Page 116 of Stranger to Love

I knew better than to fucking push her buttons right now. After the warning in the hallway last night, I was not about to test the waters by questioning her schedule or suggesting she had better places to be. If she was here, it was because she wanted to be, and arguing with Dr. Carter when she had made a decision was a fucking losing battle I was not in the mood for.

A few minutes later, the call ended, and Carrie entered the kitchen. She looked effortlessly sharp in her cashmere and jeans, her phone already tucked away.

"Are we ready?" she asked, her gaze sweeping over the two of us.

Without even fucking thinking about the fact that my dad was standing three feet away, I stepped forward. I reached out, my hand settling on her arm as I leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.

"Ready," I whispered.

Carrie paused, her eyes searching mine for a long, quiet second. She was perceptive—dangerously fucking so. I could tell she was trying to read the unsaid things hovering in my mind, the guilt and the gratitude and the fear of taking up too much of her time. But she didn’t push. She didn't demand an explanation for the extra weight behind that kiss.

Instead, she just gave my hand a firm, reassuring squeeze.

"Good," she said, her voice steadying the air in the room. "Let’s go see your mother."

She guided us toward the door, the three of us walking out into the crisp morning air. As she led the way to her car, I realised how quickly the rhythm of my life had shifted. Fuck, it was mental. It was no longer just me and my parents against the world. Somehow, in the middle of a fucking nightmare, we had gained an architect. And as Carrie started the engine, I knew she wasn’t planning on going anywhere.

Chapter 26

Dr. Carter

Friday felt like the first time I could actually draw a full breath without my chest tightening. Karen was home. Seeing her back in her own bed, the sickly grey hue of the hospital ward finally fading from her cheeks, brought a quiet, unfamiliar sort of relief.

The house itself was tiny, smelling of antiseptic and old wood, but it was Alex’s world. And because it was Alex’s world, it had become mine.

As I helped Karen adjust her pillows, I caught the quick flicker of embarrassment on her face. She was a proud woman, fiercely independent, and having a guest—let alone someone she viewed as her daughter's polished older partner—acting as her nurse was clearly a bitter pill to swallow. But I had no intention of letting her pride compromise her recovery. I maintained a soft, supportive, yet entirely unyielding cadence. When it came to the people I had decided to protect, I did not negotiate.

"Is there anything else you need, Karen?" I asked, my voice low as I placed a fresh glass of water and her morning meds on the bedside table.

"No, thank you, Caroline," she said, a weary but genuine smile touching her lips. She glanced at the empty wall opposite her bed with a soft chuckle. "Though I do wish the TV could be moved up here. It’s going to be a long day with nothing but my own thoughts."

My eyes instantly scanned the small bedroom. It was neat, modest, and incredibly cramped. There was absolutely no space for the heavy dinosaur of a television I had noticed in the lounge downstairs.

"I don't fancy us trying to haul that thing up the stairs, Mum," Alex chimed in from the doorway, her tone light, trying to ease her mother's hidden shame. "We'd both end up in the ward next to you."

I looked at the blank wall, then glanced back at Alex, letting a small, calculating spark show in my eyes. I winked at Karen. "I can pull off miracles sometimes, Karen. Don't count it out just yet."

I already knew exactly what I was going to do. My mind was already moving with clinical, academic precision, calculating measurements and delivery times. I saw the way Alex tracked my expression, a familiar, lovely little flutter passing through her posture. She knew that look. She knew it meant I was about to reshape her reality to suit my preferences.

We left Karen tucked in with her book and headed downstairs. The lounge was profoundly quiet without the heavy presence of Alex's father; Phil had to return to the construction site that morning to salvage his lost hours. I sank onto their sagging, spent sofa, immediately pulling out my phone to coordinate with a premium electronics supplier and a local catering firm.

When I finished typing, I looked up to find Alex staring at me. The sheer volume of guilt she had been suppressing for the last five days was practically radiating off her. She looked overwhelmed, entirely undone by the fact that I had witnessed her childhood bedroom, her parents' financial situation, and her own raw, unfiltered breakdown in the hospital hallways.

"Carrie, stop," she sighed, stepping into the centre of the room. "You’ve done so much. More than anyone could ever expect. You should go home. Take the weekend for yourself. Go back to your beautiful house and your quiet life."

I watched her smoothly, keeping my face a mask of perfect composure as the words began to tumble out of her in a desperate, frantic rush.

"I can’t work this weekend anyway. I have to stay here with Mum while Dad’s at work. There’s no point in you staying, and you definitely don’t need to be picking me up in the middle of the night for shifts I’m not even taking. Please, get some of your time back. You don’t need to be stuck with my family responsibilities."

Ah. She was trying to be selfless. She was trying to build an exit ramp for me before I realised how heavy her life truly was. The silly, endearing little idiot. She genuinely believed that her family's struggle would scare me away, as if a lack of material luxury could somehow diminish her value to me.

The soft, supportive caregiver persona I wore upstairs vanished in an instant. I let my posture shift, my presence expanding until this cramped, peeling living room felt entirely like my domain.

I reached out, my hand wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. I pressed my thumb into the sensitive, burning dip at the base of her skull—a tactile command for her to drop the frantic energy and anchor herself to me.

"Alex," I said, my voice dropping into the low, dangerous register I used when she required absolute calibration. "Do you remember the conversation we had when this started? About who you belong to?"

She swallowed hard, her pulse jumping erratically against my palm. "Carrie, I just meant—"