Page 6 of Carter

But he shrugged like it didn’t matter.

“Did your dad teach you to play?”

His shoulders tensed, but that faraway look on his face remained. “No,” he muttered. “The only thing that asshole is good at is getting drunk and passing out. It was my mom.”

His mom? I hadn’t seen a woman around his place. I’d never given it any thought either. But even though he wasn’t letting on with his emotions regarding her, I had a sad feeling in my heart. I could feel the melancholy coming off him. It was so different from how upbeat he was just moments ago.

“Did she teach you these songs?” I gently asked, treading softly.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. ‘Thank You’ was the last one she ever sang to me. Then she died.”

“How’d she die?”

He paused a beat. “She was sick,” he said in a strained voice, and I thought at the time it was because it was difficult to talk about.

“Did she sing as nice as you?”

His brows came together in thought, and then he swallowed a lump in his throat. “She sang like an angel.”

“I wish I’d heard her.”

When he didn’t respond, I told him quietly, “My mother died too. I was five.”

He was surprised by this. He looked at me with wide curious eyes. “How did she die?”

“Car crash minutes after she dropped me off at school. It was a rainy day, and her windshield wipers weren’t working. She ran a red light and got hit by a truck.”

I had rehearsed all that after years of being told what had happened, but I don’t even remember all that much about it. It’s a blur in my memories, vague little scenes in my head, voices telling me delicately of what had become of her. I remember what I felt more than anything. I know I was sad. I cried a lot when I asked for her and people kept telling me she was gone. Gone where, though? I couldn’t understand. But my life was such a whirlwind after her death, I don’t think I ever stopped to grasp what had truly happened. I was swiftly placed into Uncle Russell’s care and that was the end of that.

“Sorry to hear that,” Carter said gently.

Without thinking, I rested a hand on his warm arm, consoling him through a soft gesture. It happened on its own. I’d never touched another kid before, but this felt right.

“Sorry about your mother, too,” I replied.

He looked down at my hand, his lips parting just slightly.

For a while, there was only silence, and it wasn’t at all awkward. I was surprised by my ease. I thought my nerves would have suffocated me by now, but I was too lost in Carter to think about that right now. Something told me he wanted me here. He wanted me to listen from up close because he was ready to bring somebody into that side of him.

“Sing another song,” I whispered to him, motioning to his guitar. “I want to hear you sing again.”

“For how long?” he asked, focusing back on his instrument.

“For however long you want.”

If it were really up to me, I’d have said forever.

Four

He took me back home after that. The way back was silent again, but this time we were both lost in our own thoughts. When we got to my trailer, I waved goodbye to him as we parted ways. I sat down on the porch, unable to resist watching him. He glanced at me several times before he disappeared inside his trailer, leaving a mess of teenage hormones (well, almost) behind. I mulled over the events, creepily humming random tunes that popped into my head, all while smiling like a goofy idiot to myself.

All I kept hearing in my mind was the soulful sound of his voice; it gave me chills.

One wouldn’t have to look at him to like his voice. It had nothing to do with attraction. Truly, for a thirteen-year-old, he was unusually gifted.

And remember that, Leah.My mind reiterated over and over again.He’s thirteen, popular, and gorgeous as hell. You’re twelve, hated by everyone, and awkward as hell. You stand no chance.

What a bittersweet mess life was, filled with boundaries and never-ending disappointments. The blaringly obvious truth was punching me in the face. Carter was never going to want me, and yet I was Mohamed Ali, rounding my shoulders, raising my fistsup to fight and mentally hardening myself through every punch reality had in store.

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