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“I don’t need—”

“He does,” Jeff said, long past caring if anyone recognized him and thought he and Carter were an item. “What do I need to do?”

Chapter Six

THEY WEREboth exhausted and starving by the time Carter directed Jeff to pull into his driveway. Willow Sound didn’t have delivery, but they’d ordered takeout and picked it up on the way, along with the painkillers Dr. Lall prescribed, which Jeff had already bullied Carter into taking.

Carter’s house was a neat bungalow just outside town, with a cheerfully overgrown lawn and a detached two-car garage that, knowing Carter, was full of sports gear, an ATV, a snowmobile, and maybe a boat, with nowhere to park the truck.

Jeff backed in so Carter could get out on the side closest to the house, and he pretended not to notice Carter glaring at him for it. To be honest, he was a little surprised it had taken this long for his mood to sour completely. Carter was nothing if not independent to a fault.

Apparently the other thing Carter was… was a complete slob.

“Dude.” Jeff crowded into the entryway behind him. He could certainly see why Carter had stopped there. Any attempt to make his way farther into the house would invite aggravation to his injury via the multiple tripping hazards. Laundry baskets, dirty clothes, a recycle bin—why did he have that in the house?—boots, running shoes, flip-flops, and the empty box for a toaster provided a natural obstacle course to get from the front door to the kitchen table. Or the couch, for that matter. “Have you been playing The Floor is Lava?”

He expected Carter to get snippy, but his shoulders just slumped and he rubbed his forehead with his right hand. “You might have a point about me overextending myself.”

Gee, you think?Jeff took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Just… stay here and try not to fall over while I make a path.”

By the time Carter was settled on the couch with his foot up and a plate of food, Jeff was several items deep in making his to-do list—clear out the junk, hire a service to take care of the yard, look into housekeepers, consider and possibly throw away everything in the fridge.

He was halfway through dinner when Carter finally said, “You don’t have to stay, you know.” He was only poking at his food. “I can get Mom and Brady to help for a couple days, and then I should be fine on my own. You didn’t sign up for this.”

I would if you asked me.There wasn’t much point denying it to himself. “You did, though,” Jeff said. “You decided to be friends with me. You’re stuck with me now.”

The painkillers kicked in after dinner, leaving Carter dozing on the couch, which gave Jeff time to look around. The rest of the house wasn’t as bad as the hallways and living room—the kitchen was cluttered but not dirty, and the bathroom was clean. Aside from a stray pile of laundry, the bedroom was acceptable. Jeff stripped the sheets and tossed them in the washing machine just because, and told himself he was not allowed to have a crisis about it. He triaged the worst hazards and left a few voicemails with various service providers, then loaded their plates into the dishwasher and pushed Start.

Finally he sank into a chair at the kitchen table and rubbed his hands over his face.

What the fuck was he doing?

He’d come here to make peace with his past, to integrate it into who he was, to learn from it—not to return to the same lovesick teenager he’d been. Not to repeat his mistakes—not to tear open the wounds on his dumb scabbed-over heart and rub salt in them. But trying not to fall in love with Carter was like trying not to get wet in a hurricane. If that was his goal, then he needed to cut Carter out of his life for good.

But that hadn’t done any good the first time, and Carter needed him now. Jeff wouldn’t abandon him. It didn’t matter in the end if Carter loved him back. Having him in his life was worth the occasional lapse into heartache and yearning.

But he really should not get anywhere near a pen, because he’d spilled enough of his secrets already. He was sure Carter had guessed most of them, and it wouldn’t be fair to bemoreobvious and still expect Carter to maintain the fiction that Jeff only wanted his friendship.

The friendship was enough, of course. It had to be.

The dryer buzzed, and Jeff made himself repeat the words to “O Canada” over and over in his head while he remade the bed, to prevent any other thoughts from intruding.

Then he went to wake Carter.

“Hey.” He touched Carter’s shoulder, sleep-warm and firm. He didn’t expect Carter to turn his head toward the touch, and he was completely unprepared for the soft, sleepy-eyed look Carter favored him with afterward. “You want to try sleeping in an actual bed? Your couch is seriously not up to the task.” Carter had his broken foot propped on the armrest and he still had to contort himself in order to squeeze onto the couch.

“Ugh.” He scrunched up his face as he returned to consciousness. “Dry mouth.”

That’d be the meds. “I’ll get you a glass of water.” Then he wouldn’t have the impulse to tuck Carter in.

But it was almost worse to walk into the intimacy of Carter’s bedroom while he was already in bed, long body stretched out over his California king, right foot propped on a pillow, uncovered.

His T-shirt and shorts were on the chair next to the bed, and now Jeff’s eyes couldn’t stop following the line of Carter’s calf to his knee to his thigh where it disappeared under the sheet. The view a few degrees north wasn’t any better. Carter had only pulled the sheet up to his waist, so his bare chest was exposed—well-defined pecs and visible if not perfect abs. Jeff’s mouth was a little dry too.

He cleared his throat. “Water,” he said unnecessarily as he set the glass on the nightstand.

“Thanks,” Carter mumbled, his voice already rough with sleep.

“I’m, um. Do you mind if I borrow something to sleep in?” Jeff still smelled like hike.