Page 148 of Next Level Up
Somewhere past the exit signs and empty strip malls, we stop for gas. Carter hops out first, grabbing his wallet and stretching with a groan before heading toward the pump. I’m too tired to move, too content to leave the bubble of warmth after Tate turned the heat up.
He doesn’t say anything at first, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “I don’t hate this,” he says quietly.
“What?”
His eyes wander toward the gas station sign glowing above us, then back to mine through the mirror. “This. Us. The… driving home with snacks in the backseat, your knee against the console, Carter making goo-goo eyes at you.”
I snort. “Goo-goo eyes?”
“You know what I mean.”
I do, but I can’t help but laugh softly.
Tate exhales slowly. “I didn’t think I’d ever want this. A real home, a real… person. But fuck, Haven. You make it hard not to.”
My heart thuds heavily. “I didn’t make you soft you know,” I whisper.
“No, but you make me want to be sometimes.”
Before I can respond, Carter opens the door and climbs back in, rubbing his hands together. “Jesus, it’s freezing. Did you guys say anything while I was gone or just vibe in complete silence?”
“Just confessed my undying love,” Tate mutters.
Carter blinks. “Wait, what?”
“Nothing.” He pulls back onto the road with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on my knee like it belongs there.
Carter leans over, brushing my hair from my face with a soft smile. “We’re almost home, babe.”
But I’m completely exhausted, the warmth of the heater, the soft hum of their voices, it’s too much. I drift, lulled by the sound of Carter talking about some weird cereal brand he spotted in the gas station, and Tate grunting in disapproval.
When we turn onto their street—my street now—I’m half-asleep.
Tate slows as we pull into the driveway. He parks and kills the engine, sitting still for a moment as Carter unbuckles and reaches back to brush his fingers over my cheek. “She’s out,” he whispers.
“No, I’m not,” I mumble, eyes still shut, voice thick with sleep. “I heard the cereal slander.”
Carter laughs, quiet and warm. “Busted.”
I stretch, slow and lazy in the backseat. “Are we… home?” That’s going to take some getting used to saying.
Tate nods, thumb brushing the side of my knee. “Yeah. We are.”
Carter steps out of the car first, then opens my door, offering a hand.
The porch light is on and there’s a bag of Twitch-branded mail on the front step. Thankfully I had remembered to get my mailing address switched right away.
We don’t even make it past the doorway before I start crying.
Carter turns toward me. His eyes go wide, panic blooming across his face. “Hey, hey what’s wrong? Haven—”
“I’m fine,” I whisper, but my voice cracks on the word.
Tate’s behind me, shutting the door with his foot, my rug and backpack in his hands. “You’re not fine, you’re crying.”
“I’m not—” I sniffle, blinking fast. “I’m just… we’re here. I’m here. And I don’t have to pack again, or measure my life in weekends, or keep waiting for everything to fall apart.”
Carter’s face softens like a sunrise, like something holy. “You’re not waiting anymore baby.” he whispers, pulling me into his arms. “You’re home.”
