34. Carter
Chapter thirty-four
Carter
I’m flying.
After months upon months of unending, relentless pain—always there, never giving me a single moment of peace—there’s nothing at all. Only a peaceful, muted sensation, as if I’m floating above the tables watching everybody else.
And it’s fucking glorious.
A laugh catches on my tongue as I reel away from a table. “Shit—sorry.”
“You good, man?” A face I vaguely recognize weaves in and out of my vision. I rack my brains. Definitely familiar. Red hair.
“Fucking perfect.” I slide past him. The room is beginning to spin. All of the bottles behind the bar blur together, and I back away from them as my stomach starts to churn. Itching at my neck, I turn toward the sign for the bathroom.
“I’ve got you.” A hand slips under my elbow. “Come on.”
“Benj.” Even my voice feels lighter. “I don’t feel great.”
That’s not right. Because I feel fucking fantastic. My stomach doesn’t seem to agree with my assessment, though.
Bet it was the beets.
“I can see that.” He steers me past a group of people. “Can you get his other arm?”
“Who?” I look over my shoulder. “Fuck off, you hulking bastard.”
“Jesus.” Liam grabs me despite my flailing arm. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
They push me through the door to the blessedly empty bathroom. Someone is talking over the intercom, but my stomach surges and I shove them away. Falling to my knees, I lose the contents of my stomach in violent, clenching movements. “Fucking beets. Hate beets.”
My head starts to clear. Sitting back, I let my body slump against the side of the toilet and rest my head against the wall. “Fucks’ sake.”
I can hear them muttering behind me. “I’m fine. Food didn’t agree with me.”
Which is a damned shame, because I haven’t felt this good in months.
“He’s on something,” I hear Benji hiss. “Christ, Kessler, you think I don’t recognize it when I see it? What the fuck has he taken?”
“Nothing,” Liam snaps back at him. “You know he doesn’t touch anything. You heard him, it was the food.”
“Food doesn’t make you act like that.”
“Come on, Laine.” I straighten up. “I haven’t drunk for months. Probably hit it too hard.”
He crouches in front of me. “They put you on anything new? Mina?”
“Nah.” I throw out my hand, and he helps me stagger to my feet. “Mina’s solid. You know that.”
“Yeah, I do.” He backs up as I move to wash my hands. I throw some water over my face. “So what the fuck was this?”
“A one-off.” I think I threw the pills up. My shoulder twinges as I stretch it out, and I glare into the mirror at his reflection. “Leave it, Laine. I mean it.”
Liam stops me as I move to follow a clearly still pissed Benji. Practice is gonna be a fucking barrel of laughs on Monday. “What was it?”
“What?” I pull my arm out of his, not looking at his face. I might punch it, and I promised Ro I’d leave it until the end of the season before upending everything. “I told you, I’m fine.”
“Yeah well, Benji wasn’t buying it. And neither am I.” He crowds me when I try to push past, using his sheer bulk to block my way. “Come on, Cart. We’re pack. Tell me the truth.”
Shoving my hand into my pocket, I feel for the pills. “Martin sorted it with the team to put me on something stronger.”
“So it’s legit?” He doesn’t move. “And it helps?”
“Yeah.” I laugh hoarsely. “It’s fucking brilliant. It’ll get me through the season as long as you assholes stay off my back. I’m carrying you all as it is.”
“Fuck you.” But there’s no heat in it. He steps out of my way. “As long as it’s helping, right?”
“Exactly.”
By the time we get back to the table, dinner’s been cleared and the table is empty aside from a single, small figure.
Rosie looks up at me.
“What?” I drop down beside her. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes flick over me. “Where were you?”
Liam is still hovering, and she glances up at him and away. “You missed the auction.”
Fuck. Fuck. Her trembling is getting worse, and I settle my hands on her shoulders. “Hey. It’s okay, Ro. What is it?”
Rosie shrinks back, away from me. “Boone won the auction, Carter. Because you weren’t here.”
Her breath hitches as she looks between me and Liam, and I feel like the shittiest alpha in the world at the look on her face. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t do anything—I was on the stage and I couldn’t see—”
Fucking asshole. But she’s almost in tears. I cup her face in mine, trying to keep a distance. “Hey, now. Baby, don’t panic. That’s on him. Mercer won’t hold you to it.”
Because I’m going to make damn sure he doesn’t.
“Yeah,” Liam says finally. He reaches for her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “This one’s not on you, Ro. No apology needed.”
She stares up at him for a long moment. And then she nods, some of the color returning to her face. “I think I’m ready to go home now. Can we?”
“I’ll sort the others.” Liam vanishes as I reach down to cradle her knees with my hands.
Her breathing is still unsteady. “Seriously, Ro, don’t worry about this. I’ll go talk to him right now.”
“No.” She grabs for my hand. “I want to leave.”
“Whatever you want.” But she’s still looking at me. Her eyes take in the damp edges of my shirt and my rumpled hair, crinkling with the question on her lips. “I’m okay. Had a bad reaction to those damn beets.”
Some of the worry clears. “Ugh. I get that.”
We share a look of complete agreement. There’s history there. A long, complicated history involving an angry foster parent, a table, and a plate of roughly chopped beets and nothing else for dinner.
I kiss her hand and use my other to push the oxy deeper into my pocket. “Let’s get you home.”