the look. He is that bad, and you can't fix him by yourself."
"There's no one else." Like me, Dad is an only child. His parents have been gone for years, and Mom's family obviously won't be of help. Her mother is in a home with dementia, and her brothers, all older, barely spoke with her. None of them have heard from or seen her since before she left in January. I'm alone in this, and if something happens to him, I'm alone in life. My family will be gone.
After a "Carter Cooper Specialty," which means a breakfast of bell pepper filled omelets and crisp bacon, Carter strips me of his shirt and my panties and pulls me into the shower. His lips brush mine carefully, the swelling and cut still tender, but they devour the rest of me with urgency. His hands and fingers work their magic, probing my face and the bruises along my hip and ribs where Dad threw me into the doorframe, before touching and stroking me to a leg-weakening climax with black spots dancing behind my eyelids. His face is smug as he kisses my inner thigh and sets my foot on the shower floor and stands.
"I don't know if I'll ever like showering alone again," he teases, licking his lips and wagging his brows.
The length saluting me between his legs steals my gaze. "I can't say I blame you, they’re more fun with a friend." I reach down to return the favor. "Let me show you."
Carter tsks and blocks my reach. Kissing my fingers, he smiles. "Later."
I pout until he spins me around and squirts soap in my palm.
After our shower, I stand before his double vanity combing my hair and following his movements. I could get used to this. Watching him run a razor over his neck and jaw, watching him drop his towel and moon me on his way to his bedroom. Watching his eyes linger on my breasts as I towel off and pull on a bra. He throws on basketball shorts and has a grey tee in his hands, so I go for his closet to grab one. I love the soft cotton of his shirts mixed with his scent and how they swamp my body. Carter snags the tee from my hand before I can pull it on.
"Dress in your own clothes today, Little Aggie," he says before kissing my cheek and leaving the room.
I scratch at my arm, worrying. Does he want to go out? If we're showering and dressing, he must. He forfeited yesterday to sit with me, I’d understand if he wants to get out today. I dig through the items he packed in a rush Friday night. How do I tell him I don't want to leave the house? My face, which I've ignored as best I can when I pass any reflective surface, is hideous: all black and blue and scabs and swelling. I draw on my black knit shorts and a lavender V-neck tee nowhere near as soft as Carter's and leave my wet hair down in a misbegotten attempt to hide the damage. I could cover the bruising with makeup, but that might come off as a battered woman attempting to hide her abuse. I would never want anyone to consider Carter could do something like this.
My worry is all for naught. Stepping out of his bedroom, I hear two familiar voices. I'm throwing myself at their bodies before they know what's happening.
"What are you two doing here?" I wrap one arm around each girl until I'm the middle of a best friend sandwich.
"Your secret boyfriend called me," Jules says, her tone brimming with accusation as she pinches my side.
I cringe and look at Cassie, who bites her bottom lip when presented with a full view of my beaten face. She's been in this position. Different circumstances, but the same result; a man who claimed to love her nearly killed her. She's more than happy now that she’s married to Austin Rutledge.
"I'm gonna meet up with the guys and let you three talk." I look over my shoulder toward the door since Jules and Cassie maintain firm grips on my hands.
"You good? I can pick up some lunch later. I'll call," Carter says, rambling.
This is the first time since he asked me to lunch and brought me to the garage that I've seen genuine uncertainty in his eyes. He toys with the keys in his hands while his gaze skims over me, his