kisses and promises of the many dirty things he plans on doing to my body when I spend the night Saturday. This schedule works for us. I work each Saturday, though Gail offered every other off, because I need the money, and Carter does his PT and goes into the garage without feeling like he's neglecting me. The last two Saturday nights and Sundays have belonged to us. Since the misunderstanding with Chase and Owen, Carter works hard to preserve those days. Sure, I've snuck over for the middle of the night booty call two or three times, but it's the Saturdays and Sundays I prefer. The waking up in his arms without having to rush home before Dad wakes so I can shower and get ready for work. The way sex becomes lovemaking. I’m ruined for all others, thanks to Carter Cooper. Not that I'm complaining. Or considering others.
After watching Carter drive away, I lock the door and go in search of Dad. The place is empty. His going out has become a frequent occurrence and he refuses answering my questions when I see him the mornings after. There's a woman. The Lynn whose texts I discovered? I’m unsure, but I’ve caught the signs around the house—the lipstick stains on a glass, the floral perfume lingering in his room—but since there aren't liquor bottles and beer cans scattered about I can live with his having a social life. I wash up and change, then sit on the couch, determined to wait up this time. Rubbing my thumb over my chaffed lips, I replay a conversation with Carter from this evening:
We're at Rossview High, lying on a blanket on the football field with a picnic beside us and stars above us. Carter draws me off the ground, and we sit facing one another, one of his legs stretched around me. His eyes glance around before he speaks. "Every time I look at you, I feel this, this catch in my chest. You just make me happy. I know neither of us set out for this to be anything…"
"There was no plan, Carter." I tug his shirt. "And you make me happy too."
He swipes across my cheek with his thumb. "The guys were questioning me about us today. They're such nosey assholes, but it got me thinking, and the more I think, the more I'm sure. I don't want to not plan for this to be long-term."
My head spins. We've tried hard to keep from putting a label on what we were doing. "So, a long-distance relationship then?" Even as I ask, the rightness of planning warms my chest.
His dark brows knit over his light eyes. "Would that be a problem?"
Lifting my seat off the blanket, I stretch and cup his face with my hands. "Walking away from you would be a problem, Coop. Long-distance I can do."
I jolt upright on the couch. I fell asleep. What time is it? Did Dad … the groan of an ailing engine rattles outside the house. That must be what woke me. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I shuffle to the window in time to witness taillights fade around the street corner. The lock at the back door jiggles. Straightening my twisted tee around my stomach, I walk toward the kitchen to greet Dad. The clock on the microwave reads three in the morning.
The lock jiggles again, and I reach for the door to help when it swings open, smacking across my wrist and flying into the kitchen wall.
"Shit." I cradle my arm protectively against my chest, the hit's sting radiating down my fingers and up my forearm.
"What are you doing here?" Dad slurs and stumbles into the kitchen, his shoulder knocking mine before he bumps into the counter.
Irate tears flood my eyes. "You're drunk."
"And you shouldn't be here." The venom in his narrowing eyes drives me a step back. He laughs. "You think I didn't know how often you left here? How many men shared my wife."
My stomach contents churn. He's drunk and confused. "Dad?”
"I knew you'd come back."
"Dad?" I repeat and reach between us, holding my hand out like he's an angry dog I'm trying to calm. "It's me, Jessica," I say to no use; the kitchen is dark, and he only sees Mom through his liquor blurred eyes.
I ease to the left, going for the light switch when he grabs my arm and jerks me close. "What are you doing, Jessygirl?" he asks, swaying.