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“Casey’s sleeping. Let them sleep, Jake.”
“I need him, Trav. Please.”
That does it. I can’t possibly pretend any longer. I gently sit up, not wanting to disturb Carter, and turn to look at the two men who have gone still and silent beside the bed.
“Hey, Case,” Jake whispers, taking a step forward. He leans down and clasps a hand on my shoulder. It’s shaking. “You doing okay?”
“I’m fine. How are you? Did everything - are you alright?”
“I - sure. Yeah. I’m - I’m fine.” He coughs a little, like the obvious lie is choking him. “Do you want to stay here?”
I hesitate, looking toward Travis. “Carter will be okay with you?”
“Of course. Always.”
“Okay.” I take Jake’s hand off my shoulder, tangling our fingers together. It feels good to be the steady one. I forgot what it was like, forgetting myself and focusing all of my energy on others. It’s how I survived those days in the cell before we were all auctioned off. Maybe it’ll be how I survive freedom too. “Come on.”
He doesn't stop shaking as we walk down the hall and enter our room. I'm not sure if it's an adrenaline crash or shock wearing off. I don't know how to help with either, besides just being here, so I guess it doesn’t matter.
“I need to shower,” he rasps, his gaze locked on the wall in a thousand-yard stare. “I need to wash it all off.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoes. Then again, “Okay.”
He stares at the bathroom door for almost a minute before seemingly forcing himself to walk toward it. I wait until he’s disappeared before letting myself sit on the edge of the bed to wait for him. I try not to think too hard about what he’s been through tonight. Or about what Maison has been through.
I also try not to think too hard about there being less than 24 hours before the safehouse. I can’t decide if I’m excited or terrified, and thinking about it makes me nauseous.
When I realize Jake has been gone for far too long, I slowly get out of bed and approach the bathroom. I can hear movement inside, despite the water running. Is Jake even in the shower? Was he ever?
Worry running rampant, I slowly push the door open and step inside. It takes me a moment to find Jake, having to squint through the billowing steam. The man is on his knees in front of the toilet, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. Water drips from his hair down his back and shoulders.
"Jake?"
He whips his head up, his expression twisting when he sees me standing there. "Casey, hey. Fuck. Did I wake you?"
"I never went to sleep." I approach him like I’m approaching a wild animal. "Are you okay?"
Jake laughs harshly before dipping his head over the toilet again, his body lurching with a series of dry heaves. When he gets his body under control, he shakes his head. "No, Case. I'm not okay at all."
"Okay. Um. Are you done with your shower?"
"Huh?" He looks over at the shower like he doesn't recognize it, blinking a few times. "Oh. Yeah. I guess."
Feeling better with something to do, I stroll over to the shower. I stop when I get close enough to see the spray of the water, my heart suddenly racing. My fingers curl into a fist at my side like I can somehow fight the demons haunting me. I stumble back a step. Suddenly, the steam and hot air don’t feel so suffocating. Maybe the shower can be turned off in a few minutes instead, when he’s ready to do it himself.
“Can I - uh. Can I get you anything?” I ask, taking another step away from the shower, back toward Jake.
“Vodka?”
I laugh softly. "I don't know if that'd be smart. Maybe water?"
"Sure." He rests his elbow on the toilet seat and cups his cheek in his hand, watching me as I fill a glass. He gives me a shaky smile when I hand it to him. "Thanks."
I nod, eyeing him as he takes a sip. "Is this… about Maison?"
He drops his gaze to the glass. "I raped my best friend."
