Page 67 of Unhinged Love

“Amazing,” I muse, dragging a chip through a bowl of fresh salsa. “It’s so much easier to enjoy the food when I’m not biting my tongue off. Mom really loves her margaritas.”

“And she makes it everybody else’s problem.” Something about the way he says it makes me laugh, and that’s refreshing after spending so many years being embarrassed by her. Having to hold everything inside, silently withering.

When I look up from the salsa, I can’t help noticing the way his attention has drifted over to a table close to where we’re sitting. I follow the direction of his gaze out of curiosity more than anything else and wish I hadn’t when I see a pair of girls giggling over their guacamole. They’re around our age from the looks of it.

Their shiny, blond blowouts make me touch a hand to my own hair. It looked pretty the day of the wedding, but it also took a ton of work from the stylist. Do other girls wake up at four in the morning to have enough time to look that nice? I literally can’t imagine putting that much work into it.

But when I see the way Carter watches them, it’s enough to make me wonder. Maybe the work would be worth it.

With a frustrated sigh, I roll up my sleeves again since they’ve already fallen down to my wrists and are getting in the way of me demolishing the salsa. I can’t help but glance over at those girls again. Their cute sundresses are basically the opposite of what I’m wrapped up in. They don’t have to worry about their sleeves dragging in a bowl. They’re probably not as warm as I am, either. I can’t blame it all on the spicy peppers.

“You okay?” Carter must have noticed me noticing them. He looks curious, but also a little concerned. I’m not used to people being concerned about me. It’s a little unnerving.

“Oh, sure. I’m fine.” I’m just sweating my ass off, that’s all. No biggie.

“I’ve gotta ask. Only because you seem pretty uncomfortable right now.” He reaches over the table to tug on my sleeve. “Why do you feel like you have to cover up so much? You must be dying in this thing.”

“I’m used to it.” And that’s true. I don’t really think about it anymore. At least, I only think about it when I’m in a situation like this. Comparing myself to the other girls, wishing I could have their confidence.

“You know, I am nobody’s idea of a wise leader or whatever.” He waves a tortilla chip, scoffing. “But I did hear something a long time ago that’s stuck with me. I think it kind of applies here.”

“I am all ears.” It’s not all the time he gets this serious.

“If you sit in shit long enough, you won’t be able to smell it after a while.” He shrugs a shoulder. “I know, it’s not poetry. But do you get what I mean? Just because you’re used to something doesn’t mean it’s good. You deserve to be comfortable and feel good about yourself.”

“I don’t like talking about this.” I can feel my walls going up, and the prickly sensation I was already wrestling with now covers my whole body.

“I hear you. I’m just saying, though,” he adds, “if you ever felt like you needed to protect yourself with all those clothes, you don’t have to continue. You’ve got me now. I’ll be your bulldog.”

When he snaps his jaw and growls, a giggle bursts out of me before I can help it.

Can he honestly mean that? Does he really want to protect me? I still have a hard time believing he actually cares. There isso much distrust still, and it’s not completely his fault. I know I shouldn’t carry the past with me, but I can’t help it. Old habits die very hard.

Carter has his faults, but he’s not one of those people who made it their life’s mission to humiliate me. He’s not them. It’s going to take time, but… “I want to let go of all the past stuff that’s been holding me back. I really do.”

When he smiles, it’s like the sun breaking through storm clouds, lighting up everything that was so dark only minutes ago. It transforms his face and leaves me with an ache. Longing.More, I want more of this.I want it so much, I could cry.

Of course, he’s unaware of the mess going on in my head. “Good. That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

I’m so afraid to believe he means that. I can’t believe how much I want him to be sincere. The desire grips me, like a fist clenching my stomach tight. Or maybe it’s my heart that’s being clenched. A scary thought, but a very real feeling.

It’s a feeling that lingers once we’re home, full of chips and salsa, burritos, guacamole. “I think I gained ten pounds.” Carter groans before patting his stomach on our way into the house. “No regrets.”

“I was afraid they were going to ask us to leave before we cleaned the place out.” I didn’t touch a drop of alcohol tonight, but I’m buzzing, anyway. High off the energy between us. Buzzing over the idea of shedding some of the past. I’m not sure exactly how, and I know it won’t happen overnight, but I’m starting to believe it’s possible.

I don’t need to carry the past around with me—it’s so heavy, dragging me down all the time. Maybe it’s easier to imagine this with Mom being halfway around the world. She’s not around to remind me of all the things I hate about myself, which, of course, is the same stuff she can’t stand about me.

“All I know is, I’m going to sleep like the dead tonight.” He follows me up the stairs, and I can’t help it when my heart takes off faster. What is he thinking? Is he going to make it a habit, sleeping in my bed?

Am I unhappy about the idea?

No, I’m not, and that is more confusing than I have the bandwidth to handle tonight. There are still a lot of things up in the air, like what’s going to happen when our parents come home and whether he’s going to get in serious trouble for that fight.

But tonight, full of delicious food and feeling the closest to happy I’ve been in so long, I don’t want to think about any of that. Just like I don’t want to think about whether it’s a good idea for him to share my bed.

That’s why I don’t bother putting up a front when he wanders into my room instead of going to his own. “I’ll be a good boy,” he promises before I even think to ask. “I ate half my weight in tacos tonight. You don’t have anything to worry about except getting Dutch ovened.”

“Oh, gross.” I roll my eyes and gag. “You’re definitely selling the experience.”

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