Page 126 of Carter

He shakes his head, sighing. “Some crazy special ingredient that neither of us knows exists.”

I huff a laugh, because he’s right. We’re both bad at this, but we’re trying to get better. And we’re doing it together.

His gaze meets mine, looking as tired as I feel.

I swallow hard.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“For what?”

“You know what,” I croak.

“Don’t apologize for your feelings, Carter. You did what you had to do.”

“But I shouldn’t have. I was scared and I… I hurt us both.”

“It hasn’t been easy, I won’t lie, but deep down, I think I knew we’d be okay.”

“How did you know that?”

He shakes his head, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. “I don’t know. Just a gut feeling. It felt too good not to last.”

“Yeah, it does.” We sit in silence for a moment before I get up. “I’m going to put the food away. Go get comfortable.”

“I am comfortable.”

I roll my eyes, then start cleaning up the kitchen and putting away the food. It doesn’t take me long, but it was late before I showed up.

When I’m finished, I turn to face him, resting my hands on the counter with my back against it.

“Can I ask you something?” I say carefully.

Nash gets up from the table and walks over to me, standing in front of me. Towering over me with his presence more than his actual height. It’s not intimidating though. It’s comforting.

“You know the answer to that,” he says.

“The anniversary of Ryan’s death is coming up, and I, uh…” My throat starts to get tight, but I push past it. “I’ve never gone to his grave, not since he was first buried, because it’s just been too much, and I was hoping that you would… maybe—”

Nash cups my cheeks, and I instantly want to yell at him for using his left arm—even though he isn’treallyusing it.

“Carter, yes. I will go with you to visit Ryan. On his anniversary or any other day you want to go. Thank you for asking me.”

A wave of relief washes over me, and I sink against him, taking in his smell and the heat of his body. It’s right. So right.

“Do you want to go to bed or watch a movie?” I ask.

“Bed,” he rasps out, scratching the back of his neck. “Definitely bed.”

“I’ll stay on the couch with you if you want.”

“No,” he says. “We’re stayinginbed.”

“But you said it’s uncomfortable.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

I go to him, putting my arms around his waist. “I don’t want you in pain.”