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His eyes fill with tears, his throat going tight.
He hasn't touched his tequila yet.
"Hunter?"
"Yes?"
"I'd like to go home with you. If the offer is still open."
Hunter lifts his eyebrows, surprised but also possibly intrigued. "I thought we agreed you weren't stupid?"
"I'll regret it, if I don't. I need to know, Hunter. Stupid or not, I need to know." He hands his tequila to the man before looking into his eyes. "Everyone here will know where I am. That I went with you. There's no way you'd hurt me. I'm smart enough to know that. And I need to try, Hunter. Please."
Hunter watches him for a long time.
Then he places both of their drinks off to the side and nods. "Alright. Let's go talk to Wells and we can head out."
Chapter Seven
Travis is on his third hour straight of clicking through event pictures looking for Elliot’s face in the backgrounds when his phone rings. It's an unknown number. He almost doesn't bother to answer it, but his vision is blurring and his head is fucking killing him, so he takes the excuse for a quick break.
"Hello?"
"Is this Travis?"
Travis's guard immediately goes up. "How'd you get this number?"
"Carter gave it to me. Is this Travis?"
Carter gave it to him? Why?
What happened?
Did someone find him? Who? How?
"I'm Travis. What's going on? Who is this? I swear to fuck, if you've hurt him, I'll-"
"Calm down. He put you down as his emergency contact. It's hard to explain. But I need you to come get him. Please."
Travis plans on making the man explain. In detail.
But not yet. "Where is he?"
On the off-chance it's a trap, Travis brings Maison and Jake with him. They speed to the little town almost halfway between the college town Carter and Casey moved to and the safehouse.
The GPS estimates 39 minutes.
They get there in 22.
Travis barely remembers to turn his vehicle off before hopping out.
"Give me 10 minutes," Travis tells his friends as they start to get out of the SUV. "If I'm not back or haven't at least called in 10 minutes, come in."
Jake and Maison look uncomfortable with the plan, but they don't argue. Travis checks to make sure his gun is hidden before taking the porch steps of the little blue house 2 at a time.
He knocks. Every second - 5, to be exact - that ticks by as he waits for someone to answer fucking kills him. He's nearly crawling out of his skin by the time the door swings open to reveal a shirtless man with black slacks hanging loose on his hips, the front unbuttoned.
"Travis?" the man asks, looking relieved.
