Page 81 of No Save Point

I grin, fingers tightening around the door handle, trying to keep it light, trying to ignore the way my chest already hurts. “Oh, you better hope I don’t.”

Before I can open the door, Carter steps forward, wrapping his arms around me. He presses a kiss to my temple, then pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes. “Drive safe Haven,” he says quietly.

I nod, swallowing hard.

Tate steps in next, his hug quick. He kisses my cheek, then mutters. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

I manage a small laugh, “No promises.”

They both step back, giving us all space. I slide into the driver’s seat, shut the door behind me,

I watch as Carter and Tate head back toward the house, they briefly pause at the door, glancing back at me. I raise a hand, and they return the gesture before disappearing inside.

I turn the key. The engine rumbles to life, but I don’t drive right away. Not because I’m hesitating, but because leaving feels a little like peeling skin. My pulse pounds in my ears. Every inch of me aches from everything we did, from everything I don’t want to leave behind. I finally pull away, watching the house shrink in my rear view mirror.

40

Carter

The house feels different.

Not physically, everything is exactly where it should be. Nothing’s moved, nothing’s missing. Just the air feels heavier.

We just got home, work was long and draining. My shoulders are tight, my hands still a little sore. Tate dropped his keys on the table without a word and disappeared upstairs the second we walked in. I’m just standing here, trying to shake off the kind of restlessness that isn’t from the job.

I head to the fridge, pull out a water bottle, and take a long drink. The silence wraps around me, thick and weirdly loud. Tate hasn’t said much since this morning.

I watch him disappear down the hall, hear the familiar creak of his bedroom door, hear the faint hum of his PC powering on. A minute later, his voice comes through the walls, low, controlled, slipping into the version of himself that exists when he’s on stream. The cocky, unbothered, untouchable version of him that doesn’t give a fuck about anything.

It’s a good act. One of his best, but it’s still an act.

I know it, even if he won’t admit it. The last few days have been nothing but noise. Tension, heat, chaos and now? Now it’s just… this.

Stillness. I brace my hands on the kitchen counter, the cool surface grounding me for all of two seconds. My fingers dig into the edge as if I can hold myself steady with touch alone. But my mind’s already drifting, pulled right back to her.

To the way she looked at me before she left this morning, wearing that soft hoodie that wasn’t hers. To the way she laughed at Tate’s stupid comment like she belonged here. To the way she felt wrapped around me the night before, her body, her warmth, her breath in my ear.

God, I miss her already. I exhale, pushing off the counter, heading upstairs myself, shutting my door behind me, settling into my own chair, logging on because fuck it, maybe playing will keep me from thinking too much.

The moment we load into the match, the chats explode.

Mine, Tate’s, doesn’t matter where you look, people are losing their shit, the messages flying so fast that there’s no way to catch all of them, but I don’t need to. I already know exactly what they’re saying.

I focus on my loadout, trying to ignore the chaos, but Tate thrives on this shit. He leans into his mic, his signature smirk in his voice, the smugness practically radiating through the headset. “Damn, chat. Y’all really think I’m about to get bodied out here? You’re talking to the master.”

Haven doesn’t miss a beat. She instantly joined the party when I sent the invite.

“The master at getting carried, maybe.”

“Ooooohhhhhh,” I chime in, laughing as Tate scoffs, flipping through his own weapons menu.

“Pretty girl,” he says slowly, voice dripping in mock patience. “It’s cute that you think you’re gonna outplay me, really. But you do realize I’ve got years playing on you, right?”

“Oh, my bad, I didn’t realize we were measuring nerdiness and not skill,” Haven fires back, her tone so effortlessly smug that even I wince. “You want me to slow down for you?”

The way Tate sucks in a breath is enough to make me lose it, my laughter cutting through my mic, and before he can even form a comeback, the match starts, throwing us into the chaos, throwing Haven right into her element, throwing Tate into a spiral the second he realizes she isn’t just talking shit. She’s actually kicking his ass. In the span of the first five minutes, she racks up twice as many kills as him, running circles around him, landing shots he didn’t even see coming, and his chat? His chat is roasting him alive for it.

I grin, ducking into cover, catching sight of Haven across the map, her character moving with sharp, calculated precision, her reaction time so quick it’s ridiculous. The match plays out better than I expected, despite Tate absolutely losing his mind every time Haven manages to take him out. The back-and-forth between them has the chats going feral, messages scrolling so fast I can barely catch them, but it’s all good fun, or at least, it is for Haven.

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