"Carter," I call out, surprised, as he steps out of his SUV and meets me on the curb.

We're near Ria's group home; I just dropped her off after we met my step goal for the day. It's strange that he would still be here, considering he and Marco left the park long before Ria and me. But maybe they grabbed an ice cream cone on the way back. It is crazy hot today.

He waits for me, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his shorts and rolling his shoulders forward. Angling his head to the left, he studies me, his frown deepening the longer he stares. His nostrils flare as he exhales, running his hand down his face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, my confusion morphing into panic. Did something happen to one of the kids? To Marco?

“I should be asking you that.”

My stomach dips as I try to make sense of his comment, nerves skating up my spine. I open my mouth to ask him if something happened when he beats me to it.

“Are you okay?”

“What?” I close the distance between us and his complete attention on me, on my steps, unnerves me in a way that causes me to trip.

I throw my hand out to stop my fall, but his arms are around me. Steadying me. Holding me up.

His touch is comforting, the heat of his fingertips soaking through the thin material of my blouse and blazing a trail of desire through my blood.

I swallow thickly, shaking my head to clear the thoughts that suddenly fill my mind.

"I got you, Taylor." His voice is low in my ear, and I practically sag against him as he murmurs my name.

I take a shaky breath, trying to get my bearings as wariness sets in. Stepping out of his hold, I nod, ducking my head. "Thanks."

"Are you okay?" He repeats.

I look up, surprised to see the depth of concern in his eyes.

"Yes."

His sigh is heavy, and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head at me.

"You're lying."

"Excuse me?" I take a small step backward but can hardly mask the wince. I ache. Every single part of my body hurts after trying to spite Barrington last night. After dancing and drinking and pretending I didn’t have a care in the world. But then I chatted with Isabella and realized that isn’t the image I want to portray anymore. At that realization, the anger and spite dissolved and I felt embarrassed, humiliated even for acting so stupid when all I had to do was tell Barrington to go to hell.

Thank God last night was the last time I accompany Barrington Wade anywhere. And I made sure Daddy knew that when I came home last night. I’d drain my savings account in a heartbeat to help him and I’d be happy to do it, but never again will I go on any type of date with Barrington.

"What's wrong?" He takes my hand in his, his fingers playing over my knuckles.

I shake my head.

"Taylor." He lowers his voice, inclining his head toward mine.

"I’m sorry. I’m really tired today.”

"I can tell. What happened? You’re not yourself."

I breathe out a laugh. How is it that Carter, who has only been in my company a handful of times can sense this when Isabella and Joyce, friends who have known me for years, didn’t pick up on it last night?

"I’m not trying to push you." His eyes spark with an emotion I can't place, but the sincerity in his voice rings true. “I’m just worried.”

“I’m fine.” I place a hand on his chest to solidify my words.

"You’re not fine. At the park, the moment I saw you, I knew you were in pain and I hated it. I didn't want to call you out in front of Ria."

"Thank you for that. All she would do is worry and she has enough on her plate without worrying about me.”

“I don’t think she minds worrying about you. I don’t.”

I roll my bottom lip between my teeth, my heartrate accelerating at his words. Carter worries about me? But we’re friends. Friends worry about each other all the time. So it doesn’t really mean anything, right?

"Who's Barrington?"

"What?"

He rocks back on his heels, digging his fists into his pockets again as my fingertips slide off his chest. "I saw your picture in the paper."

"Oh." I grimace. I nearly spat out the coffee I was drinking this morning when I saw that little gem in the gossip column. Barrington sucks.

"Is he your boyfriend?"

My mouth drops open. Is he kidding me? As if I’d ever date Barrington Wade?

But really, his question makes total sense as there is a photo of Barrington kissing me in The Savannah Gazette.

Wait. Is he jealous? A thrill of satisfaction shimmies down my spine at the thought. Ugh. What is wrong with me?

"It's cool. You don't owe me an explanation. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. Is there anything I can help you with?" He raises his eyebrows expectantly.

I shake my head.

"You should get some rest. You look beat." He watches me for a moment before nodding as if he's come to some type of conclusion. "Take care of yourself, Taylor." He begins to turn toward the street.

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"What?" He hesitates, his eyes flicking to mine over his shoulder.

"Barrington. He's not, we're not," I exhale, my pulse suddenly beating erratically in my ears, so loudly it drowns out my thoughts. "It wasn't…" The outer edges of my line of sight grow hazy. My breathing increases, my heart racing in my chest, and my palms grow clammy with sweat even though I feel cold. Suddenly, my feet are like bricks, and my legs are spaghetti. I can't move forward, but I can't stay here either. Reaching out wildly, my hand searches for something to clasp onto: a tree, a street sign, something.

I hear a whoosh of air in my ears and I'm looking at the sky. It's blue, a blue so deep it could be the ocean. I blink. Fluffy clouds and green leaves and winding branches. The material pressed against my cheek is soft, and the muscle behind it is hard and hot.

"Carter?"

"I've got you, Taylor."

Carter presses a cold bottle of water against my lips and gently tilts it as I take small sips. I blink slowly, the hard line of his jaw and the worried expression on his face coming into focus.

"I…"

"Shh. You almost passed out on me," he explains gently, his voice low.

The blast of air conditioning coming from the vent in his SUV fans over my shoulders and neck, cooling me. I'm seated in the passenger seat, and he's standing next to me, the door flung wide open beside him. His fingers push damp hair out of my eyes and away from my face before clamping down on my wrist to take my pulse.

"Your heart rate is slowing down, but I'd still like to take you to the hospital."

"No." I shake my head and wince as the movement sends a sharp pain behind my eyelids. The hospital? I would be front and center of nearly every gossip column in Georgia for the entire week.

"Taylor."

"I'm fine." I can't even open my eyes to look at him as I say this, but I feel the frown that crosses his face.

"At least let me take you for something to eat. And then, based on how you're feeling, we can decide what to do next, okay?"

"You know you don’t have to keep doing this, right?" I manage to open my eyes and fix him with a stare.

The pads of his fingertips are calloused as they graze over my hairline, brushing errant strands back from my forehead. I feel them stop, hover over my scar, as regret flashes in his seafoam green eyes, confirming my suspicions.

"Doing what?"

"Worrying about me just because of the accident. It wasn’t your fault. You don’t need to keep reaching out and being nice to me just because you feel guilty. Yes, I’m angry as hell at what happened and at Gunner Scott but not at you.”

"Babe, trust me, that’s not it. If I were nice to you, I'd never come near you again. I'd never have been in the car that hurt you in the first place."

"That’s what I’m saying. That wasn't your fault."

His thumb brushes over my cheekbone, trailing down the side of my face before settling at the corner of my mouth. His palm hooks around my neck as he brushes soft strokes from my lip to my dimple and back again. "You're like alexandrite."

"Who?" I shake my head, trying to understand his line of thought.

His face is sad and somber as he stares down at me as if he's either going to lose me or let me go in the next second. I grip his wrist, keeping his hand fused to my face, suddenly anxious. Please don’t let me go.

"Alexandrite?" I take another sip of water. "I don't understand."

"It’s for the better."

I blink, the throbbing in my head reaching a new level.

"Let's get you something to eat," he says finally, pulling the seatbelt across my body and buckling me in.

The SUV door closes and in the next moment, I hear the rumble of the engine as he turns on the car.

I close my eyes as we drive, the scent of his cologne and the evenness of his breath washing over me and pulling me into a state of security that nearly lulls me to sleep.

The smell of strong coffee and donuts helps settle my stomach and clear my mind as Carter eases me into a chair at Kindred Spirits Bakery. Thankfully, I pulled myself together on the short ride over and feel almost normal again.

"I know I promised you Raf's but," he says, eying me warily, "today may not be the best day for a greasy burger."

I laugh, but it sounds strained.

"I'll be right back with your mocha and a bite to eat," he says, eyeing me for an extra minute, as if he's nervous I'll bolt or faint.

I nod, offering a smile, until he turns and walks over to the counter to place an order.

Leaning my head back against the soft leather of the armchair, I scan the room, noting the students typing furiously on their laptops, a group of men engaged in a colorful conversation, and a young mother breastfeeding her son.

I release a slow exhale, feeling the stress and uncertainty of the weekend leave me. Attending the event with Barrington rattled me in a way I never anticipated. Why did I place any weight at all on his negative words? I've always been able to handle myself, maintain a cool demeanor and say the correct lines at the correct moments if the occasion warranted it. But last night was a disaster. I reacted to Barrington’s challenge and pushed myself too hard.

My leg throbbed, an intense pressure spreading from my thigh up into my abdomen and flooding my stomach with heat. I felt jittery, on edge, and... scared. Barrington's dark eyes watched me with menace, his easy grin twisting whenever he looked in my direction. Thank God that’s done.

Now I know what Patrick means when he warns me not to overdo it. Today, I feel drained. Emotionally, physically, everything. I'm so tired, I could fall asleep right here on this comfortable armchair. Ria kept asking me if I was okay the entire time we walked together and although I kept nodding, the sting of tears pricked behind my eyelids, and the back of my throat burned with the need to let go and just cry.

"Here you go." Carter slides onto the chair next to me, sitting on the edge of the cushion with his body angled toward mine. He holds the mocha beverage up, and I accept it gratefully. On the table next to my chair, he places a plate with a vegetable panini.

"Thank you."

"You're tired."

I nod, swallowing a large gulp that scalds the roof of my mouth and my throat but manages to keep the tears at bay.

Carter sighs, ripping into a donut. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No."

"Taylor," he says, peering at me curiously, his fingers tapping out a random beat against his to-go cup, "You can talk to me. About anything. I know this," he gestures between the two of us, "is strange. But I'm worried about you. And I don't care if you're going to marry Barrington Wade, if there's something bothering you, then tell me, so I can help."

His expression is so sincere, the green in his eyes darkening with the emotion behind his words. I bite back my lower lip to try not to cry at his concern, at him offering me a shoulder to cry on when I so desperately feel like crying. It’s sweet and thoughtful and so empathetic, my eyes well with moisture.

Two tears slip over my lower lashes, falling in gentle globs on my cheek.

Carter frowns and reaches out with a hesitant hand. The pulse in his jaw ticks. His fingertip grazes across my cheek and under my eye, the contact so light I barely feel it.

"I wish I could catch all your tears, babe. What's going on?"

I sniffle, taking another sip of my coffee. "I'm tired."

"I know."

I shake my head. "No, I'm really tired. Not just physically, I'm—"

"In need of some TLC."

I snort.

"Hey. Don’t hate on tender loving care."

I roll my eyes but can’t help but smile at his comment. Sure, I can pamper with the best of them: spa facials, Swedish massages, body wraps, extensive skin care lines. I can do hot yoga five times a week and kill it at reformer Pilates. But I have no idea what it's like to actually be taken care of and cared for by someone other than my parents. And Ria. To have a guy do something for me because they want to and not because there's something in it for them.

"How are you feeling now?" Carter's low voice interrupts my thoughts again.

"Better."

"I'm serious, we can swing by the hospital."

"No, I'm fine. Just, I don't know. I think I overdid it last night."

Carter nods, a dark storm cloud passing across his eyes and shadowing his features. In the next blink, it's gone and he looks like his charming self once more.

"Come on." He holds a hand out to me, and I take it tentatively. "I want to show you something. I’ll grab your panini for the road."

"Okay." I put more of my weight on him than I'd like, but he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he helps me shuffle out of Kindred Spirits and settles me in his SUV.

Once he's sitting next to me, reminding me to eat, I take a few nibbles of the sandwich. As we drive away from our town and out into the wide-open country lanes, I relax further, closing my eyes and pretending for just a moment that I'm with my boyfriend. And he cares enough to give me TLC.