20. Chapter Twenty - Empty Relief #2
The response from the hallway was a mix of giggles, flirtation, and voices buzzing with alcohol, unbothered by anything beyond the next drink or the next body.
When I stepped out again, Carter didn’t try to touch me or make small talk.
We were strangers again. Strangers who’d just borrowed each other’s skin for a while.
“I’m ready,” I said softly.
He nodded, and we slipped out of the room.
The couple waiting outside pushed past us with an eagerness bordering on impatience.
They barely glanced at Carter. Their attention locked on me instead with raised brows, knowing grins, and the unspoken judgment people saved for girls who didn’t bother pretending innocence.
Their expressions said everything: We know exactly what you just did.
I held their gaze, then looked away first. I had no interest in winning that sort of game.
We headed down the stairs, the music pressing against our bodies in thick waves, lights flashing across hazy faces and spilled drinks. The chaos of it felt unreal now, like I was walking underwater. Halfway to the door, my gaze snagged on a familiar figure across the room. Breeanna.
She didn’t approach, but her eyes tracked us with precision keen enough to cut. When her gaze flicked to Carter, something raw swelled beneath the mascara and perfect lip gloss. It was enough to make my breath catch.
She loved him, or thought she did. And I was the accident that walked into her battlefield without knowing the rules.
My stomach twisted with realization. I wasn’t competing with her because I didn’t even want him. I just wanted to be wanted in the most uncomplicated way possible. But somehow, I’d still become the weapon in someone else’s story, caught up in the fallout without even meaning to.
The door shut behind us, muffling the party into a dull buzz.
“Somethin’ up?” Carter asked, twirling his keys around his finger. He didn’t sound guilty or conflicted, just curious.
“No,” I answered quickly, stretching my arms overhead as if I could shake off the heaviness clinging to my chest. “Just tired.”
He yawned, slipping into the driver’s seat. “Same.”
The drive home was quiet. Not awkward, just weighed down by everything we weren’t saying.
I leaned my forehead against the cool glass, watching the dark blur of trees pass by in flashes of silver and shadow.
Moonlight streaked across the windshield, carving pale lines through the dark that made me feel strangely exposed.
Eventually, the words slipped out. “How long have you known Breeanna?”
Carter sucked in a quick breath through his teeth, clearly not expecting the question. “Yeah… call it two years, give or take.”
His voice softened into a mumble. I didn’t bother untangling it, letting the words dissolve into the low hum of the engine while I sat there wondering why I’d even asked in the first place and why her expression still lingered in my head.
I stared out the window. “Do you know she likes you?”
He smirked, eyes fixed on the road. “’Lot’sa girls like me, Ira.”
“Not the way she does,” I replied quietly.
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel for half a second. “What’s that supposed t’ mean?”
“She looks at you like you hung the damn stars.”
The humor drained from my voice as exhaustion settled deeper into my bones, the kind that had nothing to do with how late it was.
He didn’t answer. Not because he lacked one, but because caring required effort, and effort didn’t seem to fit anywhere inside his script. Sitting beside him, I could already feel the distance widening between us despite the cramped space inside the car.
“Go on,” Carter said eventually, steering us toward my street. “You had fun, didn’t ya?”
“It was alright,” I answered, the lie slipping out smooth enough to sound believable even to myself.
“That doesn’t sound promising,” Carter said, glancing over. “Was it proper bad, then?”
“It wasn’t bad,” I replied, sitting up straighter and brushing at the hem of my skirt like it had personally offended me. “I came for one reason.” I met his eyes briefly. “If you know what I mean.”
He coughed, clearly thrown off. “Mmm… that do anything for ya?”
“It was what I needed,” I said, wrapping half-truths in confidence. He hadn’t even made me finish, but dismantling his ego sounded exhausting. “So don’t worry about it.”
His shoulders loosened, confidence settling back over him with easy familiarity.
“If ya like, we could always run it back.”
Carter didn’t strike me as the type who went back for seconds.
He felt more like the kind of guy who collected quick moments and tossed them aside once the novelty faded, already moving toward the next thing before the first one fully settled.
Still, there was something softer brushing against his voice now.
Curious, maybe. Or maybe I was just hearing what I wanted to hear because the night had left me emotionally wrung out.
I chewed my lip before murmuring, “Make sure there’s food next time.”
His head snapped toward me, a grin spreading across his face. “I’d like that. Grabbin’ some grub wit’ ya.”
Something about that landed oddly in my chest. It wasn’t exactly butterflies or excitement.
Just the faint sense that he was trying on the idea of liking me to see whether it fit him.
Either way, Breeanna’s feelings clearly ran deeper than I’d first realized, and getting tangled inside something messy and one-sided wasn’t exactly high on my list of goals.
When we pulled up, I stepped out and leaned into his open window, offering a small wave.
“Thanks for tonight. We’ll do this again sometime. Bye.”
I let myself into the house quietly, but my ma was already waiting in the living room, arms crossed and brows lifted in an unmistakable mom-coded mix of concern and curiosity.
“New friend?” she asked.
“Sorta,” I shrugged. Calling him a friend felt easier than explaining that he was really nothing.
“Well, at least he brought you home.” She sniffed the air. “How much did you drink?”
“Too much,” I muttered. “It didn’t taste very good.”
She smiled, choosing not to lecture. “As long as you were being safe.”
“Of course, Ma.” I wandered into the kitchen and peeled open a yogurt like it was treasure. “Did you see the pictures?”
“Oh yes,” she said, brightening. “Looked like you had a lovely day. So good to see you enjoying yourself.”
I hummed, swallowing another spoonful. “How was work?”
“Not much going on while the Scarbroughs are out of town,” she said lightly.
I paused mid-bite. “So you’ll be busy when they get back?”
Culver Scarbrough. God, I missed him already like a psycho.
Not in some soft, dreamy way either. It felt deeper than that, heavier.
Like my body had already adjusted to his presence and didn’t know what to do now that he was gone.
Realizing it made embarrassment crawl up my spine because no distraction—not Carter, not the party, not the alcohol—had managed to dull it for even a second.
If anything, trying to replace the feeling had only intensified it.
Carter was easy to walk away from. Culver wasn’t.
I could still remember the cool glide of his fingers over my shoulder, the weight of his stare locking me in place, and the sharp mint scent that always seemed to follow him whenever he stepped too close.
Every memory carried the same quiet intensity that made it impossible to shake him from my head.
I didn’t want to call it obsession. Maybe attachment was a safer word. Even that felt risky.
Still, there was something pulling me toward him no matter how hard I tried to redirect myself.
Something humiliatingly helpless about the way I kept circling back to him in my thoughts.
Two days without seeing him already felt stretched thin and wrong, like time had started moving unevenly without him around.
And when he came back—and I knew he would—I caught myself hoping he’d still look at me the same way. Like I held some kind of importance to him beyond circumstance. Like maybe, if I got close enough, I could finally reach whatever part of himself he kept hidden so carefully from everyone else.
“I actually have an important meeting when they return,” my ma said. “Might take up a good chunk of time.”
I sighed. “Make time for me after that, ’kay?”
She leaned in and kissed my forehead. “I’ll tell Julius I need a day off to spend with my girl.”
“Good,” I said with a faint smile. “Can’t wait.”
“I’m heading to bed,” she added, turning toward the stairs. “Good night.”
“G’night, Ma.”
I dragged myself upstairs and collapsed onto my bed, still carrying that faint trace of beer and whatever bargain-bin perfume had clung to me during the night. I was too exhausted—or maybe just too emotionally checked out—to bother with a shower.
Lying there beneath the dim glow of my room, I stared up at the ceiling and wondered if any of it had actually meant anything at all.