How the hell did she do that? She knew exactly what to say to help calm him down, and, although the need to leap out of the car was still heavy in his stomach, her words made it all the more bearable.
He kissed her temple. “Thanks.” Even though the sentiment seemed grossly inappropriate for how she made him feel, it was all he had. Carter sat back, keeping her hand tightly on his thigh, fingers entwined, securing himself to her. With a deep breath, he stared out of the car window, watching the world whizz by. They had a long drive ahead of them: nine hours, a stop overnight in a motel, and then another six to Chicago.
He looked at the clock.
Only another eight and a half hours to go.
Terrific. Plenty of time to get riled up.
His cell phone chimed from his jeans pocket. He read the display: Max calling …
“Hey, man.”
“Where the hell are you?” Max’s words were sharp, high, and slurred.
The idiot was filling his nose at nine in the damn morning. The shit was getting out of hand.
Carter sighed. “I’m headed to Chicago, Max. Where are you?” The faint sound of a female voice sounded in the background. “Who’s with you?”
Ignoring his question, Max retorted, “What the fuck are you going there for?” His tone made Carter bristle.
“Thanksgiving,” he replied firmly. “Kat invited me. I told you about it, remember? You said you’d be chillin’ at Paul’s.”
Max laughed, though it sounded humorless. “Oh yeah. You and Kat. The happy fucking couple.”
Here we go again. There was a crash on the line, something hitting the floor, and high-pitched giggling that could only be chemical-induced. “Max. Are you okay? What’s up?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he spat. “You clearly have better things to do, brother. You always do.”
Carter’s temper spiked. “That’s not true. Don’t be a dick, Max.”
But the line went dead. Carter stared at the cell screen, incredulous and angry. He and Max had spoken little about his and Kat’s relationship, not least of all because Max’s bitterness and anger over Lizzie clouded his ability to see how happy Carter was. The more Carter felt for Kat, the madder Max appeared to become. Carter’s joy was apparently of little importance to Max, who was too involved in his own despair. The amount of coke he was doing daily simply exacerbated the situation.
And Carter was powerless to stop it.
Every time he offered to help—be it money or support—he was met with resistance. Max’s pride was almost as difficult to penetrate as his stubbornness. Carter and Paul had discussed an intervention—the only place for Max now was rehab—but both men knew that would only end badly.
“Everything okay?” Kat’s expression was anxious.
“No.” Carter sent a quick text to Cam and Paul, telling them to go to the shop and make sure Max hadn’t choked on his own vomit or some shit. In irritation, he began fiddling with the radio, playing station commando for a good five minutes, appreciative of the fact that Kat didn’t push further.
“Don’t forget you have to call Diane when we cross the state line,” Kat said instead.
“Yeah, I know,” he replied, settling back in the leather seat of the Jag XJ and letting the sounds of Green Day’s “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)” relax into his bones. Carter hummed along and played the invisible chords of the song against the blue vein in Kat’s wrist. He brought Kat’s hand to his lips and kissed her knuckle.
She hummed. “Tell me what it is you’re worried about.”
He replied with a peevish shrug, like that shit would discourage her from asking questions. Truth was, there was no escaping Kat and anything she asked him. His ass remained trapped in a cream leather bucket seat traveling across the country at seventy miles an hour.
Awesome.
“Tell me.”
Carter clasped the bridge of his nose. “I’m worried about a lot of things. I can’t think of just one.”
“Okay,” she soothed. “But you should know there really is no need to—”
His patience snapped, his words bursting from him in a sharp rush. “For Christ’s sake, I’m a criminal, Peaches. Of course there’s reason to worry.”
He didn’t mean to bite, but he was beyond edgy. His spine was wired and his stomach was in knots, twisting frequently between fear and panic. Yeah, he was a fucking mess.
Kat remained silent.
He was instantly contrite. “Look, shit, I’m sorry, baby—”
“No, it’s all right,” Kat interrupted. “This is a big deal for you. I’m sorry I’ve not addressed that properly, I really am.” Her sincerity made his chest tight. “Just say the word and I’ll turn the car around. If this is too much for you, I don’t want you to feel this uncomfortable.”
What the hell had he done to deserve her?