She frowns, confusion flickering behind her eyes. “But why wouldn’t he just… say something?”
I let out a slow breath. “Because we didn’t grow up in a house where talking about your feelings got you anything but hurt and shut down.”
Her brow furrows. I continue.
“Our mom… she wasn’t cruel, exactly. But she wasn’t there either. Not in the way we needed. Emotionally checked out. Always tired. Always waiting for the next shitty boyfriend to disappoint her or hit her or disappear. Tate saw the worst of it. He was always trying to step between it. And I think at some point, he figured the best way to protect everyone was to just… absorb the damage.”
Haven’s lips part, her fingers tightening around the handle of her cup.
“He doesn’t like silence because it reminds him of the nights when we didn’t know if yelling was coming or worse. He doesn’t like showing pain, because the second someone noticed he was hurting, it made him a target. And he definitely doesn’t like being touched when he’s not in control of it, because back then touch was never soft.”
I watch her eyes glaze, just a little. But she doesn’t look away. She just listens.
“So when he left the room last night? It wasn’t because he didn’t want to be near us. It was because he felt too much, too fast. And his first instinct is always to pull back before he bleeds on anyone.”
Haven’s jaw trembles. “But… he came back.”
“Yeah,” I nod. “Because that’s what he’s learning to do now with you.”
She looks down at her hands like they’ve just become something sacred.
I take a step closer. Tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“He’s trying, Haven. I know he seems invincible sometimes, but he’s still carrying a thousand pounds of shit he never asked for. And he doesn’t always know how to set it down.”
She nods, swallowing thickly.
I tilt her chin so she’ll look at me. “But he’s choosing this. Every day, this weird, beautiful thing we’re building. He’s choosing to stay.”
A tear slips down her cheek. She laughs quietly, brushing it away. “God, you guys make it impossible not to fall harder every day.”
I smile. “That’s the plan.”
She looks at the coffee like it’s a love letter and smiles around the rim. “You’re unreal.”
“I get that a lot,” I say, flipping a pancake. “Mostly from you. Usually while I’m—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” she warns, hiding her grin behind her cup.
She’s rinsing off her plate in the sink when I finally say it.
I lean against the counter, arms crossed, pretending I’m not watching the way her shoulders tense just slightly when she realizes we’re alone. Tate went out for some air a few minutes ago.
“I saw you last night,” I say, “After Tate’s tweet got a lot of attention.”
She freezes for a second, then slowly sets the plate in the drying rack, her back still to me.
“I know you tried to laugh it off. And I know you let me pull you back in with popcorn and dumb movies and soft kisses like it didn’t bother you.”
She turns around now, leaning against the sink, arms crossing tightly over her chest. “Carter…”
“I’m not calling you out,” I say gently. “I’m just… saying I see it.”
She looks down, lashes brushing her cheeks.
“And I’m still here.”
That makes her look up with those beautiful wide eyes.