I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, hard enough to see stars. I won’t cry, not for him. Not this time. The dull ache in my chest is impossible to ignore, like someone is sitting on my chest, crushing every bone connected to my sternum.
I’m so fucking tired. Tired of feeling like I have to prove my worth, tired of chasing a version of myself that he might one day approve of and I’m definitely fucking tired of pretending it doesn’t gut me every time he opens his mouth.
When you grow up in a toxic cycle like this, it fucks with your head. It alters your brain chemistry, how you flinch when someone raises their voice at you, and having to move cautiously to not make the other person mad. I want to stand up to him—I do. But the truth is, I’m still fucking scared of him. Not because he’s powerful. But because, deep down, a sick part of me still wants his love and approval.
I lean forward, elbows resting on my knees, taking deep breaths. I want to scream at the top of my lungs, I want to go back to his stupid mansion and break everything he fucking owns.
Instead, I push myself off the wall and walk back into the bar.
Reed givesme the rest of the day off after lunch, muttering something about, “You’re gonna burn out and drop dead behind the bar if you don’t get a goddamnbreak.” He says it like a joke, but the concern in his eyes makes me pause.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, brushing it off like I always do.
He narrows his green eyes, wiping a glass with a towel. “Yeah? Well, you don’t look fine. You look like you’re two espresso shots away from screaming into the void. Go home, Catalina. Go… reset.”
I blink, startled. “Seriously?”
He nods toward the time clock. “Jade will cover you. Go before I change my mind.”
I don’t argue. I clocked out so fast that I nearly forgot my bag.
As I push open the bar doors, the crisp afternoon breeze hits me like a sigh of relief, fluttering through my hair and cooling the sweat on my neck. I close my eyes for half a second, breathing in the fresh air.
God, I needed this.
I’m digging through my purse for my phone when I feel it—that prickle of awareness on the back of my neck.
I look up, and there he is.
Carter. Leaning against his truck like a fucking scene from a movie. One boot propped against the tire, arms crossed over that broad chest like he’s carved from stone. His hat’s tilted low, but not low enough to hide the fact that—Oh my God. He’s smiling like actually fucking smiling.
He looks so fucking beautiful when he smiles.
I walk up to him, putting my hands on his chest. “You’re actually smiling,” I tease, my grin slipping through before I can stop it. “Or are you constipated?”
He lets out a throaty laugh. “You’re such a pain in my ass,” he says, cupping my face as he leans down to kiss my forehead. “Maybe I’m smiling because I missed you.”
A smile escapes my lips as I reach up to grab his face, and he instinctively leans into my touch. “I missed you more,” I finally say.
He opens the passenger door for me, and, like clockwork, he smacks my ass as I climb in.
“Get in, darlin’.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m already melting into the worn leather seat, the scent of cedar and pine wrapping around me like a blanket. God, it smells like him.
Home.
He slides into the driver’s seat, remains silent, and reaches for my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine. His thumb gently strokes the back of my hand, and I swear to God, something cracks open inside me.
This man, who barely talks and growls more than he speaks, looks at me like I’m something to be protected, not pitied. He has gone soft for me, and I don’t know what to do with that.
Except hold on tighter.
“So,” he says as he pulls onto the road, the sun casting molten gold across the windshield. “What do you want to do with your free night?”
I smile to myself, my heart fluttering stupidly in my chest. “Bubble bath, face masks, and trashy reality TV.”
He snorts, like he can’t help himself. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”
