16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter sixteen
Carter
“Hey, you want to grab a drink?” Kane asks when group is over. I’m throwing on my jacket and zipping it up, preparing for the snow outside.
“Drink as in alcohol or drink as in coffee?” I ask with a smirk.
“Bar is closer.”
“You buying?”
“Wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”
We leave group together, waving goodbye to others as we pass.
Outside, a few of them linger, waiting for ride shares because they don’t want to walk to the subway or risk getting on it.
I get it. I always have a spike of anxiety each time I get on it, but I tell myself I can’t be so unlucky that I’m in a situation where someone, myself included, is attacked out in public twice.
Though, this is New York, so it’s not entirely unheard of.
I don’t want fear to control my life, so when those thoughts pop up, I do my best to shoo them.
I’m getting pretty good at it. And ride shares are expensive.
Group is not close to home the way work and the shelter are, but it’s the only trauma support group I’ve found around here.
There is a bar a block down that I’ve been to a few times with people from group over the years. Every now and then, you just need a drink to take the edge off after a rough session. For me, talking helps, but it does hurt. But I meant what I said to Nash about it being worth it.
My life isn’t great. I could be doing so much better, and I miss Ryan more than I can explain. I’m fucked up and sad all the time, but I would never, not for anything in the world, take back what we had to lose this pain. He was worth it.
“How are you doing?” Kane asks as we hop onto stools at the bar.
The light is dim, the bulbs burning a dull yellow. Even the TV’s brightness is down. The volume is off so we can hear the classic rock music playing from the juke box in the back corner by the pool table that’s occupied by a group of guys that look like they spend too much time here.
“I’m… okay.”
“You don’t sound very confident.”
“What can I get you guys?” the bartender asks as he puts down a thin coaster in front of each of us with the logo of the bar—Bunny’s. I think it used to be a mafia thing—maybe it still is.
The bartender certainly has the look of an Italian mobster. Handsome and dangerous looking.
“Beer for me,” I say. “Whatever is on tap.”
“Same,” Kane says, then brings his attention to me again. “So?”
“I really am okay. It’s just that re-opening Ryan’s case is difficult. I have to relive everything all over again and it’s not easy.”
“Cops never make anything easy.”
“Nash is actually awesome.”
“First name basis, huh?”
My cheeks heat. The bartender puts the beers down in front of us, so I grab mine and take a few swallows.
“He’s the first person who has taken this case seriously. I think he really has a chance at solving it. He always updates me, keeps me in the know, and is patient. He isn’t down my throat about what I know. He listens. He—”
“I get the point,” Kane chuckles. “He’s a good one. Fine.”
“He is.” I feel Kane’s gaze on me, so I turn to look at him. “What?”
“You like him.”
“What? No. Of course I don’t.”
“You do.”
“No, I don’t—”
“Okay, fine. You don’t. But it’s okay if you do, you know. You’re allowed to move on.”
“I can’t move on with the cop who is solving Ryan’s case.”
“Why the hell not?” he asks.
My mouth opens. Words are supposed to come out now.
But nothing does.
Because I don’t know what to say.
Why not? I mean, really there’s nothing stopping me from doing that if for some crazy reason it happened, but of course that won’t happen because I don’t have feelings for Nash. Or for anyone else.
My heart belongs to Ryan. That’s it. I’m not ready to think of anything beyond that.
“Sorry,” Kane says. “I’m just dealing with my own shit and I’m being a dick.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I just… never thought about being with anyone else. And for the record, I do not have a thing for the detective.”
“I didn’t say that. I said you like him.”
“Semantics,” I mutter, grabbing my beer to take another swig. “I don’t have any feelings toward him other than being grateful for what he’s doing. And appreciative.”
“Okay then,” Kane says. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say, but I can’t help but think about what he said. What he thinks…
I don’t like Nash. I don’t even know him.
Yes, I trust him but because he’s proved to me that I can.
He calls when he says. Updates me when he says.
He’s patient and is taking his job and this case seriously.
I’m grateful to him for all of that. He’s done more in these few weeks than anyone else has since Ryan’s death almost three years ago.
There’s no way I wouldn’t feel something about the guy after all he’s doing, but it is not in any way unprofessional.
But maybe…
Maybe I’ve noticed how good looking he is.
I’ve definitely noticed how nice it would be to have someone like him around when I wake up and have a nightmare, or when I have to walk home in the dark.
Not only is he big, but he’s trained and has a gun.
He’s a protector at heart, but he’s also that on the outside too.
All of that has to do with me feeling lonely and not Nash specifically. I’m not ready to move on. I’m not. Maybe once Ryan’s case is solved, I’ll feel some kind of closure and I’ll move on. That’s future Carter’s issue.
Ryan wouldn’t want me to be miserable or lonely for the rest of my life. I know he wouldn’t want that. But the thought of doing so… it’s too much. Overwhelming.
Kane and I stay at the bar for about an hour and have three beers each. I don’t feel drunk or tipsy, just a little tired and relaxed.
We walk to the subway together because this is what we always do. He’s obligated and I don’t know why. Just a good guy maybe. He watches me as I disappear down the steps, and I make sure to wave at the last minute so he knows I appreciate it.
I don’t have many friends, and I can’t say that he’s a friend—I don’t even have his phone number—but he’s someone I can talk to.
Everyone from group is. They’re people I feel safe with.
Mentally, anyway. Physically? I don’t know if I’ll ever feel fully safe ever again.
It’s something I’ve learned to live with.
I sit in the back corner of the subway car. It rocks, screeching and whooshing as it zooms through the tunnels, bringing me to my destination.
All I can think about is Nash. Things were fine before Kane put the thought in my head, made me question myself, and now I don’t know what I’m feeling.
I mean, I do, but what if I’m lying to myself?
I can’t have a crush on this cop. I just can’t. I won’t.
I can accept he’s attractive. I can accept he would be a good catch; someone I would be comfortable with. But I’m not even sure the guy is gay. He’s probably not. So even if there is some kind of crush, it won’t go anywhere. Which is perfect. Because I don’t want it to. There. It’s settled.
I take a hot shower when I get home, standing under the spray for so long just because it feels good.
The heat is comforting because I swear I’m always cold.
Not just because of the winter, but… something else.
Something bone-deep. Something that may never go away.
Something I just need to accept. And I have…
mostly. I’ve just been questioning a lot of things lately, ever since this detective showed up telling me he wanted to re-open Ryan’s case.
My emotions are high. Of course I’d feel strange.
When I’m out of the shower and dressed in sweats, a long-sleeve t-shirt, and thick socks, I get into bed and put the TV on.
I rarely watch TV in bed, normally I just want to go to sleep.
But I don’t think I can sleep right now.
I grab my phone and notice I have a missed call from about forty minutes ago…
when I was on the subway. I never have service then, but usually I notice the alerts when I’m out.
I glance at the time, but it doesn’t make a difference.
Nash would take my call at any time. So I hit the button to call him back. He answers on the second ring.
“Everything good over there?” he answers.
“Yeah, sorry. I didn’t notice the call until now.”
“Group run late?” he asks.
He remembers.
Of course he remembers. He’s a cop. Don’t take it personally.
“A friend and I had a drink. I took a shower when I got home and just got into bed. Just wasn’t looking at my phone. Did you need something?”
“Just to complain about this book?”
“You don’t like it?” I ask.
“I’m two chapters in and feeling things I didn’t know were possible.”
I bark out a laugh. “Yes!” I nearly shout as my body shakes with laughter. “I knew it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters.
“Well, don’t get any ideas in your head about finding your childhood love. I still need you until you solve this case.”
“No childhood loves here. We went over this, remember?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s always the grumpy, lonely, solitary men who love the hardest, Nash. Everyone knows this.”
He sighs, and I can tell he’s fed up with my mushy self. I can’t help it.
“Have you always been this way?” he asks.
“A sucker for love? Yes.”
And I have. Always. I just forgot about it for a while.
It’s silent for a few moments, just the quiet sound of voices from my TV and the city sounds outside.
“We should meet next week. I’ll have more info then, and we can go over your story again. Just to see if you remember anything else.”
“I’ll text you my schedule when I get it.”
“Have a good night.”
“You too.”
Neither of us hang up, though.
“If you can’t sleep, you know how to reach me,” he says, his voice soft and calm.
“And if you can’t sleep, you know how to reach me.”
“Good night, Carter.”
“Night, Nash.”
I end the call and get comfortable in bed.