dinners with him and staying home because I'm fearful of a relapse. If he's drinking when I'm working during the day, I'm unaware. He went to the unemployment office, he spoke to a lawyer about Mom, he even mowed our yard. He appears to have things under control.
I stand, smoothing the bedsheets and pillows back in place. My clothing is on the floor at the end of Carter's bed where I dropped it: a tee-shirt, shorts, and sandals. No bra, no socks, and shoes. Hell, I'd consider going commando if I didn't have this reoccurring nightmare of flashing my bits at someone other than Carter. I look to his bathroom door—which didn't quite click shut in his haste to get away from me and back to my clothes. The toilet flushes, followed by the shower door opening and closing, and I turn for the bathroom.
He's facing away, one hand on the wall, head down, and water running over his backside when I step inside his immaculate white bathroom. The glass door fogs, but not enough to cover how Carter's hand curls into a fist against the tile wall.
"Fuck." He taps his fist against the tile and spins—then freezes.
I'm already reaching for the shower door, but if I weren't, I would have after catching the agony etched on his face the moment between when he turned and when he saw me.
"I thought I'd take a shower with you," I say, opening the door and stepping inside. "I hope that's okay."
"Fuck, yes, it's more than okay, babe." I'm cheek to chest before I can smile at his urgency. I shiver as the hot water shocks my system, and Carter's hand massages circles across my back.
"I walk through your door and drop my clothes like a whore, don't I?"
His hold tightens. "Not a whore, and I'm not complaining, Jess."
No, not a whore, but close enough. I can admit it even if he can't. "You're the best part of my days, Carter Cooper. I am so thankful for the job with your mom, and I love it there, but I can't stop stressing over my dad and what's next. Money, my mother, school, graduation … by the time I make it here, I want nothing more than to surrender to you and blissfully float away."
"You can't babysit his every move. You're going back to school in August."
"I know, but if he drinks—"
"Then, he drinks." His fingers wrap around my biceps and ease me back. "He can't be your responsibility forever."
"I can't…" I turn, allowing the water to hit my chest. "I can't just walk away. I'm not strong like my mother."
"Strong?" His chest jolts my back, and I swear I feel the glare of his eyes drilling into my head from where he stands. "What do you mean?"
"She did it. She walked away from us. Left this life. I'm not strong enough." Shame has my head slumping forward.
I'm jerked around. "What the fuck are you talking about? You think she was strong for walking out on you? For leaving his life in your hands?" My eyes shift sideways, and he takes my chin in his fingers. "Nope, you look at me, Little Aggie. Your mother is weak, and she is a poor excuse for a woman. You're the strong one. You staying here and taking care of him, paying their bills, helping with his addiction"—Carter moves until he's cradling my face in the palms of both hands— "that proves you're stronger than any woman I know. That is what has me selfishly desperate for more and more of you."
"Carter."
One thumb presses my lips closed, shushing me. "Let me say this, please. I'm sorry for being an ass in there. I'm jealous, that's all. He gets your evenings, and my mom has your days, and while I thoroughly enjoy the few hours I have with you at night, it isn't enough, and…"
He inhales and turns his head, staring at the wall. The muscle in his jaw flinches, and I touch his side.
"Eh, fuck it." He steps into my space, his six-foot frame towering over me as he takes my hips and maneuvers me against the tile wall. His muscled thighs touching mine as his forearms rest beside my head. “I’m counting the weeks left, and already I dread the day you go back. Knowing our time is limited should have me trying to keep my distance, but I swear, Jess, my need for you grows stronger. My goal is to soak up every bit of