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I lurch forward, sending him crashing back, the both of us breathless and giggling as we wind up a tangle of sweaty limbs and drying cum. I manage to get my arms around his neck, clinging to him as I lift my face to meet his lips with my own. I whisper against them, "Good because you promised forever."
He smiles into the kiss, not needing to ask what I'm referring to. "And I never break my promises."
In a bizarre twist of circumstances, Carter ends up falling apart just as I'm finally finding my footing. He calls me when I'm awake waiting for Jake to finish a guard shift, and I can immediately tell by his voice that something is wrong. Since it's the middle of the night, I ask him if he's been able to sleep at all. He admits to waking up from a nightmare again. I hadn't been aware he was struggling. He seemed so put together. So happy.
“I thought they were getting better?” I ask, referring to the nightmares. The real question is left unspoken, but I know he hears it: I thought you were doing better?
“I thought so too,” he admits. And then, after a long pause, he acknowledges the unspoken question by adding, “I thought I was getting better.”
I run my fingertip along David’s snout, wondering if maybe he isn’t okay after all. Maybe I wasn’t the only one pretending in our apartment. Maybe he was just so damn good at it that he had convinced even himself it was the truth.
“Thought being the operative word,” I say carefully.
I can practically hear him bristle over the phone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I consider not being brutally honest. Then I decide since it’s the middle of the night, I’m feeling extremely pouty over the fact that my daddy isn’t able to give me attention, and my best friend is kind of a stubborn idiot who is going to self-destruct if he doesn’t face his truth, that he needs to hear it. Because I don't think he's okay at all. I don't think he ever was. And if that's the case, then he definitely needs help.
“It means you’ve been in fucking denial, Carter. For fuck’s sake, we were put through hell. You refused counseling, treated group therapy like a joke, and focused all of your energy on finding Elliot and convincing everyone you’re fine.” I laugh dryly. “But you’re not fine. None of us are fucking fine. All you’re doing is running from it instead of dealing with it like the rest of us are.”
“I can’t,” he whispers. I can hear the tremble in his voice. The fear. The heartbreak. “I can’t be there, Case. I can’t talk to that stupid fucking therapist who doesn’t get it, and I can’t talk to any of you guys because I’m a fucking hypocrite who was living a cushy ass life compared to everyone else. Where the fuck does that leave me, other than to just move on?”
“We all went through hell, Carter. You included.”
“Not like you. Not like Matt or fucking Nolan or any of the others. What I went through was a fucking joke compared to you guys.”
I huff, wishing he was here in person so I could wrap my hands around his neck and strangle his stupid ass. “That’s such bullshit.”
“Casey-”
“No, you know what? No.” I tuck David under my left arm and haul my ass toward the door. “Please hold.”
I hear him ask, “What?”
I ignore his stupid ass, glad that Jake’s sweatshirt is big enough on me to hide that all I’m wearing beneath are my boxer briefs. There aren’t any people in the hallway as I march to Travis’s room, which is probably a good thing because I’m passing my time mumbling under my breath about stubborn idiots and stupid guard shifts and apologizing to David about all this nonsense.
I knock on Travis’s door.
It doesn’t take him very long to answer, even though he looks half-asleep when he does. His expression pinches with worry at the sight of me. “Casey. Hey, buddy, you okay?”
“Can I come in?” I ask.
“Uh - sure. I mean, yes.” He rubs at one eye, stifling a yawn. “Of course. Come in.”
I don’t really know why I asked, since I don’t plan on sticking around. Now that I’m up and about, I’m going to go find Jake instead. Still, I step into the room. Just enough to give us a bit of privacy. “I have Carter on the phone. I don’t mean to be a dick or anything, and I don’t mean to drag up memories between the two of you that will hurt you guys, but he’s under the impression that he wasn’t hurt like the rest of us and that he doesn’t deserve the same care and recovery, and he’s fucking wrong, so I don’t care if you have to, like, step by step remind him of all the shit he’s been through since I can’t because I don’t know much of it, or just in general tell him he’s being ridiculous, but do… something. And then be all bossy and make him come tomorrow for counseling because this pretending he’s fine shit is stupid and ridiculous and over.” I huff. “And I want to keep my phone, so you can call him using your own. Thank you and good night.”
I end the call, knowing my friend most likely heard every word of that. Which is good. He needed to.
“Is Jake in Ace’s office still?” I ask Travis, the man already fumbling out his phone.
“Uh - yes. Yeah. Ace’s office.”
I nod and turn away, heading back out the door just as I hear him say, “Hey, sweetheart.”
Moving David so he’s hugged against my chest, my arms crossed around him, I rest my chin on his head and go to Ace’s office. I knock, feeling much sleepier than before now that I’m this close to my daddy. He answers with a mug of coffee in one hand and an annoyed look that quickly morphs into a soft smile so full of fondness my heart nearly bursts. "Hey, little fish. What are you doing here?"
"Missed you. Couldn't sleep." I bat my lashes at him. "Can I stay?"
"Of course." He wraps an arm around me, bringing me straight to his office chair. He sits down and pulls me into his lap, tucking me sideways against his chest. I have to awkwardly drape my legs over the armrest, and it's a tight fit for us, but I don't mind. "Couldn't sleep? Bad dreams?"
