Page 76 of Where Happiness Begins

And he proves it right when he wraps his arm around my waist, keeping me as close to him as physically possible, still inside me. We might have just had sex, butthisis the most intimate moment I’ve ever experienced. A promise he’s not going anywhere.

Which makes me feel safe enough to turn my head and tease, “Who knew the stranger I married was so well endowed?”

Carter snickers, his lips twisting in a smile that feels like it could only be for me before he nips my collarbone, making me giggle. “You’re the most annoying, you know that?”

“I think you actually like me,” I say, pushing my ass back against him.

“Yeah. I think maybe I do.”

Chapter 31

The moment I unlock the front door to the house, soft chords escape from inside and wrap around me.

I barely make a sound as I step inside, then lean against the wall to watch Carter play from his spot on the couch. It’s the first time I’ve seen him pick up the guitar since the show he played in Detroit, but looking at him, you would never guess he stopped playing for years. The notes come out of his fingers like it’s second nature. He’s not playing on my father’s old acoustic guitar but on the electric one I’d seen in his apartment when I’d visited. My hand clutches my chest as I watch him, all tall and strong but looking so very vulnerable at this moment.

When he strums the last chord, I applaud him loudly, making him jump and turn my way.

In a second, he’s on his feet, guitar forgotten. “You’re done already? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I could walk just fine.” I agreed to pick up a few shifts here and there to help out at the bar—something that’s much less of a burden now that Jayson leaves me alone—and since the bar was pretty much empty all day, he sent me home at 9:00 p.m. “Barely dark out.” My car somehow found a way to the garage oncemore. At this point, I should probably get rid of it since it spends the majority of its time broken, but I can’t part from it. Every time I sit inside, I’m brought back to short summer drives with Dad to go grab ice cream in town. Even though he had his deadly accident in this same car, it brings me more comfort than pain to keep it, like he’s still here with me, in this small way.

“I would’ve come to get you anyway,” he says, then tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, sending tingles down my neck. The past few days have been a whirlwind, between my shifts and Carter’s newfound success. After he went on stage with the band, some people recognized him from his time with Fickle, and some even made the connection between the guitar player/producer who’s also married to me, and suddenly there were mentions of him online and edits with old pictures I know he hates. However, that recognition brought forth interviews and magazine articles—who is Andrew Carter, guitarist and now producer?—so his label is more than pleased with him, already planning on involving him in more projects. With all of that, we’ve barely had time to see each other. Even so, our cohabitation is nothing like it was before we left on tour. Sure, the most time we’ve spent together has been our few hours of shared sleep in my bed, but the differences are in the details. The way I can feel him looking at me when I pack up my lunch, the mindless brush of his hand against my waist when he passes me in the hallway, the short texts he sends me to know when I’ll be back home and what I’d like to eat for dinner. What we did after the wedding should’ve complicated everything, and yet life has felt so natural since. We haven’t clarified anything, but I don’t feel the need to. Not when I can enjoy him in this simplicity for now.

“I know you would’ve.” I take a seat on the opposite side of him on the couch. “But I didn’t need you to.”

He grunts. “What are you doing all the way over there?”

I lift a brow, then yelp as he grabs me under the legs and arms and pulls me closer to him so there’s no space between our bodies.

“Better, caveman?” I ask, laughing.

He nods once, ever so serious, which makes me laugh once more. Then I let my head fall to his shoulder as he resumes his playing. It feels surreal to be doing this next to Carter. Even after sleeping together, after waking up tangled up in him, his breaths warm on my neck, I’m still not sure I’m not dreaming right now.

Carter has clearly cleaned around the house today, and with every blanket and pillow cleared up, my attention is dragged toward the box sitting at the edge of the living room and foyer. One I placed there yesterday.

“Maybe not tonight, okay?”

Carter continues playing soft, mindless notes, but his eyes find mine.

“Just…not yet,” I add in a small voice.

I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve put the box in this exact spot, expecting Carter to bring it with the trash on his way out. The first time, I woke up in a panic at five in the morning, running to the door to make sure it was still there and bringing it back with me to my room. Since then, I’ve tried again and again to get rid of it, to no avail.

“You know you don’t have to throw it away, right?” Carter says.

“Hm.”

“What are you thinking?” he asks, voice feather soft.

I nudge myself closer in his embrace, cold seeping through my bones. “I’m thinking that I don’t want to keep the reminder of all I might have missed in my home, but it also feels wrong to get rid of it.” My gaze stays blank on the box. “You were right, weren’t you? He did have a problem.”

Carter’s hand lands on my scalp, rubbing once. “I’m sorry, honey.”

There’s no lying to myself anymore. As much as I wish it wasn’t true, the facts speak for themselves. He wouldn’t have had all those documents hidden in his room for no reason.

“I don’t understand why he didn’t justtellme.”

Carter’s hands move from the guitar to rest against my nape, playing with my hair.

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