Page 21 of Clap Back (Carter Brothers)

“Yep,” he said. “My house cost about 100K more than Quincy’s house, which is the same size as mine. Lesson learned on waiting, I guess.”

My stomach knotted.

One hundred thousand dollars?

That was a racket!

“Trust me, I raised holy hell. I mean, my house might as well be a shoe-in for a combination between Quincy’s place and Garrett’s. The only thing I didn’t put in mine that they put in theirs was a dog washing station,” he grumbled darkly. “When the builder gave me the price of the full build, I laughed because I thought he was joking.”

“But obviously you went through with it,” I pointed out.

“I did,” he agreed. “But only because my parents encouraged me to go ahead and do it. Truthfully, none of us would’ve built houses like we did had we not gotten a big chunk of it paid for thanks to our grandparents’ investments. Each year, both sets of our grandparents, and our parents, would put a thousand dollars into an investment account for us. It’s grown significantly over the years. And,” he swallowed hard, “when our sister died, all of her assets went to us. We split it all evenly, and that was a big chunk of change as well. The military had provided a lot for her death, as had the insurance policy she’d gotten on herself and listed us as beneficiaries for.”

I looked over at him.

I’d heard a little about Addison Carter—the senior Addison, not the daughter of Keene and Ande—and what I knew was heartbreaking.

A few years ago, Addison had gotten into an abusive relationship that she couldn’t find her way out of. In desperation, she’d tried and failed to find ways out until she’d taken the last step she thought she could—taking her own life.

Though, all of this I’d heard secondhand by Ande, Addison’s twin.

In an attempt to get that look off his face—the one where he looked like he was getting lost in his own head and he didn’t like it there—I said, “What was the worst part about building a house?”

“Dealing with the contractors,” he admitted. “They like you to think that building a house is this great experience but honestly, it’s like herding a bunch of cats. And I’d obviously known that building was hard, first my parents, then all of my siblings built. They each had their share of problems come up. But me?”

My brows rose. “What happened?”

“What didn’t happen?” He chuckled as he leaned forward and took another bite of his pizza. “First, the framers started building a whole different house. They were using some plans from their previous job, which was literally three thousand square feet more than mine. I was supposed to have this fairly large wraparound porch, as well as a sizeable carport and back porch area, and they built this house, making it fit onto a concrete pad that wasn’t made for it. Then, when they realized they’d fucked up, they got mad at me because I didn’t correct them.”

“You are a house builder now?” I wondered, watching as he caught another slice of pizza and devoured half of it before answering.

“Well, I knew immediately that the plans they were using weren’t mine when I saw the framing finished. The only problem is I was away in Scottsdale for a SWAT team class and didn’t see it until they were completely through. The builder was pissed as hell because that was 40K he couldn’t get back because the framers left when they realized what had happened. He asked if he poured me a new back porch area and extended the roof line out to cover it, if I would accept the new plans. I accepted, though I told him anything extra that was required—paint, flooring, or anything material wise—I wasn’t covering. Which he accepted. But I think he got me back here and there where he could get away with it.”

“And do you like the house plan?” I took another slice of pizza myself.

“I like it a lot,” he admitted. “I didn’t think I would because it looked a lot like Quincy’s, but I changed the coloring around. The back porch is different, as well as just the extra square footage.”

“Now you can fill that house with a bunch of kids,” I teased.

He scoffed. “I only want one.”

“One?” I asked. “Why only one?”

“Because one means that I can handle them on my own.” He shuddered. “Have you ever had to deal with multiple kids before?”

I was already shaking my head. “Truthfully, kids scare me.”

He flashed me a smirk. “I’ve seen you handle my nephews and nieces quite a few times. You’re good with them.”

“The three minutes they were in the bakery about to get a sweet doesn’t count,” I giggled.

He winked at me, making my heart stutter in my chest.

This man with his light, curly blond hair, chocolate eyes, tattoos, and ‘fuck everyone’ attitude was captivating. And with all of that attention focused solely on me? It was making my brain misfire.

God, was he really at my house?

I…

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