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“Can you do that for him?” Jake asks. Then, “Can you let me help you take a nap for him?”
For him.
For his sir.
For Travis.
Carter nods. “A nap.”
Disgust and relief war inside of me as Jake helps my brother to his feet, ready to get him settled for a nap that would please his sir. His fucking master. A master I assigned to him. A master I called up and begged to buy him, a master I forced to lie to him, a master I watched abuse him just feet away on a stage in front of people who cherished the sight of him crying.
Your fault, your fault, your fault.
I follow them numbly, each step ratcheting up my self-hatred until I can barely breathe around the enormity of it.
Jake tucks him in with the extra sheets and blankets I bring to the room. Carter whispers that he’s okay now. Neither of us believe him, but it’s not our place to argue. It’s Travis’s place. His sir’s.
I linger in the doorway, Jake a few steps past me down the hall. I stare at the body curled on the bed beneath a blanket, his gaze pointedly nowhere near me.
“I didn’t mean to,” I whisper just loud enough for him to hear.
I didn’t mean to scare you.
I didn’t mean to break you.
I didn’t mean to let you down.
I close the door and turn toward Jake, intending to ask him to keep an eye on Carter so he doesn’t have to be bothered by me anymore. Except, Jake isn’t the one standing there anymore.
It’s Dr. Singh.
My bottom lip wobbles at the sight of him.
“Ready to talk again?” he asks, all cockiness and amusement from our other interactions long gone.
I don’t trust my voice—and definitely don’t want to start sobbing outside of Carter’s door—so I just nod and follow him to his office. It isn’t until I’m sitting in the seat across from him that I realize I left Nolan behind in the kitchen. He was supposed to teach me about mincing garlic. Did he hear me yell? Is he upset? Would he even want me to return?
The first tear falls down my cheek.
I have a feeling it’s nowhere near the last.
Chapter Fourteen
Nolan
Maison disappears again. There’s no sign of him after Casey helps me settle down and keeps me company while I finish prepping dinner. No sign of him at dinner or after dinner either. I hold on to hope, heading down to the living room again, even though he hasn’t appeared in days now.
Feeling slightly pathetic just sitting there yet again, I decide to try starting a fire on my own. It’s not nearly as good as his ever were—I still have no idea how he manages that teepee thing he does—but it doesn’t immediately collapse, so I accept it. I wrap a blanket around my shoulders like maybe it’ll help me feel less alone. It doesn’t work. Nothing ever does except him.
I promise myself I’ll wait for the fire to fully burn before giving up on Maison for the night. It’s just starting to die when there’s movement from the kitchen. My heart lurches in excitement before it registers that the movement can’t be Maison—it’s too light, too quiet. He doesn’t sneak around. He knows sneaking up on a survivor can scare them.
It’s not Travis, which is all that really matters. So when whoever it is stops just behind the couch, their gaze heavy on me, I ask them, “Can’t sleep?”
“I was hungry,” a familiar voice says before someone sits beside me. I don’t look, worried he’ll see the shock on my face. It’s Carter.
I tread carefully, not only because he’s Maison’s brother, but also because he’s a survivor and he deserves it—even if I do want to smack him on the head for how he’s been treating Maison.
I start with the obvious, “You’ve been skipping meals.”
