Untouchable (Untouchables, 1)

“Is it Chloe? Is she actually your…?” I can’t quite get the word ‘daughter’ out of my mouth. It’s too bizarre.

He hesitates briefly, then nods once.

I pieced that together myself, and I still feel I was just hit with a bagful of bricks.

“She doesn’t know,” he adds, like that might help. “She thinks I’m her brother. She’s little, so she doesn’t question it.”

I need to sit down. Backing out of his embrace, I walk over to the couch and take a seat, holding onto the edge and remembering just a few minutes ago, when he was lying there on the couch with her.

Carter follows me over to the couch, but he doesn’t sit beside me. He crosses his arms and stands there regarding me like a flight risk.

I am a flight risk. This verification of what felt like a far-fetched suspicion is opening up wormholes I don’t want to fall through. I have to, though. I’m not going to be that girl. I’m not going to stick my head in the sand so I don’t have to make the hard decisions.

I try to filter through all the things Carter has ever said that could pertain to this situation, but believing any of those things is predicated on accepting that he was being truthful when he told me he hadn’t lied to me. When had he said it? I’m trying to remember which of his claims came before, and which ones came after. Even if he hadn’t lied to me at the time he said that, it doesn’t mean he didn’t afterward.

“Why isn’t she around anymore? The girl you got pregnant. That’s an ominous statement coming from anyone, but coming from you…” I look up at him, dread weighing me down. “What does that mean?”

His jaw locks, and that doesn’t fill me with optimism. “I’ve answered as many questions about this as I want to,” he tells me.

“I have done a lot of things I haven’t wanted to do for you,” I point out. “I think in fairness, you should have a single conversation you don’t want to have for me.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with you,” he informs me, apparently immovable. “I don’t want to fight with you, I’m not trying to close you out or hurt your feelings, but I don’t want to talk about this, and I need you to respect that.”

Launching up off the couch, wide-eyed, I tell him, “And I didn’t want to blow you in front of your douchebag teammates or give you my virginity in Cartwright’s basement. Sometimes you don’t get what you want, and all you can do is fucking deal with it.”

That should be the truth, that should be the winning hand. As much as I’ve overlooked for him, I really feel like he owes me a few minutes of discomfort. Telling me about some hook-up he impregnated is not even close to the level of what I’ve had to process and put away. I don’t have a problem making risky emotional investments in him, but if he can’t occasionally repay the favor… well, fuck that. That’s not a relationship, it’s emotional charity, and I’m not here for that.

I’m just about to say that, too. I swear to God, I am, but before I can, Carter grabs me by the throat. Not hard, not to hurt me, just enough to startle me. Then he takes advantage of my shock to guide me until my back is pressed against a wall. The alarm coursing through me steals my words for a moment. I’m just about to open my mouth and tell him to get his hands off me when his hand falls away from my throat.

I swallow and take in his expression, his energy, to gauge potential danger now that he’s not a moment away from choking me.

“Maybe I was unclear,” he says evenly, his fingertips skating down my left arm. I pull it away from him and his dark eyes snap to my face. “This isn’t a debate. The topic is closed.”

Glaring at him and moving my arm away from his touch, I tell him, “Well, so are my legs.”

A slow, dark smile spreads across his sensual lips. “Until I pry them open, sure.”

“Don’t you dare. I’m not playing with you right now, Carter. This isn’t a game. This is not a relationship if you get the upper hand all the damn time and I get whatever scraps you want to throw me. I didn’t sign up for that. I’m not interested in that. If you want me to trust you, you have to be willing to open up some corner of yourself to me. I can’t be the only one bending in every single scenario. This can’t be all work for me, and all fun for you. I can’t trust that.”