Except it's not William's arm. It's Carter's. "Maybe we should go," he says.
"You overstep," William seethes from my other side.
Carter ignores him. "You've had three drinks in under an hour," he states, then leans forward and adds quietly, "plus the ones at home."
I yank my arm away. "You're embarrassing me," I hiss.
"That is not my intention." He says it so matter-of-factly that it takes me aback.
"Leave us alone," William interjects, stepping toward him. Carter's eyes gain a strange fire in the darkness, and I know I need to deescalate this situation quickly.
"It's fine. William, I'll call you tomorrow," I tell him, placing my hand on Carter's elbow and guiding him away. I stumble a bit on the grass, and wonder if I did have one too many. Not that I'd ever admit it.
Carter and I walk back to the car in silence, a silence that continues through our drive home. I hurry out of the garage and toward the boat house, but hear him following close behind me.
"I'm not in the mood for a lecture right now," I say, turning just before I reach the door.
"I'm just worried about you."
"You're worried about me? You have a lot of gall, saying something like that to me," I reply, turning on him.
"Why is that so hard for you to believe?"
"Gee, I don't know. Maybe because of your habit of abandoning me right after we have sex! You didn't seem so worried about me then!" Shit. I thought I was over that. Guess not.
"You're the one who picked me out for a one-night stand in the first place! It's not my fault that we ended up living together!"
"No, you're right. That absolves you from having any responsibility for your actions," I retort sarcastically, and stomp up the steps to my room, Carter in hot pursuit.
"Look, can we take a minute, and just..." he takes a deep breath as we reach my bedroom. "I can at least explain about the last time. I have night terrors, OK? I was going to explain, but it's fucking embarrassing. You don't want to share a bed with me. It would not be a good time for you, trust me."
"Oh." My heartbeat is still racing, fueled by anger and alcohol. "Well, what about the time before that?"
He runs his hands through his hair in frustration. "I don't know, alright? I just can't stand the idea of someone...being close to me. I know that's fucked up."
"Yeah, it's pretty fucked up," I agree.
"I shouldn't even be alive right now, is the truth. I should've died with the rest of the guys in my unit."
"Carter, fuck! You can't say things like that!"
"It's just a fact. The only reason I'm alive right now is because of your father's money."
"Wait, what do you mean?"
"He's the one who got me evacuated to Paris. His contacts knew that there was a doctor there, the best neurosurgeon on the planet, who could save me. No one else got that treatment. And if I'd been conscious, I would have refused it. I left my entire unit behind."
"But you would have died."
"I know. My team and I did everything together. I would have died for any one of them. But your father reached in and plucked me out like I was different, and that broke the bond. And now... now it's like he's got some power over me because he saved my life. And I'm supposed to be grateful, but I'm not."
My head feels so cloudy. I can't process what he's saying. "Carter, I don't know what to say."
I can see the look of disappointment on his face. He opens up to me, and I'm too drunk to help him. "I know. Just forget it, OK? Just forget it."
Chapter Twenty-Three
I wake up and immediately wish I were asleep again. My head feels like it's in a vice, and my mouth tastes like vomit. Did I manage to make it to the toilet? I can't even remember.
The only image in my mind from last night is of Nikki and I dancing on top of a table at some club by the waterfront. I think a few of Jack's teammates were there, but he wasn't. Where has my brother been recently? It's like he doesn't know how to party anymore.
I push my hair out of my face and try to focus on the clock on my bedside table. After a couple blinks, the time finally comes into view. 12:33PM. Not that late. I've certainly slept later after a night out. Just a little after noon...noon. Why is that time sticking out to me? Someone reminded me about something at noon... I order my brain to retrieve the information, but it's moving sluggishly. Something about Carter. At noon.
Oh, shit. His final physical therapy appointment, the culmination of all his work, and I'm not there. It was at noon today.
I leap out of bed and the floor rolls beneath me. I lean on the bedpost for a moment to steady myself and then hurry over to my bureau and yank on a shirt and jeans and stuff my feet into a pair of boots. I grab my clutch from last night and check my phone on the way down the stairs. Two missed calls from Carter and a text from 11:45: I'm leaving. He was guarding me last night until who knows what hour, so I'm sure he knows that I have no excuse for missing the appointment except that I was hungover and sleeping it off.