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Despite myself, I found his anger a little… ugh, okay, sorry to admit this, but it was a little hot. He was just so intense, so single-minded. So protective. None of the men I’d ever been with cared a fig about me. They’d just as soon replace me with a Juul and some Netflix.
But Carter defended me. He threw his boss — his boss! — to the ground in my name.
I shuddered at the memory. The way Big Bob’s hands had touch me. It’d just been a brush at first, one I naïvely mistook for an accident. But then he was trying to kiss me and had his fingers wrapped in my hair. You could’ve pushed him off, I reassured myself. You absolutely could have.
Still, I was glad it hadn’t come to that. I would not want to test my assumptions against the realities of an evil man.
“Where are we headed?” I asked.
“Why do you always have to know everything?” The tone was softer than the words, and I knew he meant it as a joke.
I laughed. “I’m just like that, I guess.”
There was a pause, and then he added, “I’m sorry. I’m not usually like that. Y’know. Violent, out of control. I’m—”
“Always in control, I know.” His silence told me I’d nailed it. “And you don’t have to apologize. For defending me, back there. For throwing him off. It was very brave of you.”
“Oh, hardly. Big Bob isn’t exactly the most intimidating man.”
“You’re not very good at taking compliments, either.”
His breathing was beginning to slow, his knuckles loosening from the wheel. My calmness was working.
“How’d you know this much about me? You ain’t been here a full day yet.”
“I pay attention to people I like,” I admitted, the words toppling out before I could think to stop them. “And I’ve been paying attention to you, which is how I know you blame yourself for shit that isn’t your fault.”
His eyes remained fixed on the road and I saw him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
“That’s kind of you to say, even if it ain’t true. Had I not gone to the bathroom, Big Bob never would’ve—”
I guffawed. “What were you supposed to do, hold it all day so that your skeezbag boss couldn’t try anything? That’s not realistic, Carter.”
“But I could’ve—”
“Stop! Enough! Not everything is your responsibility.” I shook my head, exasperated. “I know you’re a good person, and that’s why you try to clean up every mess in your life, put the burden on your shoulders, but it’s just not feasible. It won’t help you prevent bad things from happening. It’ll only make you feel guilty.”
As my words hung in the air, I watched Carter’s face and worried that I’d gone too far even if I was right. Maybe I’d said too much, said things he wasn’t ready to hear.
Just as I was beginning to wonder if he’d ever speak to me again, Carter cleared his throat and said, “Phoebe, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to tell you the truth. The whole story.”
Oh. Shit.
Now it was my turn to balk. After his staunch refusals to talk, after his insistence that I was being too nosy, too prying, after those numerous abrupt exits or conversation shutdowns… after all that, now he wanted to open up?
I was frightened, afraid of what I might find in Carter’s depths. But I also knew with unerring certainty that I wanted to understand this man, because he was a man worth the comprehension. And, if we’re being real, because I was still deeply, wildly, uncontrollably attracted to him. If I were to bed this man — and I hoped I could — it would mean hearing him out.
Even setting all that aside… I hungered for the story. There was no way to rest until I finally unearthed the mystery that was Carter.
“I’d like to hear it,” I said at last.
Carter kept his hands on the wheel, eyes forward, truck charging ahead. We’d covered at least ten miles, and I got the sense we weren’t stopping anytime soon. In order to tell his truth, I sensed, he had to be distracted. To focus on it entirely would cripple him.
“I haven’t told anyone,” he whispered. “Not in a very long time.”
“I’m listening.”
He took another deep breath then pushed it out between his teeth, preparing for battle.
“You have to understand, I was younger then. Hadn’t seen the world. So naïve. Just a little younger than you.”
I grimaced. Yet another reminder that I was younger than him. Carter wasn’t trying to be cruel, obviously, but it hurt to think that he saw me like that — as immature.
But then he added, “You’re smarter than I was. Probably always will be. You know better.”
Phew. This telepathy was getting weird, almost dazzlingly intimate, but I didn’t mind. He soothed my hurts the way I soothed his.
