Page 26 of No Save Point

The setup is exactly what I should’ve expected, high-end, custom-built, the kind of rig that makes a PC gamer weak in the knees. Along with a desk so clean it’s borderline suspicious.

I whistle low, stepping closer, my fingers skimming the edge of the desk. “Damn. You really went all out.”

Carter leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching me like he’s waiting to see how I react. “Figured it was time.”

I snort, glancing over my shoulder at him. “What, finally decided to actually play instead of just lurking in my stream chat?”

His smirk twitches, but he doesn’t respond.

I’m too busy taking everything in to press further, too distracted by the way the soft glow of the PC casts light over the rest of the room, the way it catches on something near the outside of his door. A mask, a red neon light mask. I pause. Frown.

It looks exactly like the one the asshole on the server wears, the one I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time cursing at through my headset. I tilt my head, processing, rolling the thought around in my brain like a loose marble, trying to connect something that doesn’t quite fit yet. Then without really thinking, I laugh. “You didn’t tell me your brother is one of those guys,” I say, nudging the chair with my foot, nodding toward the mask. “I bet he’s the kind of player who hides in corners with a shotgun.”

I glance at Carter, expecting him to roll his eyes, expecting him to laugh, to agree, to give me some snarky comment back.

But he doesn’t. He just… stares at me, then back at the mask. Not in a casual way. Not in ayeah, my brother’s a dickheadkind of way. But in a stiff, unreadable, silent way. Like he’s thinking, like I just said something I wasn’t supposed to say.

12

Carter

She’s still standing there, half-smirking, completely unaware of the way her words just punched me straight in the fucking ribs.

Like it’s a joke, as if she’s not talking about the same guy she thinks is a complete pain in the ass, the same guy she would never have agreed to visit if she knew the truth.

I try to smile, to play it off, to act normal. But I don’t think I pull it off, I can still feel it.

The words twisting low in my stomach, sinking into something thick and miserable. Guilt, and not the kind I can ignore anymore.

I should tell her, I should tell her now.I just stand there like an idiot, hands clenched, the weight of everything pressing down so fucking hard I can barely breathe.

She’s waiting for me to respond, waiting for me to say something, still thinking this is funny, still thinking this is nothing.

I force a breath, dragging a hand through my hair, knowing I need to say something before the silence stretches too long, before she realizes how fucking wrecked I am by one stupid comment.

So I shrug, saying the weakest thing possible. “Yeah. He’s… a lot.”

Haven snickers, shaking her head. “Figures. I feel like I can already guess what kind of player he is. Loud? Obnoxious? Thinks he’s the best one on the server even though his K/D ratio is probably garbage?”

I should stop her before she digs this hole too deep, before I have to stand here and listen to her tear into someone who is literally in the next room.

But I don’t, I let her keep talking. Every word makes the guilt sit heavier, deeper, worse. She doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve to be lied to, manipulated, strung along. She came here for me.

I’ve been standing on a fucking fault line this whole time, just waiting for it to crack open beneath me. And the worst part, I think I’ve already passed the point of no return.

I can’t stand here any longer. Can’t listen to her keep talking about him, not when my pulse is still running too fucking fast.

So I grab the remote, shut the TV off, and nod toward the door.

“Come on,” I say, keeping my voice easy. “You can judge my show choices on a bigger screen.”

Haven glances up, blinking like she hadn’t even noticed how quiet I’d gotten. Then she shrugs, setting down whatever magazine she’d been flipping through. “Lead the way.”

“You cool for a sec?” I ask, keeping my voice easy as we reach the living room and she settles into the couch. “I’ll be right back.”

Haven doesn’t even look up. “Sure,” she says. “I’ll just sit here and judge your show recommendations.”

Normally, I’d tease her back, throw some dumb comment about her own trash taste in movies or the fact that she rewatches the same comfort shows like it’s a personality trait.

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