Page 3 of If You Say So

In this moment, he looks like the brooding Carsen from before, the one who was a tangle of anger after his mother died, the one who would have gone off on anyone at any time, the one who did. The steel eyes staring at me right now reflect that man of months ago.

I don’t need his anger or his judgments. Doesn’t he know this pain I live in every day is enough?

“What?” I bite out.

“Nate, you—”

“No. Don’tNateme, Carsen. You have no fucking idea what it’s like to have to live in the same house as the man you love and know you can’t touch him. You can’t laugh with him. You can’t smile with him, can’t look in his general direction, and God forbid you want to sit in the same room as him, because that oxygen, that free air you breathe? Forget it. It doesn’t exist anymore. So don’t fuckingNateme. You don’t get it.”

His eyes cast downward, and his brows draw close together. “Need I remind you—”

“That it’s all my fault? That I’m the one who burned that bridge? Yeah, I got that loud and clear. Igetthat loud and clear—every damn day, dude. I get it.”

He lifts his head and nods. “Okay. Just remember, he’s hurting too.”

I drop my bowl heavily into the sink. “That’s what sucks so bad. I can’t take that pain from him. Instead, I’m a constant reminder of it.”

Carsen doesn’t say anything. I wouldn’t let him anyway.

I grab my own bag from the chair in the living room and head toward the front door. “You coming?” I ask him.

He nods. “Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

Then he heads upstairs, and I amble outside.

I stop dead in my tracks, realizing I’m about to climb inside a car with Blake and there’s no one here to run interference. We need a referee.

Sucking in a breath, I get it over with and pop the handle on the back door. I slide inside on the opposite side of the car and buckle myself in. The click of the seatbelt is deafening. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t say anything. He just stares out the passenger window while I watch him.

His strong jaw is lined with stubble. It’s a new look for him, and fuck me if I don’t want to reach over and lick it, want to graze my fingers over it, run my hands over it. I want to feel it against my face, against my throat, against my chest. I want to feel iteverywhere.

I know he knows I’m watching him; I can see it in the way his chest is rising and falling in rapid succession. I know it’s affecting him by the deep breaths he takes, by the way his hands grip his thighs like they’re a life vest of their own.

“I—”

He flinches. Before I can say anything more, the driver side door is flung open and Carsen folds himself into the front seat.

“You boys ready?”

“Yep,” comes my clipped reply.

Carsen meets my deadly stare in the rearview mirror.

I flip him off. He chuckles.

Another sign of the change in him. If this were the Carsen of eight months ago, he’d have twisted around in the car so quick and thrown a punch or two. He was full of rage. Then Elliott Mathers happened, or the stars did—whatever, it’s their story. Now he’s full of love and happiness and smiles and small touches.

Lucky bastard.

* * *

Blakeand I weren’t always together. But, to be fair, we weren’t alwaysnottogether either.

Everything began innocently. We were friends, nothing more. After meeting in middle school, we did everything together: movies, dates, football, college—all of it. Carsen’s been right there with us every step of the way, and we’ve been the inseparable trio since I can remember.

But two years ago, everything changed.

Carsen lost his mom, and it put life into perspective for us. It’s short, it’s unforgiving, and it can be taken away at any moment.

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