She laughs, climbs straight into the middle of the bigger bed, and pulls the covers over her. “I’ll choose after I sleep,” she murmurs, curling up between the pillows. “Whoever spoons better wins.”
But in the quiet, after Carter mumbles about being the one to have to shut the lights off and her body fits against both of ours, I know neither of us really cares who wins tonight.
Twenty minutes into laying down and she shifts slightly between us, her leg tightening where it’s thrown over mine, her fingers curling faintly against Carter’s chest like she’s settling deeper without waking up.
I glance over at him and he’s looking back at me. I wonder if we’ll ever grow out of the weird twin shit.
“You good?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah.”
He studies me for a second longer, like he’s deciding whether he believes that, then relaxes back into the pillow. “You look at peace for once.”
Yeah, maybe because I’m not thinking about what comes next. The next move, the next way everything could fall apart if I don’t stay ahead of it.
Haven breathes slowly between us, warm and steady, completely unaware of the way she’s anchored both of us without trying.
Carter exhales quietly, his eyes closing. “Get some sleep Tate.”
I stare at the ceiling for another minute, maybe longer, just feeling it.
35
Haven
The drive home in the morning feels longer than it really is.
Carter keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on my thigh. Tate’s in the passenger seat behind me, his fingers tapping absent rhythms against the window. No one talks for a while.
I shift in my seat, adjusting my legs, and Carter’s hand tightens automatically like he doesn’t even think about it. “You good?” he asks, glancing over.
“I’m great,”
Tate snorts. “Yeah, you look real composed.”
I turn my head slowly. “Excuse you? I am composed.”
“You’ve been staring out the window for ten minutes.”
I glare back at him. “And you’ve been tapping your fingers nonstop for the past twenty.”
Carter huffs a laugh under his breath. “He’s just mad he’s not the only one in your head right now.”
Tate turns slightly. “I’m always the one in her head.”
A few miles pass before Carter signals and pulls off the highway.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Gas,” he says. “And snacks. You’ve been quiet too long, which means you’re about to crash.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” Tate cuts in. “You get like this. You go all soft and floaty and then suddenly you’re starving and mean.”
I blink at him. “I am not mean.”
Carter laughs as he pulls into the gas station. “Both of you out. We’re restocking before she turns on us.”
