Page 87 of Trusting You

22

Locke

Those goddamn pills.

They were nearly my downfall, stripping away the few things I had left. Namely, my daughter.

And I haven’t even fucking taken any.

That much is true, and I was honest with Carter when she asked. I haven’t swallowed any oxys—not half, not one—since my buddies’ “intervention” six months before. Why I keep them is a different story and one I completely fail at explaining to Carter.

They’re a reminder of my strength, that tiny orange bottle. The ability to look at it, entirely full with mind-numbing, beckoning white tablets, and know that I won’t snort them despite them asking me to.

A fail-safe, if you will, when times get tough and close to impossible. It’s a private conflict, though—one I won’t tell Ben, Ash, or Easton about, the closest people I have to family. Fuck if I’ll ever tell my sister. But sometimes, at my weakest moments, usually in the dead of night when not even cars outside are honking at intersections, I creep out of my bedroom, step into my kitchen, and fish for that antifreeze bottle. I pull those babies out and look at them. Hard. And tell myself that whatever I’m currently going through, nothing compares to the crash of a year ago when I lost everything. They’re a reminder never to go back to drugs as a solution. Now that my body’s broken, I only have my brain, and fucking up both is a waste of whatever life I have left.

Don’t get me wrong—it took me a long while to accept that whatever new future awaited me was worth it.

Actually, I’m not at that point yet. Any future not involving football doesn’t seem worth anything, except for…You guessed it.

Lily.

She’s changed it all.

What I didn’t consider was how much the woman that came with Lily would spin me sideways, too.

I want to explain all this to Carter in a better way, but she won’t let me. The last time I looked at the bottle, I must’ve fallen asleep while it was still in my hand. Or the pain finally crashed into my brain enough to knock me out. Either way, the bottle fell out of my grip and rolled to the floor. By the time I woke up, their location was long forgotten because Lily demanded full attention.

Carter has to know all of this. She has to understand I’m not the guy she thinks I am.

But these last few days, I’m finding it difficult not to blabber out sentences whenever I run into her. Which is a lot, since we live together. I’m also having an insanely hard time deleting what happened that one night when she was spread out before me. All of her, bending to my will, arcing into my tongue, making sounds and moans I want to cause again.

Sometimes, I catch her coming out of the bathroom, damp and in a towel, and I want to lick every droplet of water off her shoulders until I can suck on her lips. Other moments, she’s cooking dinner, whatever she’s making—and she’s a damn good cook—sizzling and crackling in the pan, much like my chest does whenever I’m near her.

Now that Carter’s keeping me at a distance, all I want to do is get closer. Fuck, I want her to like me again, and hell if I know what to do with that. I don’t usually care what women think of me. I enjoy them, they enjoy me, and we go our separate ways. But Carter is regarding me in this weird, detached way that’s making me crazy. Like she’s emotionless, but I know that’s not true. I’ve seen her fired up. I’ve caused more than a few of those sparks, and this numb-ass Carter is not the woman I’ve come to look forward to seeing every day.

I want her back.

I want the three of us back to the way we were, and that has me speeding in the opposite direction at the same time I want to make a U-turn and see what happens.

No woman is supposed to do this to me. Especially after I lost my status, my career, my fucking golden ticket. Carter shouldn’t want anything to do with me. She has every right. It’s what I deserve because I have nothing to offer in return.

I’m so close to accepting this and going through the rigors with Carter until she leaves for good, except the past week keeps haunting me. The special moments between us two, most involving Lily, but some not. Watching movies together when Lily is asleep, having quiet conversations while she naps, holding Carter close when she’s upset, witnessing Carter’s excitement when she showcases her paintings at the coffee shop. I got to see all that. Me. Carter let me in on her happiness, and her happy moments come few and far between these days. And I got to share in the rarity of them.

Damn it. It’s going to make this all the more difficult to say good-bye. The inevitable farewell is coming up quickly, so maybe it’s best to revert to friendly strangers. It’s definitely better for my asshole heart that keeps kicking up its beat whenever she enters my apartment.

You’re no good for her.

Nope. I’m not.

“Aaaaaaahkeeeee!”

Lily’s nose is touching mine when I lift her up for another bench press. I’m lying on the floor, the questionable smell of my rug reaching my nostrils, doing physical therapy exercises I’ve neglected. Carter’s off surveying her paintings, leaving Lily and me to our own devices.

Which, of course, means bench pressing.

I figure Lily weighs a solid twenty-one pounds. Why not use her as a weight while I get this over with so we can both have some fun?

“Bah!” I say as I bring her down again. She erupts with laughter, squealing and wriggling in my hands where I’ve hooked her under her arms.