Page 116 of Carrick
He nodded against my temple. “No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”
And somehow that scared me more than anything. Because temporary, I could survive. But this? This could wreck me.
He tilted his head down, his mouth close to my ear. “I’m not going anywhere, Bell.”
My throat tightened. I wanted to believe him. I almost did. But I didn’t say it. Didn’t ask for promises.
Eventually, I dozed back off, wrapped in his warmth. Held in the stillness. Watched by the dawn.
And for the first time in a long, long time… I wasn’t looking for an exit.
I woke to warmth.Not the heavy, choking kind that comes from too many blankets or a fever dream. This was something quieter. Gentler.
Steady breath at my back. A hand resting at the curve of my waist. A body close enough to feel without tension between us.
Carrick.
The room was brighter now, sunlight filtering in through the narrow window in a pale gold haze. Dust motes floated lazily in the still air, and outside, I could hear the slow waking of the world—the thud of an ax chopping wood, the rumble of someone starting up the riding lawnmower, and the faint tinkle of feminine laughter as Maddy laughed at someone—probably Niko.
I didn’t move. Not at first. I just let myself feel it. This rare, quiet stillness I’d never had with anyone. Not even Rayden. Not like this.
Carrick stirred behind me, and I felt the shift before I heard his voice.
“You awake?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.
I nodded against the pillow. “Yeah.”
His hand flexed slightly where it rested on my hip, like he was grounding himself with me still there.
“You stayed,” I murmured.
“You didn’t leave.”
A small smile tugged at the edge of my mouth.
Neither of us moved to get up. It should’ve been awkward. The closeness. The newness. The things we’d said in the dark. But it wasn’t. It felt… right.
Eventually, the need for coffee won.
I rolled slowly out of the bed, Carrick watching me with half-lidded eyes from where he lay, arm tucked behind his head. He looked like something out of a dream—shirt rumpled, hair a mess, face relaxed in a way I’d never seen before.
“You coming?” I asked, stretching.
He raised a brow. “Only if there’s real coffee.”
“I make excellent coffee.”
“You make hot water and wish,” he said, smirking. I threw a sock at him. He caught it without looking—and that, God help me, made my chest do something stupid.
Ten minutes later, we were in the kitchen of the main house, having decided Sully’s coffee was far better than anything we could concoct in the cabin. Carrick leaned against the counter while I moved around like I actually belonged there. Like this was something we did every morning. Like this wasn’t terrifying.
I could feel him watching me, but not like a threat. Like a man who had finally taken his armor off. When I handed him a mug, our fingers brushed. Neither of us pulled away.
Sully wandered in half-dressed, hair wild and a banana in his hand. He took one look at us, clocked the distance—or lack of it—and grinned.
“Well,” he said, peeling the banana, “either you two finally banged it out or you’re about to.”
I nearly choked on my coffee.
