It’s Mack who speaks next. “You might be fine, Carse, but after all we’ve been through with my coma and losing Katie, could you at least let them do a head CT to rule out any swelling or bleeding?”
Fuck. Fuck! How could I be so selfish? Of course Griff and Mack are worried about a possible head injury. It was only two and a half years ago that we lost Katie and almost lost McKenna in a car accident. An accident that left my sister in a coma for two days due to her head injury.
“Shit, I’m so sorry. You’re right. I’ll tell them I’d like to be examined and given the all-clear,” I tell them as I stand back up and head to the nurse’s station just outside the waiting room.
Only an hour later, I’m not surprised to learn I’ve got a mild concussion, though thankfully, it’s only my second. My mom also insisted a plastic surgeon restitch the laceration on my head once she arrived with our dad, who immediately went into lawyer mode with McKenna and said he was hiring a private investigator to find the photographer who fled the scene.
That guy should pray to whatever god he believes in that we never find him. Because while I may be harmless, I’m also my father’s son, and when you hurt those we love, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
12
April
“Your hair.” Carse stops when he sees me in the kitchen. He just got dropped off after a home game, but he still couldn’t play due to his concussion. He’ll be out for another week or two, depending on his symptoms.
Feeling self-conscious, I wipe my hands on my apron, then smooth my hair down and tuck the shortened strands behind my ear. “Yeah, I cut it. Felt like I needed a change.” I haven’t cut my signature long locks short since middle school.
“You didn’t. But I like it. A lot. The shorter hair suits you.”
I can feel my cheeks flush. I’ve never been good at taking compliments, and Carson gives them so freely I never know how to respond. So I just reply with, “Thank you.”
Sensing I need a pivot, he asks, “What are you making? It smells amazing in here.”
“I was feeling a little homesick after speaking to my mama, so I’m making her famous pecan pie,” I explain.
“How famous are we talking? Is her pecan pie as famous as your brother?”
“Nope. It’s even more famous. More grown men have cried after eating the last bite of my mama’s pie than they have after watching the great Brody Meyer win the Superbowl.”
Carson grabs a candied pecan from the counter, throws it in the air, and catches it with his mouth. The combination of him doing something so simple all while watching his broad body move in his navy game-day suit has me nearly coming undone. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this about me or not, but I’ve got no self-control when it comes to sweets.”
“Oh, Golden Boy, I’ve known for a while that you’ve got a sweet tooth bigger than Texas.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Here I thought I was doing a good job keeping it under wraps around you. What gave me away?”
“Well, let’s see . . . it could’ve been the fact that you order a caramel macchiato with three extra pumps of caramel syrup and extra whipped cream. Or the fact that you add honey to just about everything that isn’t already sweet. Or maybe it was how I’ve seen you take down an entire bag of saltwater taffy while we watched an episode ofBridgerton.”
“Guilty. I’m just ashamed you caught me. Speaking of shame—have you been keeping something from me?”
My heart rate spikes at his question, even though his tone is teasing. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Have you been show-cheating on me while I’m gone?” I can see his cheek twitching as he holds back a smile.
“No, I only watchBridgertonwith you.”
He lets out an exaggerated big breath of relief as if he’d been holding it. “Good answer,” he says as he rubs his hands together. “Alright, let me taste test this bad boy, and then we can watch the first episode of season two.”
I cut and plate each of us a slice of pie and top it off with a spoonful of my homemade whipped cream.
“Fuuuuckkk, Austin,” Carson moans, and I pause my spoon midway to my mouth. That may be one of the hottest sounds I’ve ever heard leave a man’s lips, and I suddenly want to hear more. “This is definitely better than watching your brother throw touchdowns.”
Just as Carson shovels the last bite of pie into his mouth, his phone vibrates with an incoming call, and the most adorable photo of McKenna and Cadence lights up his screen.
“Dearest sister, you must come over for tea and a bite of Dakota’s famous pecan pie,” he tells McKenna as he accepts her call.
“Carse, why are you speaking with a British accent?” McKenna asks.
Carson puts the phone on mute and asks, “Do you think we’ve watched too muchBridgerton? Blimey, I am speaking with an accent, aren’t I?”
