Page 117 of Carrick
Carrick didn’t miss a beat. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Sully raised a brow and walked to the fridge. “Just don’t break anything I use.”
As he disappeared again, I turned to Carrick, laughing under my breath.
“We’re going to have to tell them, eventually.”
He sipped his coffee. “Tell them what?”
I blinked. “What this is.”
He looked at me over the rim of the mug. “When you figure it out, let me know.”
And damn it if that didn’t make me want to kiss him. But I didn’t. Because whatever this was—whatever we were—we were finally giving it room to grow. And for once, I wasn’t afraid of what came next.
23
Carrick
It had beenthree days since she curled up in my bed and stopped pretending this wasn’t real. Three days since we stopped dancing around the wordus.And still—no word from Quinn. No call. No clue if her brother was breathing or buried.
For three days, I’d watched her start to fold in on herself. Watched her become more withdrawn, more prone to wandering aimlessly or staring off into some unknown distance, her mind somewhere else entirely.
By late afternoon, I realized I hadn’t seen her in a couple of hours. So I went looking.
I knew where to find her. She always went to the back railing when she needed air that didn’t taste like worry. When the inside of the house felt too tight, too controlled—like even the furniture was watching her.
She didn’t like cages. And I couldn’t blame her.
The heat still clung to the air, thick and heavy. Sunlight stretched low through the trees, casting long shadows across the yard and gilding everything in molten gold—the kind of light that made the world look softer than it was. But there was nothing soft about the way Bellamy stood.
Arms crossed. Jaw set. Spine locked straight. Like she was holding something in. Or barely holding herself together.
I crossed the porch and leaned on the railing beside her—not close enough to crowd her, but close enough to count. She didn’t look at me.
“You’ve been pulling back.” She didn’t look at me when she said it. “Not from me. Just… from everything.”
Her voice wasn’t angry when she responded. Not yet.
But the sharpness was there. Hiding behind her control.
“I’m not avoiding you,” I said.
“You are.”
The pause between us crackled like the static before a radio transmission. Charged. Waiting to erupt.
She turned slightly, just enough to glance at me from the corner of her eye.
“You still haven’t called. I’ve tried to trust your timing,” she said with a sigh. “I have, but it’s been days, Carrick. But I only have so much patience to give.”
I didn’t pretend not to know what she meant.
I just didn’t answer fast enough.
“The burner phone,” she continued, clearer now. “You gave it to him for a reason. He said he’d call when he was safe in Chicago. He hasn’t. So call him.”
I exhaled slowly, pressing my palms flat to the wood railing like I could ground myself in it.
