Chapter 28 #3
Carrie’s grip on my hand tightened, and for a fleeting second, that shadow from earlier—the one that had appeared after the phone call—flickered across her face again. She covered it quickly with a smile, but I felt the sudden, sharp tension in her frame.
"I'm the lucky one, Alex," she said, her voice uncharacteristically thick. "Believe me."
As the afternoon faded into a mellow, whiskey-warmed evening, the energy in the room shifted.
The festive high began to settle into a quiet, heavy fatigue.
I noticed it first in my Mum—the way her smiles didn't quite reach her eyes anymore, and how her posture had slowly slumped against the cushions.
Fuck, it broke my heart. The strength she had summoned for the "pancake station" had clearly run dry.
I stood up, my heart squeezing with that familiar, protective ache. "Come on, Mum. Let’s get you tucked in. I’ll help you up the stairs."
But Dad was already there, his hand steady on her shoulder. "Don't worry, darl," he said softly, giving me a tired but reassuring wink. "I’ve got her. You stay here with Caroline."
I watched them go, my throat fucking tight as they navigated the narrow staircase with practiced, slow steps. I sank back into the sofa, a long, shaky sigh escaping me. The reality of her illness always felt a little fucking sharper in the quiet moments.
Carrie didn't say anything at first; she didn't try to fix it with a cheque or a lecture. She simply slid her arm around my shoulders, drawing me into her side. She pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the side of my head, her presence a solid, unshakeable anchor in the dim room.
"Would you like to go to bed too, Alex?" she asked, her voice a low, soothing vibration. "It's been a very long day."
I nodded against her shoulder, the fucking exhaustion finally catching up to me. "Yeah. But Carrie? It really was the best day. The best one we've had in years."
Carrie smiled, and for once, there was no predatory glint or professional mask—just a soft, genuine warmth. "It was," she agreed. "For me, too."
We made our way upstairs, the old floorboards creaking under our feet.
Back in the sanctuary of my childhood bedroom, the world felt small and safe again.
The dark silver of my new necklace caught the light of the bedside lamp as I pulled my shirt off, a constant reminder of the woman watching me from the edge of the bed.
As we settled under the duvet, the house falling into a deep, Christmas-night silence, I felt Carrie’s hand find mine under the covers.
"Alex," she murmured into the dark, her tone suddenly serious. "No matter what happens, or what you hear... remember what I told you downstairs. You’re mine. And I take care of what’s mine."
What the fuck did that mean?
The words echoed in my head, cold and sharp against the warm haze of the whiskey. My heart, which had finally found a steady rhythm, began to fucking gallop against my ribs again. I turned to face her, my eyes searching hers in the dim light of the bedside lamp.
"Carrie," I whispered, my voice trembling with a vulnerability I couldn't hide. "Should I be worried? Should I know something?"
Carrie didn't flinch. She just pulled me tighter, her grip firm and possessive, as she shook her head slowly. "No, darling. You have nothing to worry about. I told you—I’ll handle everything."
I wanted to push. I wanted to ask who had called and why she had looked like she’d seen a fucking ghost, but Carrie didn't give me the chance. She leaned in, her lips grazing my jawline, her breath hot and smelling of expensive peat.
"But," she whispered, her voice dropping into that dark, velvety register that made my blood turn to liquid every fucking time. "Mommy is very hungry, baby."
The question died in my fucking throat. My breath hitched as she shifted her weight, pushing me back into the lumpy, familiar mattress of my old bed. The contrast was staggering—the elite, powerful Dr. Carter looming over me in a room filled with my childhood trophies and old stickers.
She moved on top of me with a fucking terrifying, singular purpose.
I tried to hold onto the lingering thread of my worry, but it snapped the moment her hands found the hem of my nightgown.
She didn't hesitate; she stripped my underwear away in one fluid motion, tossing them toward the end of the bed.
"Carrie—" I started, a soft protest that sounded more like an invitation.
"Shh," she commanded, her eyes locked on mine as she settled between my thighs. "No more talking about the world outside this room. Tonight, there is only this. There is only how much I want you baby."
She dived down, her mouth finding the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, and I arched my back as the first jolt of electricity hit me.
Whatever was on that phone call—whatever storm was fucking brewing—was locked outside.
In here, under the weight of her body and the heat of her gaze, I was exactly where she wanted me.
And fuck, I didn't want to be anywhere else.