The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

I wake up in bed with Arrick wrapped around me, still fully dressed, on top of the sheets and holding me tight, with his face against my cheek. He’s asleep and I can tell by his messy appearance that he crawled in with me as soon as he walked in the door. He still has his shoes on, and his suitcase is propped against the bedroom door with his jacket laid over the top.

I fell asleep and didn’t wake, so it’s like I only spoke to him minutes ago, when in reality, I have lost whole days already. The painkillers the doctor gave me must have knocked me out cold, to not even wake when he got on the bed. I have no clue how long it’s been since he left here. I watch his slow even breaths, oblivious to my being awake, afraid to move for a moment.

He must have got in the early hours and even though it feels good to wake up in his arms, I get an instant searing of pain when I look at his innocent, vulnerable face. Peacefully out cold and devoid of all expression, he looks so young suddenly. So undeserving of what he has come home to, when I know how much he wanted this.

I trace his smooth straight eyebrow gently, that perfect bone structure of a handsome face and the shadows of his stubble on the surface of olive skin. He’s dead to the world, face relaxed, yet I can tell he’s been suffering. He looks pale, dark shadows where they never are and his whole appearance seems off. He looks like the guy that welcomed me home in New York after I had been missing all night; broken, crumpled, and devastated.

It hits me hard making everything inside of me ache with a weariness and I move away from him, unsure how the hell to react. How to be what he needs right now.

I take a moment for the reality of why he is home to hit me, and much like a sucker punch it gets me in the gut before that good old numb runs straight after and saves me from the crushing pain I keep expecting. I lay for a moment, brain waking up fully and listen to the noise around us. The low mumble of traffic beginning outside in the streets and birds off in the trees calling out to alert us to a rare sunnier day. Paris is nothing like New York when it comes to sound and even though it’s not totally quiet, it feels painfully so.

I move to disentangle myself from him, he’s too hot and I need to sit up and get some air. I need to get these feelings of panic and fear, of guilt, under control now that I have to face him, but my movement stirs him.

“Sophs?” He breathes my name into my hair and tightens his hold on me momentarily. Catching hold and squeezing me protectively. I hold still, hold my breath and will myself to be stronger than this. Arrick in pain is not something I know how to deal with, it’s not something I have ever really had to fix. He’s always the stable one, the rock, the emotionally calm and capable one that I need to lean on.

“I’m awake.” I finally answer, sounding a lot less alien and yet still weird. I pull his arms off to give myself space and slide to sit up. Needing to gather myself away from him. Arrick rubs his face, opens his eyes, and stifles a yawn before blinking up at me with hazy eyes that are fighting between being green and hazel and my stomach drops.

He looks like a guy whose world just came crashing down and not at all my smooth manicured Carrero. His eyes have lost their sparkle and as he wakens himself fully to look up at me, I can tell he probably broke down at some point; there’s a redness to his eyes and a faraway look. I turn away quickly, for a second as the force of how much I don’t want to see him this way hits me. I’m not used to it. I don’t know if I can handle him as broken and hurt as I usually am.

“Hey, beautiful.” He tries for a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes and he clumsily pulls himself to sit up to mirror my pose as I lean against the headboard and pull the covers to try and get comfy.

“When did you get in?” straight to nothing conversation and avoiding the obvious. I don’t want to talk about it or see him upset. I don’t think I can handle that from him. I never knew it would feel this way when he got here and now, I am wishing I never made him come home.

“Around five am. I didn’t want to wake you. You seemed pretty out of it.”

I glance at the bedside clock and see it’s still early, before eight so he has probably not really slept much at all. Three hours max

There is a long drawn out silence between us and then he shifts and turns to me and scoops my hand in his, cradling it and trying to angle his face to look at me properly.

I shake my hand free and slide out of bed to go sort myself in the bathroom. I can feel a discomfort from my pad and know

should maybe think about packing up and leaving.” I ignore his request and flinch when I walk into the bathroom. Like a dull punch to the stomach, almost like this room is now cursed and it’s painful to walk in here. I avoid looking at the floor, even though Janetta has scrubbed this whole room clean and head to the toilet. My stomach twisted and my heart is aching, my head however is cotton wool and I move fast to get the hell back out of

do what I need to do and walk back into the bedroom to see he hasn’t moved except to sit up properly and kick his shoes off, and sits raking his fingers through his hair and rubbing his sleep addled face. He looks disheveled, sagging

me and I shrug it away. I know what I do and how I react when life throws me a curve ball, this isn’t only that though. I’ve never had to be his stability, his healer… I have never been the

Until now.

today… If we can get a flight.” Trying so hard to ignore any talk of this and as I wander around the room to pull clothes out, hearing him sigh harder. Trying to not give into

stay in bed a few days first… We can talk about leaving later. Sophie! Come here and talk to me.” He holds out his hand as though gesturing me

I just want to go.” I have my mind set on one goal and I don’t mean New York city. I mean the Hamptons, to see my Mom… To see Emma. People not affected like he is, people who might be able to heal him

doesn’t know that I

and tries to pull me to him, but I resist. Riled by the Spanish inquisition of questions and irritated that he is following me around harassing me.

free but for once he ignores it

and you’re hurting… You didn’t want this, I get that, but it’s okay to feel sad that this happened. It’s okay to cry about this. God knows I did on the flight, Sophs. It was still our baby, even if it only lived a few short weeks. You need to grieve

to him, of

painfully. I can’t look at him, listen to him for fear that I may break into a thousand pieces at how

all this behind us for once and for all. To run and get away from it. To forget all of

run, I push it down, all away to the back of

year long life destroyer, and I am so done with this

of his arms and move

move to my wardrobe and haul out my case. He watches me with that stubborn jut of the chin and determined air and slumps down on

and rest. You can pack if you like but we are going nowhere until I have taken you to the

hospital, no delays, no heart to hearts. I just need for you to book us tickets and get the hell out of here without a fucking argument!” I glare at him and he silently stares right back at me. Two stubborn heads locked in a wordless war and neither move. So much translates in those seconds that seem to draw to minutes and I can almost feel my heart

up too. Like me, he has his self-defense system and I just initiated it. Cool, calm, and hidden below the surface; he takes a slow breath and stands up very purposefully and deliberately. Like a shield being lifted or some

I’m sorry, baby.

avoiding my eyes and I’m immediately remorseful. He’s gone

direct from there… I mean my