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I tuck my hands into the front pocket of my sweatshirt to keep from doing something that could ruin everything. “Where are you going now?”
“To Ace’s office. That’s where Travis will be. We need to coordinate a few things and come up with a plan. Hopefully get him on the road in the next hour or two.”
“Then what?”
He tilts his head, eyebrows pulling together. “I’m… not sure. Try to sleep a little, I guess.”
My eyes fall to his left hand where the hall light is illuminating his abused knuckles. “Not go to the gym?”
Maison’s expression tightens. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’m due a Dr. Singh appointment today. Carter’s going to be upset again. One of my best friends just looked at me like he can’t remember why he ever liked me. It feels a little like my chest is ripping apart at the seams, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” I eye his hand again before deciding to reach for it. I think we’re friends—or at least close enough to friends to get away with this. His calloused fingers are warm as they settle onto my palm. When I stroke my thumb along the back of his hand, he shivers and takes a single step closer. I can smell the familiar scent of leather, sweat, and spicy deodorant. Maison. It makes me brave. “Maybe try boxing gloves this time? Maybe the punching will be enough. Maybe you don’t have to hurt, too.”
Before he can argue, I lift my chin enough to look into his eyes and add, “I really don’t want you to hurt.”
He makes a soft sort of punched noise in his throat, his fingers twitching in my palm. His voice is a little choked when he says, “Boxing gloves are worth a shot.”
Chapter Eleven
Maison
Boxing gloves suck. Each punch feels padded and distant, refusing to provide me with the sparks of pain I need to be able to breathe. Picturing Nolan’s face if he sees my knuckles worse than they already are is the only way I manage to keep the stupid things on. I try to counteract it by throwing myself at the bag with abandon, not stopping until every muscle aches. Until the pain on my right side has me gasping for breaths that feel like needles. Until my eyes are watering from both sweat and grief.
It’s still not enough.
I’m shaky and soaked in sweat by the time I head upstairs, following the sound of someone moving in the kitchen. Nolan, Nolan, Nolan, a voice whispers in my head, desperate for just a peek at him. Just a single moment of his attention. I can tell him I used the gloves, and he’ll smile so damn bright, and maybe this horror inside of me will finally dissolve into something I can breathe around.
It’s not Nolan in the kitchen.
It’s Carter.
The heavy sigh leaves me without permission at the sight of him. His expression immediately shifts into concern. “What?”
“Travis,” I begin, trying to think of a way to say it that won’t lead to yet another argument. “He—”
He doesn’t let me finish. “He fucking left, didn’t he? Without telling me. Again.”
“Yes.” I lean on the counter, still fighting the words brewing inside my head. Do I sugarcoat? Do I tell him like it is? Do I roll over and let him stumble into his own heartbreak? “Carter, this is his life. It will always be his life.”
“I know that, but he could have at least told me goodbye.”
“Why?” I tilt my head, anger starting to build inside of me. “Because he was naked in your bed when he got his orders to leave?”
It’s probably a low blow, but I’m apparently a dick these days, so oh well. Carter at least has the decency to blush and duck his head. He’s a smart kid, though. He figures out what that information means pretty quickly, realization morphing his expression back into anger. “Were you the one to give those orders?”
“Yup.”
“And he didn’t even try to say goodbye to me? Did he even… hesitate?”
I eye him. The slope of his defeated shoulders. The slight tremble of his fingers on his coffee mug. “Would it matter?”
This time the question isn’t me being a dick, it’s me needing to know. It’s about time we get to the bottom of this whole mess, right?
Carter lifts his gaze, eyes serious and sad. “Yes. It matters to me, Maison. He…” His voice cracks. I watch him swallow hard, his eyes watering. “He matters to me.”
Fuck.
“You want to be with him then?”
