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Ignored? I made myself read every fucking word. I see reenactments every time I close my eyes. I hear your screams in my nightmares.
“Carter—”
“I’m curious, Maison,” he says before I can continue, clearly not interested in any of my excuses. “Was there a line for you? A boundary you wouldn’t let be crossed? Or were you willing to let me die if it meant preserving the mission?”
“Travis wouldn’t have—”
“No, I’m not asking about Travis, I’m asking about you. Obviously, when I got sick and needed the IV meds wasn’t bad enough for you.”
Wasn’t bad enough? I panicked so badly, Ace had to pin me down and force me to breathe. Then he took my phone away and locked me up until I calmed down so I couldn’t do something stupid and ruin the operation.
I don’t tell him that. I’m not sure I’d survive if he didn’t believe me. And with the way he’s looking at me, the hatred in his eyes, I don’t think he’d believe me.
Instead, I give him the line Ace gave me that night. “The doctor said—”
“Wait, no, sorry for forgetting. It took me becoming suicidal and begging for my own death. That was the line.” Carter huffs. “Though, even then, it took Travis a while to convince you to change your mind, didn’t it? It took a few days for him to tell me the truth after that.”
Is he fucking kidding? I get it. I really do. I’m a piece of shit and I don’t deserve his forgiveness. But Travis was the one who hurt him. Who raped him. Travis was the one I trusted to decide how bad was too bad, to decide where the line was for breaking the rules.
And Travis was the one to wait for days before telling him the truth after I gave him permission to, making me go fucking insane with fear as I sat by my phone waiting—all because he knew Carter would be mad at him and didn’t want to have to deal with it. It was Travis who let Carter be hopeless and suicidal for three fucking days just so he could soak up a little extra time with him.
Travis, the one who Carter forgave. Travis, the one who Carter wanted to comfort him when we got to the safehouse. Travis, the one he spent nearly twenty-four hours locked away with instead of coming to see his own brother.
I place my glass on the counter so I don’t break it, slow and careful. The rage beneath my skin scares me. I make a promise to myself that I won’t unleash it on him before looking at him again.
“Travis,” I say, keeping my voice perfectly calm. “Called me within minutes of your suicidal request. It took me less than that to agree with him about telling you.”
He looks confused. “No. It took days for—”
“It took days for Travis to get himself to tell you the truth.” I step forward, resting my hands on the island and looking my brother in the eyes. He knows me well. He knows when I’m telling the truth, whether he likes it or not. He can’t deny this. “Probably because he wanted to fuck you a few more times before he lost his power.”
Carter pulls back like he’s been slapped. Like I slapped him. “He—he wouldn’t do that. Travis wouldn’t do that to me.”
That rage shakes against my bones. Travis wouldn’t do that to him, but he thinks I would?
We’re supposed to be brothers.
“Don’t you put him on a fucking pedestal. Not when he’s in your bed as we speak. What’d you do, Carter? Did you fuck your rapist? Guess he didn’t have to worry after all.”
The minute the words are out, I want them back. I want to collect them in my hands and shove them down my throat until I fucking choke on them. Judging by the way he’s now looking at me, I think he wants to do the same.
“Fuck you, Maison.” His eyes narrow. Those blue eyes that are just like mine. I’ve never seen them filled with so much fucking hatred. “You know what? I’m not worried about you anymore. I hope it fucking hurt when they raped you.”
It’s a fair play, but that doesn’t stop it from stealing my breath. I step back, but my body decides now is a great time to feel all the pain it’s suffered, as if his words reminded it of what it’s been through. The movement ends up being more of a stumble, sharp pain radiating from my broken heart to the rest of me. I want to drink the glass of whiskey, then chase it down with the rest of the bottle. I want to smash the glass against the wall. I want to scream. I want to get on my knees and beg him to please just fucking forgive me.
I want to die.
I want to hate him.
It’d be so much easier if I could just get myself to fucking hate him the way he hates me.
I try to force it. It doesn’t feel right. Just a pretend, awful sort of hate that feels thick and heavy in my veins. When I speak, I hope he can’t tell that I’m a second away from crying, no real hatred or anger left inside of me. “I hope it fucking hurts when he breaks your heart all over again.”
Carter gives me a final look filled with anger and hurt before turning away to leave.
To go back to Travis.
“Carter!” I call, desperate to make this right. Desperate to get my brother back.
