Graham
L eaning back in my chair, I spin the ostentatious eighteen-karat Montegrappa Chaos pen some executive wanting to kiss my ass gifted me a few months ago on the solid oak surface of my desk. Annoying voices of employees also wanting to kiss my ass echo from the computer screen in front of me, rambling off the latest financial projections of a tech start-up I funded, praising me as if it was some breakthrough in technology and not some bullshit app meant to further enable the laziness of humans.
I’m bored. In the past, that meant it was time to sell off and move on to the next startup or acquisition, but something tells me that won’t be the solution this time. Not when I had the same feelings in a meeting earlier with my current employers and staff.
I shift in my seat as my damn dick throbs behind my zipper. It’s been perpetually hard all day because all I can think about is Casey. On her knees with my cock in her mouth. Across my lap with her ass glowing from my palm. The sweet moans that fell from her lips as I fucked her from behind.
My eyes shift to the time on the screen. It’s nearly lunchtime, and it’s Monday. That means she’ll be coming here any minute to see Liam.
“Sir, did you hear us?”
“No,” I say, looking at my phone as I pull up the tracking app, discovering she’s at the apartment. My brows furrow because she’s never there this time of day. “Send me the transcripts of the meeting and the projection sheet. I’ll look later.”
“But, sir, we still have to—”
I move the cursor across the screen and exit the meeting, unable to handle their voices any longer. My fingers tap against my phone, dialing her number. It rings three times before going to voicemail. By the third try, I’m pushing away from my desk and dialing Will.
“Why is Casey at home?” I ask when he answers.
“Stalker much?” When I don’t laugh, he huffs. “She just said she didn’t feel well. I didn’t ask questions. That’s above my pay grade.”
“You’re fucking pay grade is whatever I say,” I growl as I exit my office and storm toward the elevators.
“Except you don’t pay me.”
“Fuck, why haven’t I fired you already?”
“Because no one else would tolerate your fucking asshole ways or keep your dirty secrets.”
“All right fine. Can you go up and check on her? She’s not answering her phone.”
“Did you think maybe she’s resting because she doesn’t feel well? ”
“Fuck,” I hiss just as the elevator doors open. “Fine. I’ll be home in a few minutes.”
“Of course you will. God forbid you let the girl rest because she didn’t answer her phone.”
“Fucker.” I hang up, dragging my hand over my face. The elevator doors open, and I step back allowing people to get off then tap the level for the garage. The descent feels like an eternity as the floors tick by at the slowest pace ever.
My shoes tap loudly against the concrete as I cross the garage to my car. The doors unlock when I get close, and I slide in. As I race across the nine miles from Sin Records to her apartment on the West side, I realize I’m probably overreacting, but I can’t think of a single reason Casey would miss classes or rehearsal.
When I’m entering her apartment in record time, I’m feeling more than slightly unhinged and deranged. I spot her phone lying on the floor next to her bag, making the insanity spike. My feet pound the floor as I race across the apartment, calling her name, getting no response. The bedroom door slams into the drywall when I sling it open, yelling for her once more. I still get no response, but I hear her. My gut twists because it sounds like she’s in pain.
The space between the bathroom and the door vanishes in a second as I barge in and find her sitting on the toilet with her feet in some kind of tub and something pressed to her stomach. She looks up at me, defeat and misery filling her eyes. “Go away,” she says with a sniffle.
Well, that’s not the reaction I was expecting. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just turn back around and pretend you aren’t sitting here in tears.”
“I’m fine. You’re supposed to be working. Go do that.”
I walk across the bathroom and drop in front of her. My palms grab either side of her face. “Not happening. Now tell me what’s going on. Why are you home?” She huffs, rolls her eyes, then winces. “What was that?”
“It was a cramp, . I came home because my feet were killing me because my toe shoes finally gave out. I wanted to soak my feet and cry because I can’t afford to replace them, and then I got my period. Are you happy?” She pulls away from me and drops her head into her hands.
My attention drops to her feet in the small tub thing. I lift one, and when she hisses, my jaw clenches. My eyes raise to hers as I gently run my fingers over them. “Why didn’t you say something about the shoes?”
Her hands fall as she meets my eyes. A blond brow tips when she tilts her head. “Why would I?”
“You know why, Case? You need new ballet shoes. Fucking ask for them. Don’t hurt yourself because of your goddamn pride.” I don’t bother tempering my tone because I’m fucking pissed she’d do this to herself instead of ask for help. Her mouth flops open for a minute. She’s not used to me raising my voice, but fuck. I drag my hand over my face and roll my neck. “We need to get you to a doctor.”
“No. It’s fine. I just need to rest a few days,” she says timidly. She obviously can tell I don’t believe her. “I swear it’s not that bad. I’ve had stress fractures before. This doesn’t feel like that, though…”
“Though?”
“It was close.” She bites her lips as her cheeks turn red, looking properly embarrassed about the right thing. “You’re right. I should’ve asked someone for the money.”
“Damn right you should’ve. There’s nothing wrong with being independent, Casey, but when you have people who can and will help, you don’t need to suffer either.” I set her foot back into the tub and stand. “I’m sorry I snapped at you, but it makes me crazy that you’d hurt yourself over money when I’m right here. What can I do?”
“You could hand me some pain medicine. It’s in my medicine cabinet.”
I stride to the medicine cabinet. “What else?” When she doesn’t answer, I look her way. Her brows are bunched between her eyes. “For your period. Do you need anything?”
Her eyes double, and her mouth falls open in shock. If nothing else, I make her speechless often. “You… You would get those things? You’re not freaked out or anything?”
“Casey, I’m a twenty-eight-year-old grown man. I know how the female anatomy works. It’s normal, so why would it freak me out? Besides, did you forget who took you the very first time?”
“I did, actually,” she whispers. “How did I forget that?”
I shrug and turn toward her medicine cabinet. In all the weeks I’ve been staying here, I haven’t opened this thing. I haven’t had a reason to. Scanning the shelves, I spot several bottles of prescriptions. Each one different, and each one makes my stomach clench tighter.
Grabbing them, I turn to her. “What’s all this?”
“My medicine,” she blinks.
“You take all this?” I don’t mean to growl, but I’m panicking. “This shit can’t be taken together. Why the fuck do you even have it.” I set it all down. The Percocet, the Xanax, the Vistaril, the Effexor. My heart hammers in my chest as I stare at her. I press my lips together, trying to calm down before I speak. “Casey, you can’t take all of this together,” I growl, then wince, because I need to get it together.
My lids close as my head falls back. I scrub my hands over my face as I try to push the memories and grief away. It’s not the same. She is not the same.
But my mom’s face won’t leave my head. How she seemed so bright all the time, but it was always a mask to hide how broken she was—to hide how much of a prisoner of her brain chemistry she was. She tried to be strong for us—for Dad, Jagger, and me.
Two hands grip mine, pulling them from my face. She reaches up, brushing her fingers over my brows, then running her fingers through my hair. If she’s upset or offended by my reaction, she doesn’t show it. All I see is concern and sympathy in her eyes. “I don’t take them all together. Well, the Effexor is every day like my birth control, but the rest is just when I need it. I don’t even take the Vistaril anymore. I got it when I had a bad case of hives from stress.” She blushes at the last part.
“What about the rest?” My voice is tight with worry but not judgment. I just need to know… “You can’t take benzos and opiates together. Or drink with them.”
“I don’t.” She winces, and my stomach turns. “At least, I don’t usually. I did drink with the Xanax the other night, but I wasn’t thinking.” I press my lips together, so I don’t lose it even though I’m shaking, and I want to shake her. “I only take the Perocet when I have to. It’s not very often though. Maybe once or twice a month.”
Then I remember her feet. I lift her into my arms and walk us to the bedroom. My arms stay wrapped around her as I sit on the bed. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to hers.
“Don’t be. It wasn’t a secret, but I guess seeing it all like that might seem that way. The Effexor is for my anxiety, and the Xanax is for when the panic attacks happen anyway. I haven’t…” Her mouth twists with a shy smile. “I haven’t needed it since after the club. You know since you and me…”
That makes me smile, too, for a minute. I love knowing that I help her panic attacks. But it fades away as I realize I need to explain myself. “My mom…” I sigh. “She had chronic depression most of her life. Some days she couldn’t even pull herself out of bed.” Casey nods, understanding written all over her face, and I hate it makes me worry more instead of less. “After our little sister died—”
“You had a sister?” Her fingers wrap around my tie, winding and unwinding it.
“Yeah, we did. She was born with a heart defect and died when she was three. Jagger was eleven, and I was sixteen. It sent Mom into a deep depression she never came out of. We were living in California at the time because Dad was trying to give her new scenery, I suppose. One day I came home after spending the weekend with friends. Jagger and Dad were somewhere running errands. I don’t even remember. I called out for Mom, and she never answered. I went to her room, and she wasn’t there. Any other time, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but I had this feeling I couldn’t shake. She was in the bathtub, completely submerged.”
Casey shifts her body until she’s straddling me and throws her arms around me. Mine wrap around her like a lifeline. She’s always been my lifeline. No matter what my feelings were, she was that for me, and I was that for her.
“I’m so sorry,” she sniffles against my neck. “I’m sorry you lost her, and I’m sorry you’re the one who found her.”
“Better me than Jagger,” I murmur against her hair. And that’s the truth. If the choice were between me or Dad or Jagger, I’d choose to be the one to find her every time. Dad became a mess after that. Marrying Krista was proof of that. He was lonely, heartbroken, and riddled with guilt that she manipulated at every turn, gaslighting him for years.
And Jagger. He was a momma’s boy through and through, and the baby until Bonnie came along. Of course, he didn’t handle Mom’s death well. And I have the same feeling in my gut I had that day about Mom that he’s been through so much more. I can’t imagine if he’d found her how he would be doing today. He’s barely holding it together as it is.
Grief I haven’t allowed myself to feel in years and guilt I’ve struggled with more and more lately rip through me. I should’ve been there for Jagger. He was just a fucking kid, but so was I and I didn’t know how to help him.
Then came Casey. Our grief wasn’t the same, but I understood it anyway. And I couldn’t believe that little girl would cry so hard and so desperately for her dad if he were the abusive asshole my dad said he was. I didn’t expect Liam to ask me to watch out for his little girl, but he did. I made a promise, and I threw myself into the request he made the day I let a teary-eyed little girl use my phone to call her dad despite being warned against it.
“I’m still sorry, . I know you loved her, and the things you’ve told me, she loved you too.”
“She did, baby. She couldn’t help her mind fought against her. I know if she could’ve, she’d still be here.” I take a deep breath, pushing it all away. It’s not healthy to live in the past—in the what ifs and what might’ve beens—and after I burned that house to the ground, I promised myself I wouldn’t get lost in it again. If I did, it would consume me.
I brush my fingers through Casey’s hair, staring into those pretty pools of sapphire. My lips slant over hers, placing a soft kiss against hers. The words are on the tip of my tongue. Now seems like an awful time to tell her. After I’ve yelled at her for being stubborn. Practically had a meltdown over her medicine. But… “You know, I love you, don’t you?”
Her mouth tips at the corner as she drops her eyes. “I love you, too, .”
“No, Casey. I’m in love with you. I’m so fucking in love you with I think I’m losing my mind.”
Her mouth presses against mine again. It’s brief and sweet and is over too fast. “And I have been in love with you since I was a little girl.”
“But you still want to keep us a secret.” Way to ruin the moment, asshole.
“No,” she whispers. My heart slams against my chest. I want to ask her if I heard her correctly, but I don’t say a fucking word just in case. Then she adds, “No more secrets. I’ve just got to tell my dad.”
I squeeze her tight against me, wanting to bury myself inside her. I wonder if she’ll let me? “ We’ve got to tell him. I won’t make you do that alone.”
“It’s probably better if I do.”
“Probably,” I kiss her nose, “but it’s not happening. We’re in this together. I’ll be right by your side.”
She shakes her head with a grin. “I want to say no, but it wouldn’t do me any good, would it?”
I flip our positions until I’m hovering over her. “Nope. Just like it won’t do you any good to argue about this.”
Turns out the answer to my question is yes.