Page 12 of No Save Point

Haven

The longer I sit on this couch, the heavier it gets. It wraps tight around my chest, squeezes behind my ribs, settles like a fist in my stomach that refuses to unclench. Every passing second drags louder. My palms are damp and my leg won’t stop bouncing. I keep checking the same three apps on my phone like something’s going to change.

Cassie, of course, has completely abandoned me. She’s sprawled across the bed in the next room like we didn’t just drive fifty-something miles to meet a guy I’ve never seen in real life. She’s scrolling like it’s just another day, like I’m not five minutes from having a full-blown anxiety attack and possibly yeeting myself out the nearest window.

I wish I could be that calm. That detached. Thatcool, but I’m not.

Now I’m about to see his face. His real face. What if he doesn’t like mine?

Sure he sees it on stream, but what if I make a weird face, or my hair goes crazy. What if I say something awkward or weird or try to make a joke and it just dies in the space between us?

My fingers twist in the hem of my hoodie as I try to breathe like a normal person, not someone actively questioning every life choice that led to this moment.

Expectation versus reality. That’s the space I’m trapped in. Every late-night message. Every flirty comment. Every time he called me babe or sent a stupid gif that somehow made me blush, it’s all led to this.

I pull my knees up to my chest, phone balanced against my thigh, eyes darting toward the clock for what has to be the fiftieth time in the last ten minutes.

He should be here by now. Maybe he’s outside, hesitating, second-guessing, running through all the same overanalyzed scenarios that I am, all the potential outcomes stacked against each other like some unwinnable bet. Maybe he’s parked down the street, mentally preparing, wondering if this will be a letdown, if I’ll be different in person, if the chemistry we’ve built through nothing but messages and voice chats will actually translate into something real.

I gnaw at my bottom lip, debating whether to wait him out or—nope. Screw this. I grab my phone and tap out a quick text before I can talk myself out of it.

Me:Are you here?

I hit send and immediately regret it. I can’t just sit here in limbo now, waiting for him to make a move. Now, the ball is in his court, and there’s no taking it back, no pretending that I’m anything other than ridiculously, annoyingly nervous about this whole thing.

I stare at the screen, watching for the three little dots, my breath held tight in my chest like it’s waiting for permission to let go.

Seconds stretch into something that sits just below my ribs, pressing inward with too much force. My phone lights up.

Carter:Yeah

That’s it. One word. Simple. Direct. But somehow, it makes my pulse jump. I exhale slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard, trying to decide how to respond, but before I can type anything, another message pops up.

Carter:I’m outside.

My stomach flips. I push off the couch, smoothing my hands down my thighs, shaking out the nervous energy curling in my fingers before I walk toward the door. I can feel my heartbeat picking up pace, an unsteady rhythm knocking against my ribs, but I swallow it down and reach for the doorknob. Here we go.

The second I open the door, the night air rushes against my skin, crisp and cool, carrying the faint scent of rain and the lingering warmth of pavement that’s been holding onto the last bit of daylight.

Then I see him. His car is parked just a few feet away, engine off, headlights dimmed, but he’s still sitting there, fingers curled around the steering wheel, shoulders tense, looking like a man staring down something much bigger.

I hesitate for half a second before stepping onto the porch, my weight shifting just enough to make the wood creak loudly underfoot. His head snaps up at the sound, and I swear I can see the exact moment the panic sets in.

His eyes locked on me like I’m a final boss fight he’s woefully underprepared for. For some reason, that makes me feel a little better.

With a slow inhale, he pushes the door open and steps out, unfolding himself from the driver’s seat like the universe just forced him into one hell of a do-or-die situation.

Holy. Shit. My brain short-circuits. Completely blanks, because whatever I thought I was prepared for? This is not it.

Maybe I was expecting soft around the edges. Something closer to the voice I’ve heard through my headset a hundred times warm, low, a little self-deprecating. The kind of guy who wears hoodies with worn-out elbows and smiles like he doesn’t know what to do with compliments.

Carter is none of those things.

He’s tall—tall—and lean in that broad-shouldered way that doesn’t register until he’s standing in front of you, and suddenly the air feels thinner. His black T-shirt clings just enough to hint at the muscle underneath, sleeves stretched slightly around biceps I was absolutely not prepared for. His jeans are worn in, low on his hips. His dirty blonde hair is messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it all morning.

Brown eyes find mine with this soft, almost stunned expression. For a moment, I forget how to stand. Forget everything except the fact that I’ve spent months imagining this guy and somehow he still manages to knock the breath right out of me.

The part that unravels me in an entirely different way, it that he looks nervous.Like he’s the one wondering if this is going to live up to everything we built between keyboard clicks and late-night messages.

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