"We're both adults," she whispers, hands in my hair. "This isn't wrong."
But it is wrong. The Harrelsons took me in when I had nothing. They welcomed me as family when my own blood cast me out. And how did I repay them? By taking their daughter to bed.
I drop my head into my hands, breathing deep through my nose. Control. Focus. This is what I do with my biological family. I compartmentalize. Carters have been doing it for generations. We are masters at putting our emotions in their proper box.
I straighten myself, reaching for another file. My voice comes out steady as I record notes.
"Client expresses concern about ex-spouse's new partner's influence. Recommend temporary supervised visitation pending further?—"
Her breath catches when I push inside her. The way she arches beneath me, whispering my name.
My pen digs into the paper, tearing through.
Christ. What is wrong with me? I'm thirty-two years old, not some hormone-addled teenager. I've had relationships. Mature, adult relationships with clear beginnings and endings. Not this... whatever this is.
One night. A mistake, something we both agreed to forget.
So why does my body remember every detail? The taste of her skin. The sound she made when she came apart beneath me.
My phone screen lights up. I stare at it, heart inexplicably accelerating.
The name on my phone screen hits like a brick through glass:Janie.
My thumb freezes above the display. The notification shows just enough of her message to punch a hole straight through my carefully constructed wall.
Saw this coffee cup and thought of you. The barista even got your grumpy face right!
There's an image attached. I shouldn't open it. I absolutely shouldn't.
I open it.
A coffee cup with latte art of a grumpy face drawn in the foam. Below it, a napkin where someone has scribbled "Sir, are you sure you wouldn't prefer decaf?"
A laugh escapes before I can stop it. Years ago, at Blake's wedding, I'd gotten so wound up about the seating chart that Janie had drawn almost that exact face on a cocktail napkin.Your courtroom face, she'd called it.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard. How easy it would be to fall into our old pattern. A quick quip. Something about Chicago baristas being too perceptive.
But that was before. Before I felt her skin under my hands. Before I heard her whisper my name against my neck.
I swallow hard, my throat constricting. This is how it starts. One harmless text. Then another. Then we're pretending nothing changed while everything has.
I lock the screen and place my phone face down.
What exactly did I lose that night? A friendship built over sixteen years. The trust of the only family that ever truly claimed me. The respect of my best friend if he ever found out.
All for what? Twenty minutes of pleasure? Passing out in her bed, only to be awakened to sneak out at dawn before anyone saw me?
The nausea rises like a tide. The memory of her body tangles with the knowledge of my betrayal. They can never be separated now.
Kaley taps on the doorframe. "Mr. Carter? Ms. Brennan just called. Paul Brennan is demanding overnight visits starting this weekend instead of waiting for the court date. What do you want me to say?"
I snap back to the present. "Tell her to document everything. Record the call if he contacts her directly. I’ll draft an emergency filing this afternoon."
Kaley blinks, then nods. "Already suggested the recording. She’s sending over his texts now. I’ll let her know you’ll draft the filing for the emergency hearing."
My tone softens. "Good. And Kaley—thanks. I mean it."
She gives me a quick smile before stepping out.