Chapter 6: Dumpster Boy

“Back off,” Carter said. “Now.”

The two muggers hesitated, then muttered something I couldn’t quite comprehend and bolted, their footsteps retreating fast into the darkness.

I slumped against the wall, trembling.

Carter stepped closer, eyeing me. “You good?”

I nodded quickly, but my voice cracked. “Y-Yeah. I… they just came out of nowhere.”

Carter’s eyes flicked down, checking him over without being obvious. “They didn’t hurt you?”

“No. Just… scared the crap out of me.”

“Yeah. You’re shaking.”

I looked up, meeting Carter’s gaze. For a moment, we just stood there in the quiet street, the sound of crickets and distant cars the only soundtrack. The adrenaline in my veins was slowly ebbing, replaced by a deep, overwhelming sense of humiliation.

Of all the people to see me like this.

Carter reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a granola bar. “Here.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You look like you’re gonna pass out. Sugar helps.”

Does he always have that in his pocket?

I shoved the thought aside and took it with shaky fingers. “Thanks.”

Carter turned, glancing in the direction the muggers ran. “Next time, don’t take this alley. It’s always sketchy after dark.”

I managed a weak smile. “Noted.”

As Carter walked me toward the main road, our footsteps fell into an easy rhythm. My heart was still racing—but for an entirely different reason now. A thousand questions tumbled through my head, the loudest one being: Wait a minute, is Carter Hayes actually a good person... or is he playing me somehow?

We continued down the dim street, neither of us speaking. The silence wasn’t exactly comforting, but there was something about Carter’s presence—steady, quiet, almost protective—that calmed the panic in my chest.

But what unsettled me more was how much I liked it, but just then he opened his mouth and ruined the vibe.

“Dude, you smell like a dumpster. Why the hell do you smell like that?” Carter asked, scrunching his nose in disgust.

Heat rushed to my face. Instantly, I became hyper-aware of how awful I probably smelled. I leaned in for a quick sniff. Damn. I must have lingered behind that dumpster for too long—I actually reeked. Mortified, I wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

I fumbled for a response, but before I could get a word out, he interrupted, his blue eyes fixed on me like he could read every hidden truth.

“Don't tell me one of those jocks threw you in a dumpster?”

I froze. How was I supposed to answer that? Technically, no one had tossed me in a dumpster today. Has it happened before? Unfortunately, yes. More times than I cared to remember. But not today.

Avoiding his gaze, which was equal parts terrifying and magnetic, I muttered, “No one threw me in a dumpster. I just happen to smell this way sometimes.”

Carter kept a straight face for a second, then unexpectedly burst out laughing. His laugh was... annoyingly cute. Which made it even more confusing. I hadn’t said anything remotely funny, so what the hell was he laughing at?

I didn’t respond. Instead, I picked up my pace, eager to reach my house and bring this weirdly intimate, borderline humiliating encounter to an end.

I was just about to turn onto my street when I felt Carter’s hand grip my shoulder. The sudden contact startled me, and his scent, clean, sharp, somehow intoxicating, washed over me. Before I could move, his voice came low and smooth, like velvet laced with mischief.

“Why are you running? Don’t be so sensitive, Dumpster boy. You were funny, and I laughed. That is all that was.”

He thinks I’m funny.

Despite him calling me, “Dumpster boy,” a blush crept up my cheeks. I hated how much I liked hearing him say it. Still, I kept my face blank, hiding the storm of emotions inside.

“I just wanted to go home and wash off the stench. I wasn't running,” I said, not meeting his piercing gaze that was doing a lot of naughty things to my insides.

He studied me for a moment, then shrugged. “Whatever you say, Dumpster boy. This is where I leave you. Hopefully, nobody mugs you here.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, this was where the rich higher middle class lived, security is very tight here, I thought to myself.

“This is the safest street in the city. People don’t get mugged here,” I shot back.

Carter turned and began walking backward, his grin smug. “You never know. You might be the first person to get mugged here, since you can’t fight or slip away when you’re in danger.”

His words were like a slap laced with truth. I hated how accurate they were. Avoiding confrontation had become a survival tactic for me, but hearing it out loud still stung.

I watched him for a beat, still wearing that infuriatingly confident smirk as he turned and walked away, like he hadn’t just drop a truth bomb and left me standing in the smoke.

Just as I turned down my street, his voice rang out behind me.

“Just so you know, Dumpster boy, you owe me.”

I stopped mid-step, brow furrowing.

What in God’s name would he possibly ask of me?

My mind spun with possibilities as I approached home—a three-story duplex, one of only three houses like it on this suburban street. It stood in the dimming light like a fortress, elegant and cold.

Inside, the first face I saw was Rosa—our maid, though that title barely did her justice. She was in her fifties, still graceful, with a warm smile that always had a way of soothing the worst parts of my day. Since the accident that took my mother and older brother, Rosa had stepped into the role of caretaker, protector—something like a second mother.

She smiled as I entered. “Danilo, why are you coming back this late? It’s already dinner time. What kept you at school?”

I offered a quick smile in return. The last thing I wanted was to tell her that I’d nearly gotten mugged… or worse. “I lost track of time chatting with Antonia,” I lied smoothly, already heading upstairs.

Midway up, I paused. “Just keep my food in the kitchen before you go. I’ll carry it later to eat in my room.”

But Rosa countered. “That won’t work today. Your father wants to talk to you at the dining table this evening,” she said, already making her way into the kitchen.

I froze. That caught me completely off guard. My father was supposed to be on a business trip that would last the entire week. I hadn’t seen his car outside, which only deepened the surprise.

“Is he back?” I asked, though I already suspected the answer.

“He’s on his way home. Said there’s something important he wants to tell you,” she replied over her shoulder.

My stomach tightened. If he’d cut his trip short, it had to be serious. My mind jumped to the worst possible scenario: He found out.

Found out that I auditioned for the school musical.

The thought alone made my palms sweat. That would explain the urgency.

I swallowed hard, dread curling in my gut.

Please, Holy Virgin, I prayed silently, let it be anything but that.