He drops the studded cuff from his hand and looks up, his gaze meeting mine. “How did you get these bruises?” he questions.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
This can’t be happening. Why didn’t I just refuse to dress up? The sweater I was wearing covered my wrists, effectively hiding the bruises Aaron left there.
Think, Dakota.
I pull my hand from his grasp and try to play it off. “Oh, no. These look suspiciously worse than what happened.”
“Then what happened?”
“What happened?” I echo his question.
“Yes, what happened? And please start talking fast, Dakota, because my mind is drawing a lot of conclusions.”
I break eye contact with him, his piercing blue eyes feeling like they’ll probe the truth right out of me.
“My husband and I were, uh, well, you know . . . being intimate?” My face heats from the lie, but Carson must mistake it as me bashfully blushing.
“So, just to clarify, these dark bruises on your wrist were consensual?” he presses.
“Carson, this conversation is completely unnecessary. These are the results of a moment of passion,” I lie, intentionally avoiding answering his question. Though it isn’t too big of a stretch—they are the result of a passionate argument in which my husband laid hands on me for the first time.
Can I even classify it as “laying hands on me” when all Aaron really did was tightly squeeze my wrist for embarrassing him in front of my brother the other night?
Yes.
No. Everything is fine. Aaron apologized profusely the next day when he saw my wrist. He even brought me an ice pack and promised he’d never lose his temper like that again. Besides, I’ve already decided I’m filing for divorce the moment I can afford to cut ties. I just need to stand my ground and play the part of a doting wife for a few more months.
Instead of stewing on the way my heart sinks at that, I push past Carson to grab my jacket before heading outside to get in the truck. I need fresh air away from Carson’s imploring gaze.
We’re a few houses down the street from Carson and McKenna’s parents’ house when Carson gets recognized for the first time by a group of women in their early twenties. They ask Carson and Griffin if they can take photos with them, but Carson politely declines saying, “I’m sorry, ladies. We’re actually having some family time tonight. I would hate for the photos of what we’re dressed up as to circulate and ruin our disguises. I’m sure you can understand, right?”
The women all nod their head in understanding, and Carson gives them an appreciative grin, adding a wink for good measure that looks downright wicked with his Joker makeup.
At that, he turns and runs over to Cadence, crouching down to pick her up and lift her onto his shoulders. Cadence squeals in delight and grabs onto the longer, now green, hair on the top of Carson’s head.
“Ouch, Cadey Cat. Be careful with Uncle Car-Car’s hair.”
“Yes, you wouldn’t want anything to happen to those golden locks,” I tease. “Then what would the ladies have to grip on to?”
My eyes widen with panic. I’m not sure what possessed me to go there, but I regret the words the moment they’ve left my mouth.
Carson turns around to walk backward, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead as he slows his pace until I’m nearly toe-to-toe with him. “Are you flirting with me, Harley-girl?”
This man and his nicknames.
Also, am I flirting with him? I’m not even sure I remember what flirting is. But if the lowering of his voice and slightly crooked smirk on his face are any indication, I’d say he appreciates my accidental attempt at flirting. He’s stopped walking now and is looking down at me intently, almost as if he’s imploring me to play along.
Feeling slightly unsure of myself, I decide a change of subject and deflection is the right move here. “So, did you know those women back there, or is your costume maybe not as good of a disguise as you thought it was?”
He sends me a knowing look and softly chuckles at my pivot. “We went to high school with a few of them. My guess is they likely knew we’d be bringing Wonder Woman trick-or-treating around our parents’ block, and they wanted to shoot their shot.” I frown at that, and he casually shrugs his shoulders as if that kind of behavior is totally normal.
“I’ve had a lot of unwanted attention on me since high school. Things only got more intense after my college team won a national championship and I got drafted only a couple months later. I don’t enjoy being in the spotlight, especially when Cadence is with me, but it’s a small sacrifice to pay in order for me to play the game I’ve loved since I put on my first pair of skates.”
It must be the cold air or something because my eyes start to tear up of their own volition. I can’t imagine it’s easy not knowing people’s true intentions when you’ve got the level of popularity it sounds like Carson has had for years now.
“That sounds like it’d be really hard—lonely, even.”
