8. Cara #2
"I've heard rumors." I smile back at him.
He laughs softly, and then his eyes find mine and something in his voice drops lower. "I'm trying, Cara."
It’s quiet enough that nobody else hears it. My heart races, not because it's the first time he's said it, but because this time I've watched him do it.
Trying isn't staying away from danger, that would never be Falcon, he'd never be that man, and I wouldn't want him to be.
Trying is calling his brothers instead of running alone.
Listening when a frightened woman says a patrol line makes her feel trapped.
Remembering to ask before he touches a door handle.
"I know," I say.
His eyes close for a second. When he opens them again there's something vulnerable underneath the exhaustion. "You do?"
"Yes." I could leave it there. I don't. "I can see it."
Falcon swallows, and for a moment, I think he might close the distance between us. He doesn’t. Instead, he looks toward the path where Zip is still patrolling somewhere in the darkness.
“I should go,” Falcon says.
“You should,” I agree.
He steps outside, and I begin closing the door.
“Cara?” he calls.
I stop with my hand on the edge of the door. “Yes?”
Falcon turns back to me. “I meant what I said earlier. You don’t have to carry the women alone either.”
My chest tightens. “I don’t.”
“You try to,” he says gently.
He isn’t wrong, and I hate that he isn’t wrong.
“They need someone,” I argue.
“They have you,” Falcon reminds me. “They also have Frankie, each other, Knox, Sterling, and the whole club.”
He pauses before adding, “And they have me, if they’ll accept my help.”
Something inside me cracks a little.
“You can’t save everyone, Falcon,” I tell him.
“I know,” he replies.
I hold his gaze. “Do you?”
“I’m working on that one, too,” he admits.
I shake my head, but there’s no frustration behind it this time. “Goodnight, Falcon.”
“Goodnight, Cara,” he says.
I close and lock the door behind him. Then I stand there with my hand resting on the latch for longer than I intend to.
“You know I can see you,” Frankie says from behind me.
I close my eyes. “Please go away.”
“No,” she replies cheerfully.
I turn around. Frankie is leaning against the hallway wall with her arms folded.
“You were eavesdropping,” I accuse.
“I was walking toward the kitchen,” she claims.
“You stopped,” I point out.
“Because it got interesting,” Frankie explains.
“You’re terrible,” I tell her.
“I know.” She smiles without an ounce of remorse.
I head back to the kitchen, and she follows and picks up one of Harrier's sandwiches while I sit at the table. "He looks better," she says.
"He looks exhausted," I tell her shaking my head.
"Both can be true." She unwraps the sandwich. "He isn't trying to get you back."
I look at her. "What?"
"Not yet anyway. He's trying to get himself back first."
Her words hit me harder than I expect. I glance toward the front door. Falcon is out there somewhere now, walking a patrol line with his brothers.
“That means something,” Frankie says quietly.
“I know,” I reply.
She gives me a pointed look. “You keep saying that.”
“Because I do know,” I insist.
“You understand it,” Frankie corrects me. “That isn’t the same as believing it.”
I tighten my arms around myself. “I don’t know what I believe.”
“That’s probably healthier,” she says.
I glance at her. “Once again, that’s terrible advice.”
“It’s still true,” Frankie replies.
She looks toward the living room. Maya is already handing out more snacks, Sarah has returned to her book, and Lena has claimed one of the floor mattresses.
“This place feels different,” Frankie says.
“Different in a good way?” I ask.
“I think so,” she admits.
“You’re allowed to call it good,” I remind her.
Frankie’s expression tightens. “I don’t trust good.”
"I know," she says, softer this time, no judgment in it at all.
By one thirty most of the women are asleep and I finally go up to my own room.
It feels too quiet after the crowded living room.
I leave the door slightly open, partly because I'm not frightened, mostly because I am, and change into an old shirt and get into bed.
Sleep doesn't come easily these days. When I close my eyes I sometimes get pulled back there, so I have to be properly exhausted before it takes.
I listen to the compound instead. Engines in the distance, low voices, bootsteps farther from the house now because of the new patrol line. I know who's out there, Falcon until two, then Rook, and that knowledge makes me feel comfortable and I didn't expect it to.
At one fifty-eight my phone lights up.
Security Phone:
Night rotation change complete. Falcon off duty. Rook and Ice Pick on perimeter. No further activity.
I stare at it, then, before I can talk myself out of it, open a message.
Cara:
Go to bed.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Falcon:
Bossy.
I smile.
Cara:
You said your shift ended at two.
Falcon:
It did.
Cara:
Then why are you answering?
A longer pause.
Falcon:
I'm walking to my room.
I should stop there. I don't want to.
Cara:
Good.
Falcon:
You should sleep too.
Cara:
Working on it.
Falcon:
Goodnight, Cara.
I stare at the screen. My fingers hover over the reply. It shouldn't feel significant, it's two words, people say it to each other every day. Maybe that's exactly why it does, because normal's become precious.
Cara:
Goodnight, Falcon.
I put the phone facedown beside me. Outside, the footsteps fade toward the clubhouse. He's handing the line off to somebody else, trusting his brothers enough to actually stop for the night. That's not nothing.
I close my eyes, and for once, the sound of Falcon walking away doesn't feel like abandonment. It feels like he's finally learning how to come back.