Haven shivers, her breath catching, her fingers twitching in the water. I do the same, trailing the cloth lower, smoothing over her stomach, her waist, her inner thigh, my lips finding a particularly dark mark near her hipbone, kissing it, soothing it, whispering soft apologies against her skin.

He cups Haven’s jaw, tilting her head slightly toward him, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “Feeling better, pretty?”

Her eyes slowly open, hazy, warm, so fucking tired, but she smiles—completely at peace. “Yeah,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “You guys take good care of me.”

By the time I’m lifting Haven out of the water, she’s practically limp against me, her body slack, her arms barely able to wrap around my shoulders, her breath warm against my neck.

Tate has already wandered off, his footsteps disappearing down the hall without a single word, his presence vanishing like he was never even here.

It’s typical. The second emotions start creeping in, the second something doesn’t fit into his usual game of control, he shuts down, checks out, leaves before he has to acknowledge anything that might make him feel. A part of me rationalizes with him, because what the fuck are we even doing?

We both know the truth, we both know Haven is different. We both know we’ve fallen for her, hard and fast and reckless. He doesn’t fucking do feelings, but I do. And right now I’m the only one left here to take care of her.

I wrap a towel around her, keeping her close, rubbing the soft fabric over her skin, drying every inch of her slowly, carefully, making sure she’s warm, that she’s comfortable, that she knows I’m not just going to use her and walk away like my brother does. When I help her step into my sweatpants, they swallow her whole, the fabric pooling around her ankles, the waistband cinched tight just to keep them from falling. My T-shirt drowns her too, the sleeves nearly covering her fingers, but fuck she looks so damn perfect in my clothes.

I kiss the top of her damp hair, guiding her out of the bathroom, leading her back to my room, helping her into bed, letting her curl up against me like she belongs here.

Just as my eyes start to shut and as I let my body relax, I hear her voice, soft and uncertain, cutting through the silence. “Do you think Tate likes me?”

I stiffen. My jaw clenches, fuck, that’s a dangerous loaded question. I’ve been waiting for her to ask, but not ready for the answer. It’s one she might not understand, or maybe she already does.

37

Haven

I watch Carter, my question hanging between us making the weight of everything that’s happened feel even heavier, more confusing.