didn’t want to jump into anything, but honestly, we were doing couple’s things with Trev and Paige within a few weeks of our first movie marathon.
We were best friends until he started to hide things from me—until he started to lie.
No, he didn’t physically cheat on me, but he did emotionally cheat on me. I sigh into my mug of coffee, and that’s apparently loud enough to wake Carter.
His eyes shoot open and he sits up fast enough to make me feel lightheaded.
He looks over at me, and takes me in where I’m leaning against the cabinets.
I never changed from what I was wearing the other day, a tank top, shorts, and sports bra.
But you wouldn’t know it the way Carter stares me down.
Up and down my mostly bare legs, across my bare shoulders and lingering on my mostly concealed cleavage.
He licks his lips, and I snap him out of it.
“Carter.” His eyes fly to mine and stick. And maybe they were safer on my body because his gaze is burning into mine. But then, something happens, and his eyes shutter.
He looks down into his clasped hands and answers, “yeah,” all gruff and raspy.
It’s not my job to fix this. I’m going to do it anyway, but I don’t have to. For some reason, that makes me feel better.
“Hey,” look at me. He looks again. This time, it’s with shame written in every line of his face. “You need to talk to someone.” I tell him, walking closer. “You need to report her, Carter.”