His words are slow and precise this time. Everything about him makes me want to trust what he’s saying, but everything about every single male from my past tells me never to trust anyone with a dick.

He glances around to make sure no one can see us. All the guys in the living room have their backs to us and they’re facing the TV. Carter leans in and squeezes my wrist. “I would never do anything to hurt you. Ever. I swear on your brother’s life, Sloan.”

And that’s when I really get angry. I rare back and slap him so hard, all the guys in the living room turn around in their seats.

I’m more hurt than I’ve probably ever been in my life, but I’m still smart enough to know I need to cover up the fact that I just slapped him so it doesn’t appear personal. “Don’t talk about Asa like that, asshole! He’s having a bad day!”

Carter immediately realizes what I’m doing. He forces a laugh for the sake of appearance and rubs his cheek, but I can see the devastation in his eyes as he turns and walks toward the living room.

I spin around and I stir the fucking spaghetti. I pause to wipe tears away with the sleeve of my shirt, and then I start stirring again. A minute later, Dalton appears at my side and reaches across me, dipping his finger in the sauce. He tastes the sauce and then slides his finger out of his mouth. “He’s telling you the truth, Sloan.”

He walks away, and that’s when I can’t control the tears any longer. I don’t know what to believe. Who to trust. Who to be mad at, who to love. I go to the sink and wash spaghetti sauce off my hands.

I need out of this house.

I walk to the back door and yell over my shoulder. “Your fucking spaghetti is ready, you goddamn asshole motherfuckers!”

Carter-34

Carter

I rinse out the last of the bowls and place them in the dishwasher.

Asa never made it down to eat. Sloan never came back inside. I texted Dalton a few minutes ago and asked him to go upstairs and check on the status of Asa before I risk going outside and talking to Sloan.

I wipe down the countertop and start the dishwasher. I hear Dalton coming down the stairs at the same time I get a text from him.

Dalton: He’s passed out naked on his bed. Looks like he’ll be that way for a while, but I’ll text you if he starts to come downstairs. Make sure your phone is on.

I double and triple check the sound and vibrate settings on my phone, then slide it in my pocket. I head outside to smooth things over with Sloan.

She’s in the middle of the swimming pool, floating on her back, staring up at the stars. She doesn’t look at me when she hears the back door shut.

As I’m making my way toward her, I notice her shirt and jeans are thrown over a lounge chair.

Fucking hell.

She’s swimming in her underwear.

That may be normal practice for her around here, but it just feels like I’m stepping on a landmine by being out here while she’s not technically in a bathing suit.

I reach the edge of the pool and stare down at her, but she still won’t look at me. The water is covering most of her face, but even with the dim lights from the house, I can see the redness in her eyes.

It’s kind of fucked up if you think about it. She’s upset that I might be messing with other people, but all the while she’s sleeping in another man’s bed every night.

Hell, she fucking kissed him just to spite me earlier.

But I get it. And I don’t blame her, because I know how much she was hurting. How much she is hurting.

And that’s the hardest part of this. It’s not that I’m about to have to convince her that I really do have feelings for her. The hardest part is knowing what she feels right now as she doubts them.

If I could just come out and tell her the whole truth it would make things so much easier. But that’s a violation of my job. It would be disobeying a direct order from Ryan. And with as unstable as Asa is right now, the less Sloan knows, the better.

When Asa mentioned Tillie in the kitchen, the color completely drained from Sloan’s face. I could have killed him right then and there.

Sloan fans her arms out and kicks her legs, giving herself a push back toward the middle of the pool. “He forgot to turn off the pool heater this weekend,” she says quietly. “It feels really good. I think I might just stay here forever.”

Her voice is sad. I want to kick off my shoes and dive in the water and stay there with her forever. Just not in this pool or at this house.

“What’s her name?” she asks, still quiet and staring at the night sky.

I squeeze the back of my neck, wondering how much I should actually reveal. “Tillie.”

She laughs, but not because she finds it entertaining. “Is she your girlfriend?”