Page 51 of No Save Point

Tate chuckles, completely unbothered, stretching his arms behind his head like he didn’t just fuck the life out of me. I groan, rolling onto my side, my limbs feeling like dead weight, my body still pulsing with the aftershocks of everything that just happened. “Fuck, I think my soul left my body,” I mutter, trying to process how the hell I’m supposed to move after that.

Carter lets out a breathless laugh, and Tate just smirks like he knows exactly what he did to me. I blink up at the ceiling, debating if I even have the strength to sit up, let alone make it to the bathroom, before finally sighing. “Can I use your shower?”

Carter immediately sits up, like he’s about to help me, like he’s already ready to make sure I’m okay.

Tate just grins, as he lazily drags a hand over my hip. “If you can make it there.”

And honestly? That’s a big fucking if. Carter is already sitting up, already reaching for me, already back to being exactly who he is, soft, sweet. “Come on, Haven,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers over my arm, careful, gentle, like he knows I need it. “Let me help get cleaned up.”

I blink up at him, still trying to process how the hell I’m supposed to stand, and he must see it, because before I can even attempt to move, he’s already pushing himself up, already offering more. “I can get you some clothes,” he adds, “something comfortable. Some sweats, a hoodie, whatever you want.”

God. This man. This man who just split me open, filled me up, lost himself inside me like he’d been waiting his whole life for it and now he’s here, offering me warm clothes and a gentle touch like this is any other night.

I exhale, nodding, letting him help me up. My legs are jelly, my muscles ache, but Carter is there, his arm steady around my waist, guiding me toward the bathroom like he already knew I wouldn’t make it on my own.

The second we step inside, he starts the shower, adjusting the temperature, making sure it’s perfect, steam rising around us before he finally turns back to me.

And then, his voice drops, softer now, hesitant. “Do you…” he trails off, exhaling like he’s trying to find the right words.

I tilt my head, blinking up at him. “What?”

His fingers twitch at his sides, his gaze flicking toward the water before meeting mine again. “Do you regret what happened?”

The question shouldn’t hit me this hard. Carter isn’t just asking, he’s bracing himself for my answer, for what it might mean, for what it could do to whatever the hell is happening between us. I could lie, that I don’t know how I feel, that I’m too tired to process anything. But instead I tell him the truth. “No, Carter,” I murmur, my voice soft, steady, completely certain. “I don’t regret it.”

Carter’s relief is instant, flashing across his face the second the words leave my lips, his shoulders losing that slight tension, his hands relaxing at his sides.

And I could leave it at that. I could let this moment sit, let it settle, let it be enough. Instead, I ask him the same question. “What about you?” My voice is quieter now, steadier, my heart thudding in my chest as I hold his gaze. “Do you regret tonight?”

His answer comes faster than I expect, with zero hesitation, zero doubt. “No.”

It’s firm, certain, like it wasn’t even a question to begin with. “Not even a little bit, now come here,” he murmurs, his fingers skimming my sides, guiding me toward the water.

He helps me step in, the hot water cascading down my sore body, steam curling around us. His hands are on me, soft, gentle. He washes every inch of me, his fingers tracing over my arms, down my back, across my stomach, his touch lingering over my thighs, my hips, his thumb skimming the bruises he left. His searching mine, making sure I’m okay, making sure he didn’t go too far, making sure I don’t regret any of it. I don’t. I never fucking will. By the time he’s done, I’m clean, warm, my body still aching but somehow lighter, softer, safer.

He doesn’t rush me He lets me take my time, lets me stay under the water as long as I need before finally stepping out, grabbing a towel, and wrapping it around me.

I follow him to his room, my body still exhausted, still completely spent. When he hands me a pair of sweats and a hoodie, his hoodie I take it without hesitation, slipping it over my head, inhaling the scent of him, letting it wrap around me like a second skin.

He watches me for a moment, his lips parting like he wants to say something but doesn’t know if he should. And then his voice drops, soft, almost nervous. “Are you… staying?

And the answer is so obvious it almost makes me laugh. Instead, I just nod.

Carter doesn’t hesitate, the second I settle under his blankets, the second I sink into his bed like it’s where I’m supposed to be, he crawls in beside me, his body still warm from the shower, his scent surrounding me, clean, familiar, something I could get used to. He pulls me close. I melt into him.

Carter’s arms are warm, steady, wrapped around me like he never wants to let go. I’m drifting, my body completely spent, exhaustion pulling me under, the steady beat of his heart against my ear lulling me into a perfect, hazy calm.

A voice from the doorway snaps me alert for a moment. “Goodnight, Pretty girl.”

My eyes flutter open, Tate, leaning against the doorframe, mask off now, but still unreadable, still so fucking him. I don’t even get a chance to respond before he shifts his gaze, glancing at Carter, exhaling slowly, like the next words pain him. “Night, little brother.”

Carter grumbles, his grip on me tightening slightly, his voice heavy with exhaustion but still laced with irritation. “Go to bed, Tate.”

Tate just nods, the corner of his mouth tilting up and then he’s gone.

I blink up at Carter, still wrapped in his warmth, still exhausted, still barely able to keep my eyes open. He sighs, pressing his face into my hair, his hold on me never loosening. “Ignore him.”

I hum in response, my breath slowing, my body finally relaxing again.

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