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Travis at least seems to consider all of this for a moment. Which is a fucking relief because Ace is right. Statistically speaking, Travis doesn’t have a bright future. He’s going to fucking struggle. Hard. And the other head operatives didn’t even have the addition of being in love with a survivor on top of their other issues.
“How about I just cover everything with a light blanket of worry and call it good?” Travis finally offers. I glance at Ace, wondering if now is the best time to bring up Travis’s need to meet with the therapist. I don’t get the chance to decide before Travis speaks again. “Really? That’s not enough? I’m not going to stop worrying about Carter. Or Mica. Or Elliot. Or the survivors. Or Maison. Or-”
“Dr. Singh is here,” I interrupt, figuring ripping the announcement off like a band-aid is best.
“That’s the therapist, right?” Travis asks.
I roll my eyes. “You know it’s the therapist, asshole.”
“And you have an appointment with him,” Ace adds. “At 1500 tomorrow.”
“I’ll pass.”
Ace shakes his head, apparently deciding to take this particular fight on himself. Thank god. “It’s really not a choice. You agreed to therapy when you first took the job, remember?”
Travis clearly remembers. He also clearly hates it.
“Fine. 1500 tomorrow.” He heads back to the coffee pot, getting himself a refill since he’s been chugging his coffee like it might protect him from his reality. He does better this time. Not so much spillage. Unfortunately, he seems too caught up in his head to be happy about the progress. “I’m going to shower. Then maybe go for a walk.”
That’s code for: He’s going to go find Carter.
Hopefully Dr. Singh can help him with the mess he’s in because I have no fucking idea how to.
The reality of that is set in stone when Travis tries exiting the kitchen only to come face to face with Nolan and one of the other survivors, Gabe. While Gabe only flinches, Nolan drops straight to his knees and gasps, “Master Roarke!”
“Nolan,” Travis says, his voice like gravel. I can see the subtle tremble in his body as he stands there staring at the boy on the floor. “Nolan. You - you can get up.”
I step forward, ready to help, but Ace stops me with a hand to my arm. “This is part of it. For everyone. You can’t save them from this. They have to heal on their own. Travis has to heal on his own.”
I flinch as I hear Nolan’s angry shouting turn to sobs. Travis chokes on an apology, sounding wrecked.
“What if he doesn’t?” I whisper as I watch my friend stumble away from the scene. “What if he doesn’t heal, Ace?”
Ace shakes his head. “You’re not asking the right question, my friend.”
“What’s the right question, then?”
“How are you going to heal?” Ace asks, his expression intensely serious. “The job is over, Jake. Travis. The survivors. The operation. All of it is off your shoulders now. It’s time you worry about yourself. You made an appointment with Dr. Singh for Travis. That was nice of you. But have you made an appointment for yourself yet?”
"No." I sigh heavily. "But I will."
Chapter Twenty-One
Casey
For the first time, I find myself surrounded by people like me. Survivors. That’s the word everyone keeps using. Not victims, but survivors. Apart from the therapist that’s sitting by the fireplace waiting for everyone to find a seat, every single person in this room has survived the same things I have. They’ve been beaten like me. Raped like me. Starved and humiliated and tortured like me.
I don't know if it makes me feel better or worse. Yeah, now I feel a little less alone, but at the same time it’s just now hitting me how many people have been trafficked. I saw dozens go through the cell I was kept in before the auction, then at least 20 at the auction itself. Now all of the survivors that are here. And I know from Jake that this isn’t the only safehouse with survivors. Plus, the survivors from those task force lists Jake mentioned.
So many survivors who shouldn’t have had to survive at all.
It’s bullshit.
What’s the point of any of this? Of surviving? Of the operation? There have to be thousands of slaves out there that were never on this operation’s radar. That will never be on any operation’s radar. No task force. No law enforcement. No one is coming to save those slaves. They won't get to be survivors.
It’s fucking hopeless.
This entire fucked up, broken world is hopeless.
