Sempre (Forever Series #1)(61)

20

Haven stood in the doorway of Carmine’s bedroom, exhausted from broken sleep and wanting nothing more than to take a nap, but much more pressing things needed to be dealt with.

Scanning the mess, Haven contemplated where to start.

“Look, I have no idea what you’ll find,” Carmine said. “I’m gonna apologize in advance for it all, so I don’t have to keep saying it as we go.”

He walked over to his dirty clothes and tossed them in his hamper as Haven tentatively navigated her way through the room. “Don’t you want to separate them?” she asked.

He froze, holding a pair of pants. “Separate them how?”

“A pile of whites and a pile of colors will work.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He mock-saluted her. Her smile disintegrated, and he sighed at her fallen expression. “I’m kidding. I can handle separating clothes . . . just forgot I was supposed to.”

He dug the clothes back out of the hamper and made two piles as Haven picked up his schoolbooks. She set them on his desk and shifted the stacks of paper around to organize a bit.

“So, uh . . .” Carmine held up a white shirt with navy blue stripes. “Would you consider this a color or a white?”

“Color,” she said, looking at the piles. “That white shirt with the green design is a color too.”

Carmine picked up the shirt and tossed it on the other pile. “How can you tell?”

“The tag says not to use any bleach.”

“You read my tags?” His voice was serious, like they were discussing something scandalous.

She smiled. “Yes, I read them when I do your laundry.”

“And you remember that?”

“Of course.”

“Well, you didn’t tell me to read the tags.”

Haven held back her laughter, knowing it would only make his irritation worse. When Carmine finished separating the clothes, she took the hamper of whites downstairs to start a load. She pulled out a few things that were obviously not bleachable and set them aside to wash with the next load, not wanting to make it a big deal.

She dragged the empty hamper up to Carmine’s room and found him sprawled out on his stomach on the bed. She stared at his back, mesmerized by his sculpted muscles and the way his tattoos stood out prominently on his skin. He shifted around to look at her and smiled lazily. “I forfeit. This shit’s hard.”

All he’d done was sort clothes, and he’d done a pretty bad job of it, at that. “It’s easy to me.”

He rolled his eyes as she gathered the second load of laundry.

He put a few CDs away as she stripped his bed.

He took a break. She fetched fresh linens.

He put on some music. She made his bed.

He plopped down at his desk as she walked around the room, grabbing random things and putting them where she assumed they went. Carmine watched her closely, the attention making her hyperaware of every movement. She didn’t mind that he wasn’t much help, considering she’d do a better job on her own, but his gaze made her nervous. Occasionally, he’d grind his teeth, trying to contain his irritation when she touched certain things.

The floor was cleared before long, all except for the edge of a book sticking out from under his bed. She got on her knees, surprised by how cluttered it was under there. She pulled out books and magazines, as well as some movies. A few shoeboxes were stored under there, but she didn’t touch them. She put the comforter back down and glanced at her pile, gasping when she saw the nak*d woman on the front of one of the DVD cases. She covered it up, but she wasn’t quick enough—Carmine had already spotted it.

“Knew you’d find the porn.” He laughed, grabbing it. “Wanna watch it?”

There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. She vehemently shook her head, and he tossed the DVD into a drawer in his desk as she picked up a packet of pictures. Carmine pointed toward a drawer to show her where they went. “You can look at them if you want. I’m pretty sure everyone has clothes on, but no promises.”

He winked playfully as she pulled out the pictures. She flipped through them and smiled at the familiar faces, surprised to see Nicholas in a few of them. They all looked young and happy, but in most of them something was off about Carmine. His eyes were dull, the spark she was used to missing. He’d clearly been broken back then, the pictures telling a story no words could do justice.

She opened the drawer he had said they went in and froze. Sitting on top of everything was a tiny doll made out of tan string, no more than a few inches tall. It had short hair made from yarn, felt clothes glued to the body of what was clearly a little boy. She wondered why Carmine would have such a thing as she picked up the tiny doll, careful not to harm it.

Her chest ached as she gazed at it, remembering a time long ago when she had seen a similar one. She had been young, five or six years old, as she ran through the yard of the Antonelli ranch. Her bare feet kicked up dust as her laughter rang out, loud and blissful like the faint church bells they could hear on Sunday mornings. The tiny doll was clutched tightly in her hand, the long brown yarn flowing in the wind as Haven raced to the stables.

“Mama!” she yelled. “Look, Mama!”

Her mama sighed as she turned around, her face soaked with sweat. “I’m busy, Haven.”

“Look, Mama,” she said again, stopping outside the stall her mama stood in with the horse. Haven held up the doll, laughing wholeheartedly. She had never felt so overjoyed in her life. “It’s me!”