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.

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

in here. I avoid looking at the floor,

and sits raking his fingers through his hair and rubbing his sleep addled face. He looks disheveled, sagging a little and

react when life throws me a curve ball, this isn’t only that though.

Until now.

of this and as I wander around

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 to take it, but

weeks. I just want to go.” I have my mind set on one goal and I

on this pregnancy and blamed it in his absence, he doesn’t know that I caused this and made it go. He would

me to him, but I resist. Riled by the

a touching mood, Arrick.” I try to shrug free but for once he ignores it and holds onto me a little

even if it only lived a few short weeks. You need to grieve and take it easy.” He’s trying to be the guy he always is and be strong for me, but he’s failing. His words are etched with sadness, his whole demeanor screams of a guy

did this, me, to him, of all

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

need it right now. I want to get out of here and leave all this behind us for once and for all. To run and

right? I run, I push it down, all away to the back of my mind and start my life on a new

been one year long life destroyer, and I

out of his arms

me with that stubborn jut of the chin and determined air and slumps

and rest. You can pack if you like but we

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 pulsing

up too. Like me, he has his self-defense system and I just initiated it. Cool, calm, and hidden below the surface; he

I’m sorry, baby.

JFK if that’s what you need.” His tone is even, emotionless and husky. He walks to his case and pulls his jacket up to fish for his cell, avoiding my eyes and I’m immediately remorseful. He’s gone inwards, at a time we

I mean my home, Arry. I want to see