Page 80 of No Save Point

I pull on my jeans, a fresh hoodie, sliding my feet into my shoes, taking a final glance around Carter’s room, then I sling my bag over my shoulder, square my shoulders, and head downstairs.

The moment I step into the kitchen, I know something is off. Not in a bad way, which is already suspicious enough but in a way that makes my steps slow, my eyes narrow, my stomach twist with something both warm and wary.

Carter and Tate are standing side by side at the stove, neither of them at each other’s throats, neither of them slinging insults, neither of them radiating their usual brand of chaotic brotherly tension that I’ve come to expect. They look… calm. Like, actually calm. Carter is pouring coffee, and Tate is flipping pancakes, and the only thing that seems even remotely aggressive is the fact that Tate is wearing his usual scowl while doing it but that doesn’t mean shit because he always looks like that.

I pause in the doorway, taking it all in, noting the way they both glance up at me at the same time, how Carter’s face softens, how Tate just lifts a brow, how something is very obviously going on and neither of them are saying a damn word about it. Yeah, that’s not normal.

I drop my bag by the door, crossing my arms, arching a brow. “Okay,” I say slowly, my voice laced with suspicion. “Who bribed who, and how much was it?”

Carter blinks, Tate snorts, and neither of them answer fast enough, which only makes my suspicion grow stronger.

I motion toward the plate that’s already sitting on the counter, clearly meant for me. “Breakfast? Really? Since when do I get the VIP treatment?”

Carter just gives me that sweet, golden smile, that makes my stomach flip, the one that makes me want to curl up in his arms and forget that I’m supposed to leave today.

“We figured you deserved a good meal before you head out,” he says easily, like this is the most normal thing in the world. “Besides, I cook all the time. This isn’t new.”

“Yeah, well, this guy doesn’t right?” I deadpan, motioning toward Tate, who doesn’t even try to defend himself, just takes a slow sip of his coffee like he’s unbothered, like he knows exactly what I’m getting at.

I narrow my eyes further, shifting my weight, tilting my head. “Okay. What the hell is going on? You two are being… weird.”

Tate finally lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head, flipping another pancake. “Damn, pretty girl,” he muses, not even looking at me. “Can’t a guy be nice for once?”

I fold my arms tighter, tapping my fingers against my bicep. “A guy? Sure.” My eyes bounce between them. “You two? Not a fucking chance.”

Carter lets out a breath, shifting on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when he’s trying to figure out how to say something without making it sound like a big deal. I can already tell whatever this is, it is a big deal, and the fact that he’s hesitating just makes my stomach twist even more.

“Alright,” he says finally, setting his coffee down, turning to face me more fully. “Tate and I… talked.”

I blink. Once. Twice, out of all the things I expected him to say, that was not one of them. “You… talked,” I echo slowly, dragging the words out like I’m waiting for the punchline.

Carter nods. Tate snorts.

“Like… talked, talked?” I ask, skeptical. “Not screamed at each other? Not nearly threw punches? Not tried to get each other to shut the hell up with juvenile threats and general testosterone-fueled bullshit?”

Carter shakes his head. “No, Haven,” he says, eyes warm, lips twitching. “Like, we actually talked. About… everything.”

I shift my weight, watching him carefully, feeling the weight of his words settle in, feeling the way my heart gives an unexpected thud against my ribs. If they talked about everything, then that means…

“So you two actually figured something out?” I ask, my voice quieter now, more careful, because I don’t know if I’m ready to hear the answer.

Tate rolls his eyes, setting the spatula down, grabbing his coffee again like this whole conversation is already exhausting him. “Look,” he mutters, tilting his head toward me. “All you need to know is that we aren’t gonna make you pick, and we aren’t gonna fuck this up for you, aren’t going to treat this like a competition, alright angel?”

I search his expression, for the usual smirk, the challenge, but this time, there’s something calming behind his words, something real. I glance back at Carter, who nods, his eyes locked on mine, his hands bracing on the counter like he’s waiting to see how I’ll react, like he’s hoping I believe him.

I let out a slow breath, nodding, my lips parting, my heart kicking against my ribs as I try to figure out what to say, but before I can even get the words out Tate clears his throat, setting his coffee down. “Only condition, and I’m saying this again so she hears it. He throws a look at Carter. “I never, and I mean never, want your cock anywhere near my face ever again.”

I snort so hard I almost choke on air, covering my mouth as laughter bubbles up uncontrollably.

Carter groans, rubbing his temples like this conversation is physically hurting him. Tate shrugs, completely unbothered, picking up his coffee again, sipping it like he didn’t just say that while I’m trying to hold myself together.

We finish breakfast and Carter helps me bring my bag to my car, the cool morning air wraps around me, my fingers curling around the door handle. The weight of the last few days sits heavy between us, but I can’t let it end like this. I refuse to.

Instead, I smile. I tilt my head, meeting Carter’s warm, conflicted gaze, then turn my attention to Tate, whose arms are still crossed, whose expression is carefully unreadable, whose dark eyes haven’t left me since we walked outside.

“You two better be prepared to get your asses handed to you on stream when I get back home.”

Carter lets out a small huff of laughter, shaking his head, something easing in his shoulders. Tate sighs, rolling his eyes, but there’s the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Talk all the shit you want, pretty girl,” he says, arms still folded across his chest. “Doesn’t mean you’re winning.”

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