Page 143 of Trusting You

37

Carter

Over the next few days, Sophie makes herself comfortable on the couch in Locke’s living room, and I remain in Lily’s nursery, cleaning when needed and ensuring Locke’s bedroom is made ready for him when he comes home.

Because I just got the call. He’s being released this afternoon.

For most of the week, I’ve settled into a concrete schedule of Lily’s naps, Locke’s hospital visits, and ensuring both ate their required amount of calories. Sophie was a welcome balm in the spaces between, uncorking a bottle of wine some evenings and patting the couch beside her, encouraging me to open up to her about all my woes.

Annoyingly, I can’t stop talking about Locke.

On the last night, before I was told of Locke’s return, Sophie finally called me on it.

“If you like him this much, why don’t you just tell him?”

“That’s the thing, Soph. I already did. He, we, saw each other in all the ways you’re supposed to see someone you’re falling in love with. And still, he didn’t share the basic facts about himself.”

“Have you asked him why?”

“Do I need to? I was duped. Conned into bed with him. Made a fool. Worse, I’m no better than the many one-night stands he had before me. What did I think? I’d be the one to change him?”

“Want to know what I think?” Sophie sipped her red wine carefully. She was conscious of spilling on someone else’s carpet. Ours, however, she was happy to stain.

I take a large gulp from my own glass. “You’re not going to convince me to trust him again.”

“You’re terrified.”

I almost choke. The wine burns like vinegar in my throat. “Excuse me?”

“Hear me out.” Sophie shuffles closer. “You’ve lost Paige. You’re coming to terms with losing Lily. Your parents and brother ignore you. Everyone you love goes away. This is classic textbook stuff.”

I glare at her over the glass rim. “If you say I’m afraid to love, I’m throwing this in your face.”

“Au contraire. You want to love. All these people? They have your love regardless. Paige’s death didn’t change that. Lily being in another state doesn’t change it. And Locke’s past, as slutty and secretive as it is, doesn’t change the fact that you love him.” Sophie rests a palm on my thigh. “You love him, Carter.”

“No.” I shake my head for emphasis. “I’ve been lied to, shut out from, and betrayed by him. He probably made money off me. He and his friends probably bet he could sleep with me—”

“All things you wouldn’t feel if you didn’t care deeply.” She pats my leg affectionately. “Think on it. I’m no shrink, but I’m so on the money with this.” She grimaces. “No pun intended. If they bet on you, I’ll cut their dicks off and serve it to them as stew.”

“I’m leaving,” I say, mouth grim. “Moving back to Florida.”

Sophie leans back in the crook of the cushion and couch’s arm. “Whatever you say.”

As Sophie predicted, it’s all I can think about as I go to bed that night after lingering above Lily’s crib, taking in her round-faced innocence and beauty. Thoughts continue as I wake up the next morning before sunrise and fix Sophie and me a coffee (quietly, so as not to wake her before said caffeine hits her veins), and exactly what I ponder when the hospital calls and tells me Locke should be discharged around noon.

I didn’t hear it from Locke himself, of course. He’s given up on anything except the most basic communication after I told him nothing connects us other than Lily.

Liar.

There hasn’t been a single text from him, and he was given his cell phone back. Barely cracks a smile when I walk into his room and meet his tired eyes. And the half-hearted wave good-bye when I leave? That one is the worst.

Why am I so pissed? This is what I asked for. Even Sophie doesn’t have to bring that to light. Locke is doing precisely what I want him to do.

It’s not his fault it’s making me feel like I weigh double, with most of it resting on my heart.

I’m wiping down the kitchen counters as Sophie rouses, not a morning person but forced to become one when she decided to room with a baby. Before her eyes are fully open, I set a fragrant, steaming cup beside her. Her nostrils flare, and she smiles as she stretches. “Mmmmm.”

“I’m going to wake the baby,” I whisper.