Okay, so my laptop got this really awful virus about a month ago, and I basically had all the juicy parts of the next three chapters (or parts of the good stuff, anyway) written, and--stupid me--not backed up. The sad thing is that my ff files were all I tried to save; the happy part is that I succeeded, so you guys won't have to read the cheap redo instead.
I'm also starting to realize how freakishly long it's taking me to write this story. Seriously, I wrote FoF in, like, two months; and now I've written about a third of that length in over a year. So sorry, guys. Really. I miss this story. So here you are, hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: Eh, you know how it goes.
I can do this, Casey assured herself, staring outside the moderately clean but vaguely disconcerting building. She had her hand pressed against the door as if to open it, but her arm refused to exert any more effort. I can, she repeated to herself, flexing her fingers. After all, it was just a gesture. A gesture of goodwill. An offer of friendship.
Nope, Casey countermanded her own thoughts. Just a gesture. No friendship to complicate things. A truce, maybe.
Why is this so difficult? She asked herself as her hand inched inexorably downward, palm drifting outward until just her fingers rested against the glass, which was probably dirtier than she wanted to know. She shook that off to continue convincing herself. I simply finished work early. This needs to be done, and I can make things a little easier. For Derek and for me. It's the perfect peace offering, not too difficult but still clearly helpful. Why is this hard? She repeated internally.
She knew why. Because much as she wanted to deny it, she still didn't trust herself. She had been such a bitch to Derek in the past it might not even work, but if it did she didn't trust herself not to want more. Maybe she did only want friendship again, to be normal again, but after pondering it all week she had reluctantly decided her feelings wouldn't stay buried for long.
But maybe for long enough, if I try, she reasoned with herself. She only had to make it to the wedding, after all. And despite herself, she found she wanted to know Derek again. For the first time in a long while, she was interested in Derek now, not just who he'd been when they were teenagers. She was genuinely intrigued by him again.
Ignoring the obstinate, this is why you stopped talking to him in the first place, Casey determinedly placed both hands on the door and shoved. It opened with an obnoxious 'ding,' and Casey nearly tripped when she glanced up instinctively toward the sound, only to catch her heel on the edge of the carpet. She righted herself, quickly glancing around to find she was the only customer in the small, one-roomed record store. Brushing it off, along with the lint on her skirt, Casey took at deep breath and got back to her purpose.
"Hello," she greeted pleasantly, deciding that if someone were stacking things he was probably employed here and making her way over to a man in slightly ratty khakis and a bright t-shirt. "I'm looking for local bands I could book. For a wedding," she added, deciding to specify as a memory of George and the Jungle popped into her mind, complete with subsequent shudder. "I was wondering if you had anything I could—." She broke off as the employee, still stacking CDs, heaved a sigh.
"Over there."
The middle aged man pointed, boredom coloring the motion, to a small stack of CDs balanced haphazardly by the register. Casey frowned and approached the counter warily, picking up the top album as though the whole stack might fall.
Well it might, she justified as she flipped over the case—one of those you bought in packs of ten at Office Max—to read the handwritten song titles on the back.
"That's it?" Casey asked, surprised as she glanced back to speak to the single employee. "One demo? No video of previous performances, no live auditions, not even a whole CD? Just a demo with one song?"
"What do you expect?" he asked, turning toward her with an expression of barely interested irritation. "Computers and ipods; that's all people want these days. Geeze, lady, just go to MySpace next time." Then he turned and very deliberately returned to stacking.
Casey shook off his insulting use of the word 'lady' with a slight grimace—she was, in fact, at least twenty years younger than him, and his tone had been entirely too rude. Wrinkling her nose, she wished she had brought Derek after all. Despite his many flaws, he had the tendency to charm people, and after his stint at Smelly Nelly's he knew how to play it with disgruntled employees. Shaking off the useless thought, she placed the CD onto the counter as the beginning of the reject pile, which quickly grew to contain all but five of the other CDs. Feeling as though she had wasted both the hour and her gesture of goodwill, Casey scurried out the door as soon as the walking ad for staying in school waved off her deposit. He probably doesn't want them back, she thought sourly as she walked to her car, pulling out her cell phone as she reversed out of the parking space. She got Derek's voicemail, as expected, and left a quick message.
"Hey, Derek. It's Casey. Yeah. Um, I got off work a little early, so I stopped by that music store and picked up a few choices for the wedding band. Well, the CDs, I mean. The selection wasn't really great, though. And who hires these employees? I mean, you'd think a manager would look for someone with the least bit of courtesy and—"
Realizing with a jolt that she sounded like a nervous idiot, Casey quickly added:
"So, I'm dropping them in your box, and you can listen to them later. Bye."
Clicking the phone off, Casey slid it back into her clutch with a sigh, resisting the urge to massage her temples.
With a mental, Nice, McDonald, Casey turned onto the street in the direction of Derek's apartment. It wasn't five minutes later that her phone buzzed with a new text message, and she could practically hear Derek's amused tones as she read: Why didn't you just use the net?
As she walked up the pathway to her own modest home, annoyed by her wholly failed afternoon, Casey heard the familiar sound of her phone ringing. Upon seeing the Caller ID she contemplated letting it ring out, but in the end decided it wouldn't do as much in relieving her stress as it would in causing it, in the long run.
So she flipped the phone open and chirped a tired, "Hi, Kendra."
"Casey!" Kendra greeted, as enthusiastic as ever. Despite her own tendency toward over-the-top cheerfulness, Casey often wondered if the other woman ever got tired of being happy so much.
"So," she went on merrily, oblivious to Casey's thoughts. "Are you making things amazing for me? I know you are," she went on before Casey could respond. "You're just so sweet and organized like that."
Not that the two synonyms really go together, Casey pondered, wondering why everyone always seemed to tell her that.
"Thanks, Kendra," she responded as she turned her key in the lock and pushed open her front door. "Everything's great." Hanging her purse on the hook, she quickly went through her mental checklist, listing her accomplishments for the bride. "We've finished the fittings and found Derek's tux, started the music and reserved the chapel, and I've talked the caterers down five dollars per plate, but we still have to sample the wines."
Casey had been surprised that task had been left to them, until Derek told her that Kendra didn't drink. She was surprised, to say the least—Kendra had always seemed the type, if not to spike the punch, then at least to sip a Cosmo—but apparently the blonde had never concerned herself with acquiring a taste. Casey felt momentarily guilty that she had never bothered enough to learn this, but quickly brushed off the thought; she knew why she and Kendra weren't friends, despite liking each other well enough.
So the wine decision was left up to Derek, and subsequently Casey, because she didn't trust her stepbrother's preferences.
"And how's my groom?" Kendra asked suggestively, accepting Casey's handle on things without another thought.
"Bored," Casey answered after a moment, unsure of what else to say. How could she correctly assess Derek when she couldn't even get her own brain in order? Besides, she was sure Kendra had talked to Derek herself.
She was graced with a laugh across the phone, and decided to intervene in case Kendra asked for specifics.
"So, how's New York?"
"Oh, fabulous," Kendra answered, and Casey knew she was sufficiently distracted. "My interview was pushed back—something about a fashion emergency," Kendra joked with a slight laugh. "But that just gives me a few extra days to shop."
Casey knew well enough that 'shop' was the key word and took the opportunity to slip off her shoes, curling up on the couch and waiting for Kendra's excited diatribe.
"Oh, Casey, they have the best everything. I've been trying to be good and stay away from Fifth, but you know me. And it just calls to me, you know? Well, you know," Kendra answered her own question, before starting off on a bunny trail. "Like, remember that summer we were all in New York. Well, that weekend in that summer, anyway. You found the most adorable stuff, and at a bargain, which I can never seem to manage . . . ." She trailed off awkwardly, and Casey wondered Kendra had registered her catch of breath a few seconds late. She cringed, pulling her legs up to her chest and switching the phone to her other ear, hoping Kendra would continue.
There was a long pause, during which Casey almost felt Kendra wondering what to say. Of course the other girl knew New York was a bad memory for Casey, but she didn't know the full extent of it. Thank goodness for small favors.
"But, you know I have to be good this week," Kendra finally continued, purposely focusing on the end of her last sentence.
Casey breathed a soundless sigh of relief, feeling inexplicably grateful for Kendra in that moment.
"I mean, I've saved up quite a bit of my own, but I can't expect Derek to pay for everything. I mean, this will be a modern marriage. Sort of," Kendra amended, acknowledging her tendency to ignore practical things; Casey was sure she only brought it up in hopes of distracting her. "But anyway," Kendra continued, returning to her original spiel. "He won't be happy if I blow the whole thing on some Versace original. Especially if my savings don't cover it and he has to make up the difference; which, okay, I would probably end up doing. So, you know, it's better to avoid it altogether. But it's just so tempting.
"Hey," Kendra interrupted herself, seemingly struck by some great inspiration. "I wonder if I can get a custom wedding gown if my interview goes well."
Casey decided not to comment on the improbability of that, choosing instead to let Kendra spin her fantasies farther. It wasn't that she didn't want to talk to Kendra—well, maybe just a bit—but she just couldn't, at the moment. So she listened to Kendra go off on a tangent about the perfect wedding dress, which Casey was sure she had heard at least once before, and let her mind check out.
Casey couldn't help but smiling. She had managed to block the incident from her mind with some degree of success, so her attitude towards her stepbrother was significantly improved. Besides, whatever awful reasons he had had for the whole thing, he obviously felt sort of bad about it. He had barely complained during the whole shopping trip, and she could admit that his sarcasm had actually been somewhat entertaining, rather than the cruel kind he so often employed. And now they were sitting in a cab, on their way to the café where Kendra and her cousin were eating lunch. Even that didn't manage to damper her mood. It was obvious that Derek felt a little bit antsy about the situation, but, being Derek, he had suppressed it to the point that even Casey, well-versed in his moods, could barely tell. She was sure they could all manage a friendly meeting; who knew, they might even have fun. A little.
Well,if worse comes to worst I can always distract Kendra with my spoils, Casey thought impishly. She knew whatever awkward tension managed to arise would be dispelled with Kendra's love of all things Fifth Avenue. Even if it was from H&M. Besides, this outfit was adorable. Even Derek had managed a disgruntled, "'s pretty," after Casey had pestered him for a few minutes, and despite the begrudged nature of the compliment, she had thought it sounded genuine. He had taken the time to look up and see her in it, at least.
A happy beat danced into Casey's consciousness, and she grabbed her phone from the top of her bag and flashed it to her ear, murmuring a chipper, "Hello."
"Casey?"
Casey briefly registered that her mother's tone was off, and wondered if she was worried about their trip home; there was no way her father would have told Nora he let two teenagers navigate New York City by themselves, so she couldn't be worried about that. Slightly concerned, Casey asked, "Mom? Dad told you that he pushed back our flight tomorrow, right?" Then, allowing some excitement to leak into her voice, "he's taking me to see Wicked tomorrow, just him and me. Can you believe it?"
"Casey," her mom brushed off her excitement, and her voice was full of suppressed worry. "The hospital called."
"The hospital?" Casey asked, all excitement draining out of her. She dimly noted that Derek's head whipped around to face her, and a frown appeared on his face. "Why?" Before her mother could answer, her fear bubbled over into fast paced rambling. "Lizzie didn't get hurt in Tae Quan Do or something, did she? Or did Marti try to jump off the banister at Emily's again? Or is Edwin . . . ." she trailed off, unable to come up with a suitable situation for injury, and bit her lip in worry. The cab driver glanced in the rearview mirror, as if afraid she was going to make a scene, and Derek scooted closer, questions written on his features. He was angled toward her, and his knee brushed against her own, soothing her frazzled nerves to some small degree. But her mother's silence brought the fear back up tenfold, and Casey's thoughts jumped to worse and worse conclusions. Her mom rarely couldn't find at least some words; it must be bad.
"Is it George?" she asked in a fearful whisper, aware that Derek's jaw clenched as he slid a few inches closer. "Was there an accident? Did something . . . " she trailed off, and then an awful thought struck her. "It's his heart, isn't it? He's past middle age, and with the way he eats . . . the doctor must have told him to cut back, but he could never give up all that fat in his diet, and . . ." she trailed off again, stomach clenching. Derek inclined his head toward her, obviously trying to hear her mother's response, but gave up with a worried growl of frustration when the honking horns and general tumult of the New York streets rendered the effort useless. Casey brushed her fingers absently against his knee in what she hoped was a comforting gesture, but the whole of her attention was focused on her mother's words.
"No, Casey, of course not. It's not George. It's none of us," she assured, and Casey let her shoulders slump in relief. Derek read her sudden calmness and let out a sigh of his own. "It's . . ." Nora continued hesitantly, and Casey suddenly caught a tone of suppressed panic in her mother's voice. Casey's back was suddenly rigid, and Derek glanced at her with concern. "It's . . ." her mother said again, before the words began to rush out. "It's just that he never changed his emergency contacts, Casey, and I don't know what they expect me to do about it because I'm all the way up here, but they had to call someone and let them know, and I guess I was the only option, but they won't tell me what happened, really; just enough to worry me, and Casey, I just don't know what to do, but then I remembered you, and it's just so lucky, really, and I don't mean to put extra pressure on you, but if you could just get down to Madison Avenue you can handle things at Mt. Sinai—that's the hospital—and—"
"Wait, Mom, what?" Casey interjected in alarm when her mother took a brief pause for air. "Slow down," she advised, trying to quell her fears. "What's going on?" she asked after a moment, her voice an octave too high. The whole suppressing her panic thing wasn't working too well.
"It's your father," her mother finally got out, and Casey's heart clenched even as her fingers, still resting lightly against Derek's leg, suddenly clenched in a death grip on his thigh.
"What?" Casey asked faintly, feeling lightheaded. But she had just seen him. What could have possibly . . . .
Nora took a deep breath to calm herself before saying, "He's been shot."
Casey's brain shut down, and she didn't register her hands numbly flipping the phone shut before her mother could say anything more, or Derek's expression turn from concern to alarm as he leaned forward to catch the phone that tumbled from her limp fingers.
It wasn't true. It couldn't be. It didn't make any sense. Sure, New York was notorious for its crime rates, but her dad was well off. He would have been in the business end of town, not one of the bad parts, not someplace where this . . . .
Derek's warm hand, encompassing the top of her arm as he tried to get her attention, quelling his own panic to deal with hers, finally brought her back enough to whisper, still disbelieving, "It's my dad."
Derek stiffened in surprise, then began flustering, obviously unsure of what to say or how to deal with the breakdown that was obviously coming. But saying it out loud gave Casey a shot of reality, and she suddenly realized that she had to be there, at the hospital, to see if he was okay, to see if . . . .
Anger built up in her suddenly, and it allowed her to shove her suffocating fears away and she straightened resiliently and ordered, "Mt. Sinai Hospital."
The cabbie glanced up, surprised at being addressed, and Casey ignored this and the fact that Derek's face had settled into piercing concern.
"NOW," she added sharply, not caring how bitchy she sounded, just so long as they got there, and soon. The cabbie sensed the command in her tone and grabbed the wheel tightly, jerking it sideways to fit in a space Casey would have thought much too small on any other day. Now, she was wondering what had taken him so long.
"Casey?" Derek's hand moved up her shoulder and across her back, rubbing it in a tentative soothing motion, but keeping the rest of his body carefully away. She didn't shrug it off—she needed the companionship, whatever the state of her mind—but she did her best to repress its comforting effects; she needed her determination now—any wavering, and she might just fall apart. So she contented herself with taking deep, calming breaths as the car sped through the congestion, somehow more erratically than before, yet still too damn slow.
When they pulled up to the entrance, Casey didn't pause to count the change, throwing two twenties at the cab driver and darting out of the door almost before he had stopped. Derek followed only slightly more slowly, pausing to pocket her cell phone and grab the purse and shopping bags she had abandoned on the seat before following her at a jog. He might have said her name, in some attempt at calming her or slowing her pace, but Casey focused on the revolving doors with single-minded purpose and, once she had conquered those, marched straight up to the desk and announced, "McDonald."
The nurse glanced up, obviously suppressing a frown, but she looked used to this sort of thing. Casey couldn't bring herself to care.
"What's the first name, dear?" she asked instead, and her slow, even words annoyed Casey. Couldn't she see how urgent this was?
"Dennis," Casey said shortly. "Dennis McDonald. I'm his daughter." She gave the woman a look that she hoped would hurry her, but the woman simply turned to the computer and began typing something.
"Ah, yes," she said in infuriatingly calm tones, before moving her hand to press an intercom button. "Dr. Stetson? Dr. Stetson? A Casey McDonald is here."
Casey stared her down as she released the button, but rather than asking her to sit, the woman motioned her to the right of the counter, where a middle aged woman in scrubs and a lab coat was making her way out a narrow door. Casey latched onto the sight and strode purposefully toward her, Derek almost keeping pace as he followed, seemingly unsure of what to do.
"Miss McDonald?" the doctor asked. "I'm Ginevra Stetson." Upon receiving Casey's punctual nod and impatient wave to continue, the doctor launched her explanation. "First of all, let me assure you that your father is no longer critical." The woman probably meant the statement to calm her, but all Casey could do is latch onto the words 'no longer' with sinking horror. She could feel her determination sliding away, and she grasped at it frantically. "He is nearly out of surgery, and things are looking promising." Somehow, she couldn't get her mind to focus on the words. It was all too much, too much to handle, and she knew she couldn't last much longer.
"Wait, almost out of surgery?" Derek interjected for her. When the doctor didn't answer, instead looking at Derek questioningly, he firmly stated, "I'm her stepbrother," and watched the doctor, daring her to object. She only nodded and continued.
"It took a good deal of time to reach Mr. McDonald's ex-wife, Mr.—" she broke off, questioning, until Derek supplied his last name. "Mr. Venturi," Dr. Stetson amended. "The bullet entered between his fifth and sixth ribs and grazed his lungs. We've managed to remove the bullet and stop most of the bleeding, but some of it was internal and harder to stop. He is stable, but he also sustained trauma to the head, during the fall we suspect, and he'll probably be unconscious for a few days, at least."
Casey couldn't bring herself to comprehend a single word the doctor had spoken. She felt dizzy now that her forced strength had abandoned her, and her brain was sluggish.
"So," she began, before stopping for a breath. The doctor turned to look at her, and Derek caught her elbow in a steadying gesture. It helped her gather her thoughts, meager as they were. "So, is he okay?" she asked in a waver.
Casey couldn't comprehend the sympathetic expression that crossed the doctor's face as she glanced at Casey, then looked at Derek in askance before turning her head to engage the young woman fully.
"Yes, Miss McDonald. He's fine." Casey knew there had to be more to it than that, but she couldn't think past the relief flowing through her, and the sudden weariness pressing down on her. She sagged slightly, and feeling a good bit of her weight resting on Derek's steadying hand, forced her knees to straighten. Still, Derek grabbed her elbow more tightly and led her to a row of chairs sitting against the wall; she felt her feet tripping under her as she stumbled beside him, and briefly wondered where all of his 'Klutzilla' jokes were. But then he was guiding her into a seat, pushing her shoulders back against the wall until she gave up and slumped against the back. Closing her eyes she tried to regulate her breathing, which suddenly seemed short, and grasped at the thoughts that refused to form.
Where's Derek? she thought suddenly, panic brewing. Her eyes flashed open, scanning, not quite frantic. There, she registered dimly. He was still talking to the doctor, standing only a few feet away. A few mangled fragments of their conversation drifted to her—"crime-lord . . . witness of a . . . your stepmother about the particulars—" but her brain couldn't assign them any meaning. Her eyes drifted shut again. Her earlier stoicism had sapped her strength and the adrenaline brought on by panic was quickly evaporating. Dimly, she recognized Derek's warm presence sink into the chair next to her, but she was already drifting, fading into a fitful slumber.
Derek stayed, feeling useless and stupid, to watch Casey jerk around, not really sleeping, until he couldn't take it anymore. Eyes scanning their surroundings, he recognized the nurse's station with a sigh of relief; if anything happened, there were plenty of competent people to watch out for Casey. Standing, he kicked Casey's bags under her chair, behind her legs, and looked around. He saw a sign pointing to the cafeteria and quickly moved in that direction. He could use a cup of coffee.
Casey could, too, he thought with a glance backwards, suppressing his uncertainties. He had the feeling her fitful slumber would be short lived.
It didn't take him long to find the cafeteria, or to order his drink. He took it to a table in the corner without pausing for cream or sugar, resisting the urge to stare blankly into the inky contents of the Styrofoam cup. He took a deep gulp, and let the soothing bitter taste warm him.
This sort of shit didn't really happen. Criminal lawyers didn't get shot when some mafia wannabe tried to shoot the witness. Their estranged daughters didn't get the news secondhand and have to rush to the hospital.
He remembered his thoughts the day before, wondering why Dennis could wait one effing day, and felt a surge of anger toward the man, unfair as it was. Dennis was lying in a hospital bed, gravely injured; the least Derek could do was feel sorry for him. But every time he tried an awful image came to him, the look on Casey's face as her knees gave out, and he just couldn't do it.
Draining the rest of his coffee, he slammed the insubstantial cup back onto the table before standing abruptly.
"Stupid," he muttered viciously, at what he didn't know, as he crumpled the cup in one fist and cocked his arm.
Tossing his cup in a stainless steel garbage can, he made his way back to the counter and dug out the money for another coffee. This time he did stop at the end of the counter, dumping in two packets of cream and a handful of sugars and resisting the urge to wrinkle his nose as he stirred. He left the coffee stirrer on the counter, dripping a pool of brown onto the previously spotless counter, and exited the cafeteria as he popped the lid onto the cup.
Sure enough, by the time he got back to the waiting area Casey was blinking at the fluorescent lights and scowling absently at the many people bustling around the busy hospital. He slid into the seat next her and wordlessly handed her the cup, unsure of what to say. It was disconcerting to someone like him. She took the drink without question, a sure sign of her less than perfect mental state, and sipped on it absently. She seemed to perk up when she realized its contents, and shot him a slightly dulled look of thanks as she took a large gulp. He wasn't quite sure what to do with that.
"So," Derek began, needing to break the silence so he wasn't stuck analyzing everything. That wouldn't help anybody. Casey's eyes flickered through her lashes to meet his gaze, mouth still attached to the disposable cup as she continued to sip the revitalizing drink.
"Uh," Derek continued, wracking his brain for something to say. "You okay?" he finally blurted out, trying not to cringe as he said it.
Casey nodded vaguely, eyes brighter than he was comfortable with, but finally responded with a shaky, "Yes."
"Oh," was Derek's brilliant response. "Good."
They lapsed back into silence, Casey taking almost non-existent sips of her coffee as she stared blankly ahead and Derek forcing his eyes to dart around the room before his gaze invariable returned to Casey. Derek's brain finally caught up with him, and he excused himself for a few minutes to call Nora, doing his best to evade her freak-out and finally extracting a promise to change their flight. He had a feeling Casey would flip if he tried to make her leave tomorrow.
When he slid back into his seat, the dazed look was gone from Casey's features; he felt awkward as she watched him sit from the corner of her eye.
He was back to not knowing what to say. He simply studied her, feeling idiotic but only in the corner of his mind as he watched.
Somehow, she hadn't cried yet, and he wasn't sure if he were grateful for that or not. But her shirt had managed to get rumpled during her short nap, some of her mascara had streaked as far down as her jaw—how, he wasn't sure—and a few pathetic curls were plastered to the right side of her face when her hair tie had pulled her ponytail in the opposite direction.
He had to say something, because otherwise he would forever feel uncomfortable and out of place, and she would never stop staring at the floor with such awful tension. But he still had no idea what.
"Casey . . ." he finally managed, not sounding nearly as reassuring as he had hoped. He twisted his mind for something else, something better. But froze as he realized that Casey's head had jerked up, and she was taking quick, alarming breaths. Then she was pressing her lips together frantically and shaking her head back and forth, as if to fight back the tears that welled frighteningly in her eyes.
Before he could fully register the change, she had twisted in her seat to bury her face in Derek's shoulder, one hand coming up to cling at the fabric against his side. He shrunk back an inch at the emotion tensing her shoulders, mouth working soundlessly as he tried to figure out the best course of action. After a moment, however, as his brain went on autopilot, he felt that he should wrap his arm around her back and use the other to rub her shoulder comfortingly; after another moment's hesitation, he proceeded to do so.
Casey seemed to sink into him, and Derek instinctively turned his head to brush his lips against Casey's hair . . . and distanced himself with a jolt as soon as his brain caught up with him. He only ever did that with Marti, and infrequently at that. Why in the world had he felt the need to do so with Casey?
Maybe it was that he thrived on irritating her, but right now she was too weak to fight back. Maybe it was that she looked so small, and he was the only one around to comfort her. Maybe it was that she did remind him of Marti in a way; that she just couldn't do anything for herself at the moment and that meant she needed him. Maybe it was that he couldn't just sit there, he had to be needed to eradicate his uncharacteristic feelings of uselessness. Whatever it is, it will never happen again, he swore to himself and he casually shifted Casey away from him, so she was simply cradled under one arm in a universal gesture of safety. Nothing the least bit incriminating, now.
But he wondered if that was best, as he saw the slightly haunted look reappeared on Casey's eyes.
DCDCDCDCDCDC
Okay, well there's that. Hopefully there aren't too many typos, but I'm noticing a lot of the ones in my previous chapters were because ff net randomly deleted stuff. Whatever, haha. Let me know what you think!