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Nolan nearly beams, his cheeks a subtle pink. “No mincing without you. Promise.”
The moment Maison has disappeared around the corner, I lean my chin on my fist and smirk. Nolan shakes his head. “Don’t start.”
“I said nothing.”
“Your face said plenty.” Nolan sighs, turning his back to me so he can slice a lemon. “I’m worried about them.”
Figuring I should go easy on my only other friend, I allow the obvious change of subject. “They’ll be okay, I think. Brothers fight.”
“But they have two hugely different perspectives and I don’t think they’ll ever be able to see each other’s.”
“I don’t know. I think they have the same exact perspective, just different goals.”
Nolan turns, frowning. “How do you mean?”
“I think they both blame Maison. Them talking it out will give Maison a chance to make amends, to ease his own guilt. But them talking it out will also steal away the safety Carter feels by blaming Maison. Because once Carter can’t blame Maison, who is there to blame?”
“How about the sick fucks who kidnapped all of us? Who sold us like livestock? Or the other assholes who touched him during his time being owned by Travis?”
“But that’s not what Carter struggles with. He struggles with the person this experience has forced him to become. The way his mind has changed. The parts of himself he’s lost. And that could have been avoided if Maison would have let Travis tell Carter the truth from the start.” I shrug, knowing I’m unfairly biased. Especially since I don’t know Maison’s side of things. But since Nolan probably does know Maison’s side, maybe sharing Carter’s side with him will be more productive. “When Carter forgives Maison - and I do think he will, when he’s ready - it'll be because he's accepted who he is now. It'll be because he's happy despite what he’s been through. Maison should stop rushing him. Carter isn't there yet. He's not ready.”
Nolan seems to ponder this, his gaze distant as he stares at my coffee mug. “I wonder-” but his wondering is interrupted by a raised voice coming from the laundry room.
“Fucking talk to me, Carter!” Nolan and I both tense, our shoulders going up to our ears. Then something slams - a hand against something, maybe? - and Nolan immediately reacts, hitting the floor and curling into a ball, hands over his head. I don’t know why I don’t react the same. Maybe because it’s easier for me to focus on helping others than focus on myself.
Instead of hiding, I find myself walking toward the noise, determined to find my best friend and help him.
He's around the corner in the laundry room, settled on his knees on the floor, Maison hovering over him with a heaving chest and panicked eyes. It’s easy enough to figure out what happened. Maison got upset, yelled, and hit something. It scared Carter and sent him to his knees, a reaction that’s been drilled into all of us.
“Please get up,” Maison begs, sounding like he might cry. “I didn’t mean - I would never-”
“I know,” Carter whispers, pressing his hands against his face. “Fuck, I know. I didn’t mean to.”
“Carter, I-”
“Hey, what’s going on here?” I step out of the way at the sound of Jake’s voice, watching as he hurries over to Carter. Carter’s body heaves like he’s fighting a sob.
Maison tries to explain, sounding distraught. “I yelled and hit the machine. I - fuck, I scared him.”
“Yeah, we all heard that, asshole,” Jake growls, shooting Maison a look before crouching down beside Carter and placing a hand on his back. He runs the hand up to cup the back of Carter’s neck, his fingers squeezing gently. My gut twists with something strangely close to jealousy. I know exactly how it feels to have him do that. “You okay, little one?”
It’s like someone reaches inside of my chest, digging their nails into my heart and pulling. The pain steals my breath. I grip the doorframe to keep from falling to my knees.
Little one.
I… thought that was just for me.
I thought I was his little one.
God, I’m so fucking stupid.
I barely hear Jake as he tries getting Carter out of the slave mindset, my eyes locked on the way he’s massaging the back of Carter’s neck, the way he’s murmuring in his ear, the soft, encouraging smile he’s giving him.
When I feel the first tear fall down my cheek, I back out of the room and move around the corner. I want to stay near, worried about my friend, but I don’t want him - or, even worse, Jake - to see me crying.
After a few moments, Carter and Jake are coming around the corner. I focus on my friend, knowing it’s not his fault my heart just got shattered. “Carter? Are you okay?”
Carter doesn’t answer, but Jake does. “He’ll be alright.” Jake’s steps stutter as our eyes meet. “Casey? Are you-?”
