He glances back at me, confusion etched across his face. "Some parts are burnt, some parts are still raw. I don't know why it's not cooking right."
I reach over and grab the pot from the stove. "Probably because you've never cooked a damn thing in your life. Why start now, princess?"
As I shove the whole pot into the sink and turn on the cold water, smoke billows and fills the air. Once that's taken care of, I grab an energy drink from the fridge. Carter is standing there with a pissed-off look on his face when I turn around.
"Try being a little fucking quieter. You're not the only one who lives here, and not everyone wants to wake up at the ass crack of dawn."
I go to push past him, but with a hand on my chest, he shoves me backward. "What the hell is your problem?"
"I don't have one, but if you don't get out of my way, I will."
He laughs dryly and gets even further in my face. "You've been a real prick lately, but since yesterday you've been even worse. So clearly, that means something struck a nerve." He pushes me back again until my back is against the fridge. "Go ahead, fucker. I'm waiting."
I want nothing more right now than to punch him directly in his smug little face. I mean, that’s how I feel more often than not recently, but this morning, it's a hundred times worse.
"Don't act like you don't know," I growl and push him away. "You at least could have fucking warned me that he was going to threaten my trust fund if I didn't go see some know-it-all therapist so she can tell me how screwed up I am."
His brows furrow for a moment until realization crosses his face. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. I pop open the can, taking a sip before fixing my shirt. Meanwhile, Carter is muttering obscenities under his breath.
"Your dad is such an idiot."
I snort. "Tell me something I don't know, but that doesn't make you any less of an ass. Whose side are you on here?"
"Like you even have to ask that," he grumbles. "Yours, shithead. Always yours. Your dad mentioned possibly sending you to a therapist, and I said that he could try, but I didn't think you'd go. The only part I played in it was finding one for you."
Searching his face for any sign that he's lying, I come up empty. "You really didn't know?"
"Of course not. If I had known he was going to threaten you into it, I never would have let it happen."
A rush of relief floods through me, making me feel a little less alone than I did last night. Carter may be pissing me off lately, but to think he went along with something like
that felt like a dagger in my back. Instead, my dad went rogue.
Not like that’s a surprise.
The man might have the best intentions, but I swear, half the time he's clueless. He's never really known how to raise my brother and me, and my mom learns everything from Dr. Phil. It's like he wrote the damn Bible and his word is holy.
"I'm sorry I blamed you."
He looks down at the ground for a second, and when his eyes meet mine again, there's a certain sadness to them. "I mean, in the grand scheme of things, I am to blame—aren't I?"
Yes.
No.
Yes.
Fuck.
The simple mention of the topic has me itching for my next fix, but I have to resist. "Don't."
It's obvious he was hoping for more of a conversation. Thankfully, he knows me well enough to understand he isn't going to get one. All the chaos that consumed our freshman year of college is completely off the list of possible talking points.
"Are you at least going to give the therapist a chance?" he asks. "She might be able to help."
I bark a laugh. "What do you think?"
Carter smirks and shakes his head in amusement. "Yeah, I figured as much. That's why I made sure she's nice to look at. If you're going to have to sit there for an hour, at least make it enjoyable."