Page 87 of Carrick
“And if you need to end it, you say the word.”
I hesitated. “Same goes for you.”
He set his fork down. “I won’t.”
“Carrick—"
“I’m not saying forever. I’m not an idiot. You’ve got walls taller than this house, and I’m not trying to scale them with my bare hands. But I know what this is. I’m not walking away unless you do.”
My chest tightened. “What do you think it is?”
“A chance to stop pretending you don’t want someone to see you. To hold you accountable. To make you feel something deeper than control.”
His words were too sharp, too accurate. They cut past the armor and went straight for the soft stuff underneath.
I reached for my tea. “You’re making it sound like a fairy tale.”
“It’s not. It’s messy as hell. But it’s honest.” He leaned forward. “And you need honesty more than you need protection.”
I looked at him then. Really looked.
His eyes weren’t challenging me. They weren’t demanding. They were steady. Grounded. The same eyes that had watched over me while I cried myself into sleep. The same voice that had whispered, “I’ve got you,” when I couldn’t hold myself up.
I hated how much I wanted to believe him.
But I couldn’t afford to want.
“I don’t need saving,” I said quietly.
“Good,” he said, just as quiet. “I’m not a savior. I’m just a man who sees you.”
The silence that followed felt thick with everything unspoken.
I finally said, “So. Rules.”
Carrick’s grin was slow and pleased, like a lion watching his prey step willingly into the den. “Now we’re talking.”
I lifted my chin. “I want clarity. Boundaries. And I don’t want you confusing this with anything more than it is.”
He nodded. “Agreed. Temporary. No promises.”
“No pillow talk.”
His brow lifted. “We’re literally having breakfast after spending the night sleeping in the same bed.”
“Fine. No…intimate confessions.” I gestured vaguely. “No asking me about my childhood, or favorite color, or the first time I ever had my heart broken.”
Carrick smirked. “Favorite color is teal. And I’d bet good money your first heartbreak was when your brother left for college.”
I stared at him. “You’re insufferable.”
He winked. “You’ve said that already.”
I shoved a bite of toast into my mouth to hide the smile threatening to escape. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He should’ve pushed too hard, wanted too much, made it easy for me to leave.
But Carrick wasn’t easy. And he wasn’t trying to charm me with declarations or puppy-dog eyes. He was just there—solid, grounded, unapologetically real. And maybe that’s what made him dangerous. I’d spent so long pretending I couldn’t want anything too badly, like wanting itself was an invitation to lose.
And he made me want. Not forever. Just now.
