Carter pulls back just enough to look at me.
“It’s moving day.”
Tate exhales and drags me fully against him, sandwiching me between the two of them like he can’t fucking help it. Carter groans. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“I’m gonna love you,” I correct, arms winding tighter around his neck. “Both of you. Loudly. Recklessly. Possibly in public.”
Tate’s hand drops to my ass. “Claimed in every room, starting now.”
“I’m home,” I whisper, my eyes bouncing between them.
Carter’s smile breaks wide open and Tate’s fingers flex at my hip like he’s trying not to lose control.
“You sure?” Carter asks.
I nod. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”
Tate leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “Then we’re never letting you leave again.”
Tate’s driving like he’s got beef with the pavement. I’m still not officially use to his driving compared to Carters.
He has one hand low on the wheel, the other cradling an energy drink. I think he drinks more of them than me at this point, it’s his fourth of the day.
I shift in my seat, bracing my foot a little harder against the floor when he takes a corner too quick. He notices, and the corner of his mouth pulls.
I’m curled against Carter who has one arm draped around my waist in the backseat when he gives me a little squeeze. “You okay?”
I nod. Then sigh. “Just weird going back.”
We’re heading to my old apartment for the last time. There isn’t much left, just a few boxes I didn’t need right away, totes, and my rug that Cassie would absolutely steal if I didn’t come get it.
But still. It feels like walking into a past version of myself, one I’m not sure how to say goodbye to without cracking a little.
Tate doesn’t say anything, but he clicks on the turn signal with unnecessary aggression. Comfort, apparently, looks like controlled rage with him.
“I told Cass we’re coming,” I say, twisting the hem of my sleeve between my fingers. “She’s gonna meet us there. Help load a few things.”
“You better not try to carry the heavy shit,” Tate says, making eye contact with me in the rear view mirror.
Carter kisses the side of my head. “We’ve got it, all of it sweetheart.”
The closer we get, the quieter I get. I catch myself sitting up straighter. It’s stupid. It’s just an apartment. Just a place I slept in, ate in, existed in. But my chest still pulls tight like there’s a version of me still sitting in there, waiting to see if I come back alone.
Tate slows the car, and Carter’s hand slides down to rest over mine, stilling the way my fingers have been twisting my sleeve to death.
“You don’t have to do everything today,” he says quietly.
I nod, even though I know I’m going to.
The car rolls to a stop, then engine idling for a second. I stare out the window, taking it in piece by piece.
Tate kills the engine.
The air smells like the cinnamon plug-ins I left in every room. There’s a dent in the corner of the rug from my old PC chair.
Tate heads in first, an empty box slung over his shoulder. Carter’s right behind him, hand at the small of my back as I step inside slowly, blinking against the sunlight streaming through the windows that no longer have my curtains.
“Alright,” Tate says, clapping once, loud. “Let’s get this shit done before Cassie shows up and makes you cry.”
