Sort of Normal

Chapter 14

Boone

I listen to the popcorn go pop, pop, pop—the bag growing with each passing second. We've been watching movies I haven't been paying attention to, which explains why I was the lucky soul elected to make a snack. That or Gabe's trying to vote me off the island as if it were Survivor or something. Now that he's calmed down, I'm sure he's back to imagining up ways to kill me.

This situation is strange as hell—I hoped but never expected to be able to spend time with all three of them. Their relationship has a pull that makes you want to study it. They're unbreakable when they're together.

"Watched pot never boils," Carter says, joining me in the kitchen.

I glance over my shoulder at her. I was probably staring a hole through the microwave, my eyes alone causing the heat.

"Good thing this is popcorn," I answer. "No pot necessary."

Carter's arms are wrapped tight around her middle, but she seems lighter than before, which makes me feel better. I keep telling myself this all could've been worse, not that it helps.

I reach for her forearm and pull her toward me. She comes willingly—thankfully no flinching. "I thought you were engrossed in the movie," I say.

She smiles. "Do you even know what movie we were watching?"

I shake my head.

"I didn't think so." Slowly and definitely unsure, she puts her arms around my waist. I want to kiss her again, but I don't want things to go too quick for her. She has to be the one to make the first moves. "It was at the boring part."

"Gabe and Kara were okay with you following after their least favorite SOB?"

"Is it possible to have a favorite?"

"Yeah, sure. Everyone's got a guy they sort of love to hate."

"Do we really have a long enough list you could be our least favorite?"

Her face contorts as if she were deep in thought, and it makes me laugh. "My dad is our least favorite, for sure," she says finally. The popping behind me comes to a sudden stop and the microwave beeps. Neither of us moves. "Were you serious?"

"About not watching the movie?"

"No, about the job."

I nod. "Wouldn't have brought it up unless I was."

Her eyebrows pull together, and she fists her hand in my shirt at the base of my back. "Will you be wearing a shirt and shoes?"

"Ah, pretty girl, don't you like me naked?"

She blushes. "I like it when you abide by the rules."

I sigh as if it were this huge, horrible thing to do. "If it's a part of our terms and agreements, sure, I'll wear one."

"Okay. I'll take it."

"Seriously? That's it? What about Gabe?"

She pops up on her tiptoes and licks her lips. Then, in the time it takes me to blink, she gives me a quick kiss. "He's going to have to learn to deal with it."

I grin. "There's going to be a lot of that, I think."

"Hey, Carter? Everything okay?" Gabe calls. I'll bet his ears were itching with us talking about him.

#

"Thanks for letting me stay," I say to Kara as I'm getting ready to leave. She's the type of person you hate disappointing, and I wish she still trusted me the way she used to. She once pulled me aside and thanked me for being so good to Carter. Now she looks like she wants me to leave.

She smiles anyway because she's nice through and through. "You're welcome, Boone," she answers. "I hope I have a reason to do it again."

I glance at Carter standing next to me on the sidewalk. She said she'd walk me to my car, which would've pissed Gabe off had he been around for it. He disappeared a few minutes before the credits rolled on the last movie (or so I was told, because I still wasn't paying any attention) to talk to a cop friend on the phone. He must've once stitched him up and it made them buddies. Maybe next time I get hurt I'll go see Dr. Gabe Matthews and the same thing will happen.

Or hell will freeze, pigs will fly, and Pluto will become a fucking planet again.

Carter looks up at me, smiling shyly. Almost hopefully. If she can look at me this way, anything is possible and everything can be okay.

"Yeah, you know, me too," I say back to Kara. "This time I'm not gonna make a mess of things."

It's the wrong choice of words because Carter's smile falters. I know she's never going to be able to trust me again if she keeps getting reminded of why she shouldn't, but I also don't want her to go into this blind. Forgiving is okay, but forgetting isn't. That's how you survive.

Kara gives me one final wave before heading back into the house. Carter turns and walks toward my car wordlessly. I follow her. We weren't able to do much after the kiss in the kitchen—not even talk—so I'm not sure how this thing is going to end. It makes me nervous as hell. Basically everything I described about the June Carter Hart Syndrome is true. Every last one of the symptoms is ravaging my system.

It’s so bad I mindlessly unlock my car, get in, then put the window down. I’m not leaving room for there to be some sort of an epic exit.

“Shit,” I say. “What am I doing?”

“I don’t know,” Carter says back.

“I’m a lost cause when it comes to anything between us,” I mutter. “I don’t want to be—it’s just I don’t really know how to, uh, be with you.”

“You already have been.”

I swallow thickly. “No, not like that. I don’t know how to date you, I guess, or whatever direction we’re going in. I’ve been too focused on the chase and not so much what happens when I’ve caught you.”

“You haven’t caught me yet, Boone,” she tells me quietly. “You’re still chasing.”

Doesn’t help with the nerves, but I completely deserve it. “Probably a good thing, considering I’ve got a learning curve against me.”

Her eyebrows move toward each other and raise—­­­a sign she’s about to say what’s on her mind. She tucks her hair behind her ear and straightens. Yep, she’s about to serve my ass on a platter.

“You said it wasn’t that you didn’t love me, but that you loved me too much. If that’s really the case, you’ll show me. Being nervous and awkward—that’s what I want to see. Sometimes it feels like I’m just a character in whatever charade you’re playing. You always lose … you lose sight of our present and only see what we’ve had.”

“I wish I could argue against that.” I lean my head back against the seat and angle it to look out at her. “There’s never been anyone else for me but you.” I let out a shaky breath. I’m good at being confident and blunt, but I’m not good at … I don’t know, emotions. I’m especially bad with the ones that wear you down, which are all I’ve felt today. “I’ll show you I love you."

She doesn't agree or say she hopes I will. She just nods. I never gave her any sort of validation, so I guess I don't deserve any either.

I turn my car on and put it into gear. Her hand drops to my window and grips my car.

"There's a ladder in the shed. If you come back in an hour, my window will be unlocked," she tells me in an urgent whisper.

I cover her hand with mine. "What are you saying?"

"We can talk some more," she answers.

I stare at her, wanting to tell her I'm pretty damn thankful for the opportunity, but I think she's already got the memo. This is her way of letting me in. Telling me about the ladder means she's making me work a little less for her.

How the hell am I going to do this? There's no way to quietly go about moving a ladder from a garage to a window. I'll alert the whole house—neighborhood, probably—then the cops will get called. I've honestly never been so scared in my entire life.

New territory has that effect on you.

#

Carter's given me an inch, but that inch could stretch for a mile in difficulty. She made getting the ladder in the shed sound easy. Who knows—maybe she thought it would be. But no one just leaves a ladder laying around in an unlocked shed easy to get to. That's like putting a sign out in the front yard that says, Yard Sale for Robbers.

"Well, this ain't happening," I grumble.

The ladder is visible at the back of the shed, but it's basically a Herculean trial to get to. A lawn mower, garden stuff, boxes of who-knows-what and a whole lot more are in the way. I'll either die getting to the back of the shed, or Gabe'll hear me, which is probably the worst of the two outcomes. I'm better off putting my hands through hell.

I shut the shed door and go to the back of the house. If I'm looking to gain everyone's trust, this is a horrible idea.

I move ahead anyway. Luckily I've gotten better at scaling the side of the house with minimal damage. As she promised, the window is unlocked. It makes me grin.

I push it up and then try to quietly maneuver inside the room. Carter's got it dark, and for a second I worry she’s asleep. Maybe this isn’t the best thing for her after what happened today. She had the scare of a lifetime, and the last thing she needs is me sneaking into her room.

"Hey," I hear.

I jump. This might be the last thing I need. My eyes adjust, and I see her sitting cross-legged on her bed. She's in a tank top and pajama pants, her hair on top of her head. She looks more as if she were ready for bed than ready to see me. Here I was hoping that this was some sort of a date or something.

"Hey."

I run my hand over my chin where my beard has grown to lengths, which surely puts me in lumberjack territory. This girl sees me for all the stupid shit I've done, and it unnerves me. I'm used to scaling walls and writing notes and trying to wield her heart like a courtroom, but this part is all new for me. Now my heart's in her hands, and I'm worried about my beard.

Maybe I need to talk to Jason. He's the one with the wife and the family, so he'd probably know a thing or two about keeping a girl once you've got her.

For now, I guess I've got to go with my strengths. I reach into my pocket and pull out the note, this time without any flowers. "I, uh, wrote you again."

"You did?" Even in the dark, I can see her eyes light up. "Will you tell me what it says?"

I swallow. Writing them is one thing, but reading them out loud? "Don't you want to read it?"

She laughs softly. "It's dark."

"Yeah, that's a problem." I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a long, shaky breath, then take the few deliberate steps to her bed. I sit down beside her, so close her bare leg touches my jean-clad one. It's innocent, but enough to make me harder than glass. I unfold the paper as if I'd be able to read it or something. Good thing I've got it memorized. "'I started writing these notes because I wanted to protect the things that made you, you. I wanted you to know you're special and gorgeous and strong. I wanted you to know I loved you—that I still love you, Carter. You're perfect. You're beautiful. You're brave. You're safe.'"

I fold the note back up and grit my teeth. I didn't get the flowers because I was too busy trying to find the perfect thing to say. I needed to be raw because tonight matters. So I spent the last hour huddled up two streets down in my car, looking like a creeper, while I wrote and rewrote this so many times I ran out of paper. I ended up using a page out of my car owner's manual.

My heart thuds as Carter remains still. This is how it should've been all those years ago. I should've had my heart on my sleeve and been strong enough to favor love over fear. It guts me to think if I wasn't such a dumbass, we could've been together for years. Maybe even for as long as we've known each other—practically forever.

Her hand slowly moves up and over my thigh, searching for mine. When she finds it, she holds onto my wrist. She steals the note away with her other hand.

"I have a box," she tells me quietly. "I'm keeping them all."

I let out a ragged breath and twine our hands. I'm sure mine is clammy and gross. "I feel like a teenager."

She laughs breathlessly and lies her head on my shoulder. "Me too."

"At least we're making up for lost time."

"Too much lost time," she agrees.

We sit for a while in the quiet, me reveling in the fact I'm holding her hand and her staring down at the note she can't read in the dark. Then her head shifts on my shoulder and her lips press against the corner of my mouth.

I move to kiss her deeper, dropping her hand and cupping her chin. I half expect her to pull away or for another angry mom to yell at us, but nothing happens. Instead, she manages to set the note out of the way and maneuver onto my lap. It's as though we were made to be together like this. This part of our relationship is always effortless.

I slip my hands from her chin and down her back to press her into me. Her tongue flicks against mine as I stand, lifting her, then lay her down on the bed. I balance above her, knowing full well she can feel my cock straining against my jeans. I won't go any further tonight than this, but I want her to know how she makes me feel. She's literally the only one who can do this to me, dysfunctional as it makes my dick sound.

She moans, and I capture it with my mouth. When her hips buck against mine, my whole body goes rigid. I've got to keep myself in check. If I let this get out of control, I won't be able to contain myself and get caught for sure. Beyond that, I've got to make this about her and only her.

She wraps her legs around me and desperately gropes her hands at my back. She wants to be just as close as I do—just as badly. Fuck, I want her.

I cup her breast with my hand, thumb rubbing over her nipple. So much for control. I'm kidding myself to think there's even such thing as control around her. It would be so fucking easy to take off all of her clothes, kiss her and touch her and fuck her. I just … can't. I won't do this heat-of-the-moment thing with her again, where I'm there and then gone.

I won't stop, but I won't go any further. I squeeze her nipple, now in a hard peak, and she arches against me. Someday, I'm going to see what her face looks like when I've got her feeling like this—I'm going to open my eyes when I kiss her. I'm completely enamored by her gorgeous face—her expressions. They say it's important to find your passion in life, and she's mine.

Her hips rise, and she presses into the bulge of my cock, grinding. I know she's close because she's not kissing me back anymore. She's just groping blindly at my back and moaning into my mouth. I slide my hand from her breast to her waist, guiding her hips. It doesn't take long before she starts shuddering, her cries muffled by my mouth, as she rides out an orgasm.

I kiss her through it and only pull away when she's gone limp. In the moonlight, I can see her smiling up at me, dazed. I fall onto my side and pull her against me, spooning her. We fall asleep like that.