Page 125 of Carter

Ryan would never steer me in the wrong direction.

Neither would Nash. But this isn’t about him; this is about me. And right now, the only thing I have to help me think clearly is Ryan. He was that for me—always.

Nash has helped me see so many things, too. My strength. My worth. But Ryan was my compass. Maybe he always will be.

So… if Ryan were here right now, what would he tell me to do?

He’d tell me to go get him. He’d tell me I’m being ridiculous. That I’m wasting precious moments. Moments that don’t last. That I’m being an idiot. He never held back. He said it how it was and he did it in a way that you didn’t take offense to it. It was a superpower.

Ryan always nudged me toward life. I experienced life for the first time when I met him and every day we had together. He showed me so many things, helped me learn who I was as a person. Even after he died, he kept doing that.

So, why aren’t I listening? If I know what he would tell me to do, what he would say, why am I still here? Alone, in my apartment.

I’ve spent the last three years going against everything Ryan stood for, everything he loved and enjoyed, the person he made me. Nash was the one who pulled me back up, who helped me find the person Ryan helped me become—the person I am, who I was meant to be. I can’t go back to that. I don’t want to.

And I can’t even say that I don’t know how… because I do.

I love Nash. I knew well before he got shot that it’s what I was feeling but I was afraid to tell him. And then I only told him when I left him. And Nash being Nash respected what I wanted. Like he always has, from the very beginning.

I walk into my bedroom and dig through my drawers for something to wear for bed. The first thing I pull out is one ofRyan’s shirts. And for the first time, it doesn’t bring tears to my eyes. I hold it to my chest, and I smile. It’s a sign.

It has to be.

I quickly throw it on. I never thought I’d wear these clothes. I kept them for the memories because I couldn’t bear getting rid of them all. But now, as I sit here in his shirt, I realize it’s giving me strength. Because the memory of Ryan shouldn’t bring me pain. Nash told me that. And I finally get it now. I finally understand.

Loving Ryan is what made me capable of loving Nash. Losing Ryan is what made me strong enough to love Nash. All of this is just one big circle. Without Ryan, I wouldn’t have Nash. And that’s why Nash will never ask me to stop loving him. Because he understood that long before I did.

I crawl into bed because part of me wants to disappear into sleep, but I get back up immediately. This isn’t where I need to be. This isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing. So why the hell am I doing it?

I throw shoes on and order a car to make two stops. It takes forever to get here, switching drivers three times. I start to wonder ifthisis the sign that I’m making the wrong choice. But when it finally shows up, I know I’m not.

The car stops at the store first, and I run in to grab everything I need, then come back out and we make our way to my second stop.

The lights are on inside, and I see someone walking back and forth in the living room, the shadow cast against the curtains.

“Thank you,” I say to the driver, grabbing all of my bags to get out.

Nothing about this feels wrong, but nerves are still going crazy in my stomach.

I ring the bell without hesitation. And when Nash opens the door, a surprised look on his face, all I can do is shrug, holding up the bags.

“I came to make you dinner.”

The softest smile crosses his lips and he moves aside, so I step in.

Just like that.

Nash and I never needed words. We understood each other on a different level from the very beginning. We will talk about this, just not now.

Now, I’m going to make him Shepard’s Pie because it’s his favorite, and I kept meaning to but ran out of time. I don’t want to run out of time anymore. I want to do everything that I want to do, in case one day we can’t.

“There’s something different about it, but I can’t place it,” he says, pointing at the food with his fork.

“I think I added too many onions,” I say.

“You did put in a lot of onions, but it wasn’t bad. It’s just not hers.”

“So less onions. Vegetables are cut up smaller. Less salt and more of…”