Saving Hailey: Chapter 19

There’s so much conviction in Carter’s voice.

So much false promise…

And what’s the point? We both know I don’t mean any more to him than any other woman. I’m not important. The evidence is.

Carter seems to think rebuilding my trust is the only way to get his hands on whatever Alex found out.

It isn’t.

Not anymore because while he held me in his arms, stroking my back, I realized something important.

Happiness is peculiar: a treasure people chase their whole lives, entirely convinced it’s a fixed point, a destination they’ll eventually reach and stay at forever.

I fell into that trap. I was certain Nash was my endgame. That I’d found happiness, and it’d last until death us do part.

Now I know better.

Happiness isn’t a destination. It’s a journey made up of moments that come, go, and linger in our heads, giving us memories to look back on with joy.

Sometimes, we’re so wrapped up in our own pain, we miss happiness when it comes knocking, only realizing it was there, so close, when it’s too late. The trick is to recognize and seize those moments when they appear.

Looking back at my life, my childhood memories are my happiest. Not many from my teenage years make me smile, and judging by my flashbacks, none from the past two years.

Until Nash.

If I drew a line representing my life and added tiny lights for the happy memories, the weeks at Lakeside would shine brightest. I don’t trust him, I don’t believe his words, but that shouldn’t doom me to eternal darkness.

I’m not his forever, merely a step he needs to take toward his goal. I’m easily left behind, but the time we have now doesn’t need to be devoid of light. He’ll move on when he finds the evidence, but while he’s here, as long as I don’t hold on too tightly, I can love him.

Life is a collection of moments, and with Nash I can make happy ones… if only I can make him drop the mask and stop pretending I mean more to him than the evidence.

He still strokes my thighs, the move lacking any sexual undertone. It’s an inconsequential touch, but it wakes a kaleidoscope of butterflies in my tummy.

It makes me want to smile.

“You told me to get dressed,” I say, covering his hands with mine and squeezing. “Whose clothes are in the closet?”

He lets me go, rising to his full, imposing height. Not for the first time today, a wave of heat crashes into my cheeks.

I thought he couldn’t get any hotter when I saw him at Lakeside that first day in the cafeteria. The black, tight-fitting pullover hugged his broad shoulders, honing out every muscle to perfection, but Nash’s sense of style has nothing on Carter’s.

In a white shirt, two buttons popped, a waistcoat that matches his pants, expensive watch and leather bracelets on his wrists… he’s scorching hot. Somehow more intimidating, even in white.

Nash’s aura of ruthlessness and power is nothing compared to what’s emanating from Carter. He’s sharp around the edges, all harsh lines, and get-this-done-now energy.

He’s a weapon. A Princess-Cut onyx. Deadly. Limitless. Vicious. Honed from years spent training with Dante Carrow: the man my father always dreamt of busting… the man who’s proved too many times that he’s untouchable.

And Carter’s his right-hand man.

“It’s all Layla’s,” he says, watching me open the closet.

“Who’s Layla?”

A ghost of a smirk curls his full lips. “My boss’s wife.”

Oh… I turn back around, jealousy ebbing away. I scan the countless outfits meticulously organized by color. “Your boss is Dante Carrow, correct?”

“Yes. Most of these clothes have never been worn. Layla said you can use whatever you want until your clothes arrive.”

“Tell her thank you.” I spin on my heel, one eyebrow raised. “My clothes? What do you mean?”

“Layla’s stylist is assembling you a new closet.”

I’m about to protest but Carter closes the distance between us, shutting me up with his index finger pressed against my lips.

“I know you wouldn’t mind wearing someone else’s clothes, but I’m not sure how long we’ll be here, and I want you comfortable.” He drops his hand, eyes roving my face, then lower, sweeping my frame. “Come down when you’re ready. There’ll be coffee.”

The door closes behind him with a soft click and I instantly miss him. We’re sleeping under the same roof, but not in the same room, he’s not looking at me, not talking to me…

I shut my eyes, shaking off the loneliness and irrational thoughts, but instead of calming down, I grow more restless. A patchwork of memories and flashbacks plays before my mind. Alex’s cold eyes, empty words, and schedule too busy to accommodate five minutes with me. Dad working late and leaving early.

Even Blaze had better things to do than keep me near him.

Why does everyone always leave?

Rubbing my face with both hands, I wipe the past away and stomp my bare foot. I’ve let everyone push me around for years.

Enough.

With newfound determination, I flip through Layla’s clothes, looking for an outfit Carter might like. If he truly is the same person I met at Lakeside, he should like the same things. Nash loved it when I wore dresses. Or maybe he just loved the easy access to my pussy…

I guess that’ll work in my favor.

Too bad Layla’s wardrobe leans toward the dark side. Reds, navies, emeralds, grays, and lots of black.

The dresses are short, but mostly elegant. A few longer evening gowns hang to the side, the bottom rail filled with jeans, knitwear neatly folded… nothing useful.

Nothing that will break Carter’s resolve.

With a resigned breath I pull out a plausible outfit and lock myself in the bathroom.