Page 96 of Where Happiness Begins
“I’m good,” I answer, reaching over for my bag where I always keep a pack of tissues.
I blow my nose, and once I’m back from throwing the tissue in his trash can, I catch Carter’s attention stuck on my purse. I only realize why once I see the divorce papers peeking out.
I take a careful seat next to him.
“Why do you still have these?”
Hugging my knees to my chest, I say, “I haven’t been able to get myself to send them.” I don’t shy away from the truth. It’s too late for us to be anything but completely honest with each other.
“Then don’t.” His voice is no longer pleading or even convincing; it sounds tired. Hopeless.
My lips pinch together. “I don’t know how to deal with this.”
“With what?”
“Wondering whether you’re with me out of duty toward my father.” I shake my head. “I can’t be with someone else who staysout of pity.” From the start, that was what I was to him. A debt to be repaid.
Carter’s face twists in what I can only describe as utter shock. “Is that what you think this is?”
I don’t answer. It should be obvious to him.
His dumbfounded stare scopes out my face until he repositions himself on the ground. “Honey, what I feel for you has nothing to do with your dad. I can’t believe you’d even think this.” He blinks. “You might have been my saving grace when you were just a name on paper, but the second I met you, that was over.” I tighten my fists as I brace for what’s coming, my fingers trembling. The smile on his lips looks resigned. “I gave a kidney to Frank’s daughter, but I fell in love withyou, Lilianne.”
Don’t you dare cry again.
It’s hard to hear the words, to absorb them and change my view on things, but a big part of me tells me that’s his truth. Could he have been subconsciously influenced? Maybe. But that doesn’t change that what he’s telling me right now is real to him. That has to be worth something.
“Knowing my father, he never thought you had a debt to repay him.”
The left side of his lips curves up, and even with the heavy bags under his eyes, his body looks lighter than it has in days. He doesn’t even seem to care that I didn’t answer his last statement. His arms mirror mine around his legs. “You’re right. But it wasn’t him I owed.”
I frown.
“I took your dad away from you,” he says as a way of explaining.
“No, you didn’t.”
Silence.
“Carter, you didn’t.”
When he tilts his head likecome on, I realize for the first time just how contorted his vision of what happened with Dad is. What was an accident over a slippery road and a driver whose brakes failed turned into a burden of fault hanging over his head.
Moving to my knees, I scoot closer so I can clasp his cheeks between my hands. His breath hitches at the first touch, eyes flitting to mine. His irises look more brown than green in the 3:00 a.m. glow of the streetlamps, and the glimmer shadowing them looks lost between hope and fear.
It feels strange, to touch him after all this time as if dormant sparks have been lit up all along every nerve endings touching him. It’s scary how good it feels. How addictive.
“I need you to listen to me when I say this.” Unable to stop myself, I brush my thumb over his cheekbone. “You did nothing wrong that night. My father did not die because of you. He died in some dumb accident that was due to bad luck. It had nothing to do with you.”
“If I hadn’t—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” I don’t even want to think about it, in fact. It shatters my heart to think that he felt responsible for his death all this time. I guess I wasn’t the only one who needed clarity on some things. “You had nothing to do with it. Nothing.”
His throat works as his eyes alternate between mine, our noses almost brushing from how close I got earlier.
“But I never thanked you,” I say, my breath slipping away. “For giving me a new life.”
“I told you.” His jaw flexes as his gaze falls to my lips. “Best thing I ever did.”
