Chapter 2

Talia's Pov

Dinner with the Carter family wasn’t exactly how I pictured spending my Saturday night. When Deej asked if I wanted to go, I hesitated, but she said I should. In her words, “At least you’ll know if he’s aware your mom and his dad are getting married. He can't know that and allow it.”

She had a point. Maxton might not even know. That would make things easier. If he knew he could stop it. 

I picked a simple dress. A black jeans, a pale blue blouse and tied my hair into a bun I didn’t care to perfect. I wasn’t going to impress anyone, especially not Mr Carter.

He had an elegant demeanor the last time I met him but he doesn't seem like one to care about what others do too much. 

I took a deep breath and sent a message to Deej and Chris. “Headed for the Carters house. See you guys later.” 

I locked my phone and dumped it in my nah, adjusting my nervousness into a well fitted disguise.

When I arrived at the Carter estate, the formality of it made my stomach twist. Fancy lights, servants everywhere, a ridiculously long dining table. I was escorted to the dining table and Mr Carter stood up to give a hug. 

I managed to put up with that and pulled back. He tapped my shoulder and asked to sit. 

“I never expected you to look so radiant.” He said, my lips twitched. 

“I just picked a dress, I was going skating after tonight.” I chuckled nervously. 

“That's good. Maxton plays hockey too and he goes to practice almost every time.” 

My mom was already seated beside him. She glared at me each time I uttered a word. But my eyes scanned for someone else. I tried to be discreet.

“Maxton isn’t available,” Mr. Carter said, his voice calm, amused even. “He had a game and he on’t be back tonight, I guess.”

I blinked. “I wasn’t looking for him.”

He chuckled like he didn’t believe a word. I chuckled too, nervously, and reached for the water glass in front of me.

Dinner was awkward. The clinking of silverware, sweet talks that didn't involve Maxton, and my mom smiling way too much. I barely touched my plate. After a long talk of making my life beautiful than it already was, Mr. Carter leaned slightly toward me.

“Talia, I want you to know… you don’t have to worry about Maxton. He’s barely home unless he needs sleep. You two won’t have to cross paths. And if you do, I hope you get along. For the sake of the love I have for your mother.”

I nodded, relieved and absolutely stunned until my mom jumped in.

“What he means,” she said, smiling, “is when you move in. Which is very soon.”

My fork clattered against the plate. I forced a smile, then stood.

“Excuse me,” I mumbled and walked out.

Was that what Mr Carter meant? Uh uh. 

Living under the same roof with him? No way. I didn’t care how big the mansion was. I didn’t want to wake up to the sound of his voice or his hockey bag thrown across the hallway. I didn’t want him to think I wanted to be near him.

And I definitely didn’t want Maxton Carter believing I showed up tonight to see him.

I stepped outside into the evening breeze, pressing my fingers against my temples. This couldn’t be real.

I was busy rampaging around the compound when I saw a figure bumped into the garden. All bloody and rough. 

Maxton?

His shirt was torn and his face bruised, one eye beginning to swell. His lip had a faint cut, and he walked with a slight limp. I tried to walk past him, ignore him and make sure we weren't having a conversation. 

“Talia?” he muttered. I kept walking, holding of the urge to poke my fingers into his eyes. 

“Talia, wait. What are you doing here?”

He grabbed my wrist. I froze, glaring at him.

“Let go of my hand!” I yelled. “And what happened to you?” I asked.

“Car crash,” he lied smoothly, wincing.

“Liar,” I muttered, crouching slightly to get a better look at his side. Bruising, not from a crash, he got into a fight. “You crawled home after a brawl?”

“I didn’t crawl. I limped.”

I smacked his arm lightly, and he winced again. “You’re such an idiot.”

“I won, though.”

“Congratulations, dumbass.” 

“Help me get inside. I can't get caught this way.” 

“And why would I do that? I'm not your friend.” I crossed my arms and tried to walk away. 

“Please,” He sighed. “Come on.”

I scoffed and helped him up and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. His weight was heavy, but manageable. I led him inside, careful not to be seen, and up the back stairs to his room.

Once we got in, I dropped him on the bed.

“Go clean up,” I ordered. “You smell like sweat and poor choices.”

He smirked as he headed into the bathroom, tossing his shirt aside. I looked around his room and it had Jerseys, posters, trophies, a giant TV… of course. Still a shrine to his ego.

A moment later, I turned to face the window and that's when I felt his presence behind me. 

“Put on a shirt!” I yelped, turning.

He was standing there in nothing but a towel, steam rolling off his skin. His chest, all defined and glistening, caught the low lamp light. I immediately looked away.

“Relax,” he whispered, stepping closer. “Don’t shout.”

“Why?” I snapped, still refusing to look at him.

“I don’t want my father to know I’m back yet.”

I finally looked up, and his eyes were scanning the hallway cautiously.

But my eyes? My eyes were on him.

His broad chest. The way that towel barely clung to his waist. I hated him. I hated everything about him.

So why was my heart skipping?

He noticed. Of course, he noticed.

He smirked slightly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You look like you’ve crawled out of a dumpster.”

“You’re staring.”

“You’re half naked! I’m not blind.”

“Right.”

My face heated. I grabbed the nearest book from his nightstand and threw it at him. He caught it, laughing.

“Get dressed!”