Page 35 of Boss and Brat

Carter filled the doorway, hair a mess, jaw tight, eyes sharp enough to knock the air out of Ethan’s chest. He looked pissed, not loud about it, just that steady, simmering anger that made Ethan’s breath hitch before he could stop it.

“Up,” Carter said. “Shower. Kitchen table. Fifteen minutes.”

Ethan scrambled out of bed before Carter even finished turning away. A tight burn climbed up his throat, the kind that made it hard to breathe. He rushed to straighten the sheets, smooth the pillow, anything to look like he wasn’t a problem. His hands shook as he grabbed his clothes, the fear settling in his limbs like cold water. If Carter was angry enough to wake him like that, Ethan needed to move fast, stay useful, and out of the way.

He rushed into the bathroom, showered fast, barely dried off before pulling on jeans and a T-shirt. He was dead tired, eyes burning, but he practically ran down the hall. If Carter was going to kick him out, he would not give him another reason.

Carter stood at the stove, flipping something in a pan. He didn’t look over.

Ethan hovered in the doorway until Carter shoved a hot mug of coffee into his hands. “Sit.”

Ethan sat.

Carter cooked in silence—pancakes, sausage, eggs—the kind of breakfast Ethan hadn’t had since he was living at home. The smell filled the kitchen, but Ethan’s stomach twisted too tight to enjoy it.

After setting the plates on the table, Carter sat across from Ethan. They ate without talking. Every scrape of a fork felt like a countdown. Ethan never once looked up from his plate while eating.

When they finished, Ethan jumped up to clear the table. He didn’t wait for permission. He rinsed the dishes, loaded the dishwasher, and wiped the counter. Anything to keep Carter from getting angrier than he’d been last night.

“Sit down,” Carter said. “We’re going to talk.”

Ethan froze, then sat slowly. “Talk about what?”

“Who were you speaking to on the phone?”

Ethan swallowed. “Tomás.”

Carter’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t I tell you to stay clear of him?”

“Yes, but—”

“No.” Carter’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. “You don’t get to ‘but’ me. I told you to stay away.”

Ethan’s pulse jumped. “I just wanted to make sure he shut his mouth.”

Carter slammed his palm on the table, not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough to make Ethan flinch. “You don’t trust me to handle it? That it?”

Ethan’s throat tightened. “I didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”

“You already did,” Carter snapped. “And I stepped in. You don’t go behind my back and stir it up again.”

Ethan stared at the table, heat crawling up his neck. Shame. Fear. Something else he didn’t want to name. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re working three extra hours today,” Carter said, still fuming.

Ethan nodded fast. “Okay.”

Carter didn’t soften. Not even a little. But he didn’t tell Ethan to pack his things. Didn’t tell him to call his father. Didn’t tell him to get out. And that tiny mercy hit harder than the yelling. He let out a long, slow breath with relief. He wasn’t being sent back. Not yet.

“Taking the truck.”

Once they were both inside the vehicle, Ethan leaned his face against the window and closed his eyes.

“I’ll drop you at the stables,” Carter said. “You’re working. I’m meeting with your father this morning.”

As Ethan’s eyes opened, his head snapped around to face Carter. “About what?”

Carter didn’t answer. He just put the truck into gear.