When Bradley read Casey's text asking if he had a minute to talk, he hadn't expected her to want to meet—here. At the old arcade that was somehow still up and running, where they used to play as kids. He is skeptical, to say the least, not fully understanding her intentions, and more exhausted from the events of the day as they stand than he cares to admit.
It might have taken everything he had to drag himself out of his own thoughts to reply to that text. To agree to meet, when really, he didn't know if the energy was something he could muster. But he also isn't entirely willing to risk pushing Casey away by declining, and so, here he is. Climbing out of the Bronco and shutting the door, while she stands from her place perched on the edge of the curb, and brushes away any dirt that may have gathered on the fabric of her jeans.
Under the flashing neon sign of the arcade, with her hair half-falling out of the braid pulled over her shoulder, and her own exhaustion hazy in her eyes, she's beautiful. And not for the first time, Bradley catches himself wondering how in the hell he took so long to notice that at all.
Even if the first words out of her mouth are almost predictable enough to render him incapable of suppressing a snort.
"Oh geez, you really did have a day."
"From the looks of things, so did you."
"Unexpected last minute rush," Casey explains, the corners of her mouth pulling up at the almost foreign look Bradley is giving her as she steps away from the curb, "What?"
"Nothing. You still look good."
"High praise."
"Case, I'm serious."
"So am I."
"So what's the plan?" Bradley asks, risking a glance towards the door of the arcade, because somehow, the way Casey is looking up at him while biting her lower lip threatens to rob him of all common sense. A small gust of wind causes the scent of her perfume—something citrusy—to tickle against his nose, and suddenly, this is a lot harder than he thought it ever would be.
Or at least it is until comprehension dawns, and he realizes Casey's earlier comment about his day means she knows…
"Who told you I had a day?"
"Mom might've mentioned something about it," Casey admits, almost immediately taking note of how Bradley straightens a bit, as though already trying to distance himself from something she has absolutely no intention of forcing him to relive unless he chooses to, "I don't have details. And I don't need them unless you want me to know."
"So we're here because—"
"Because I thought I could take your mind off of it by kicking your ass at air hockey like I used to when we were kids."
"I think you're forgetting that I let you win."
"Am I? Because I remember it differently."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?"
"Probably because you're trying to save your badass reputation, and admitting you lost to a girl would kind of kill that in ten seconds or less."
"And this is you, what—offering to let me redeem myself?" Bradley quips, unable to fully resist a grin while Casey meets the inquiry with a shrug and a barely restrained smirk.
"Maybe. You interested?"
"Well when you put it like that, I don't think I can afford not to be."
Casey's answering laugh is like a bolt of electricity spiraling straight through his veins, and she bumps against his side as he turns to follow her inside the arcade. Something flickers across her expression as Bradley glances down at her, but before he can put his finger on what that something may be, it disappears entirely. And even if it kills him to refrain from questioning her on what else may have happened that day to tire her so much, Bradley does exactly that.
If she isn't going to force him to come clean, he can't exactly be the kind of asshole that does the same to her.
Not even when something tells him he may not be the only one with something he isn't exactly ready to share.
…
With Pete Mitchell sitting at her kitchen table, Amelia in her room doing homework, and Evie presumably sequestered away in Casey's room that the two of them are apparently temporarily sharing, Penny Benjamin cannot honestly remember a time when her house has been anything short of full.
She always loved it, even if at times she may have feigned a certain level of exasperation just to keep up appearances as a mom who enforced at least some rules around the home. But something about this particular instance of domesticity feels different. Different in a way she cannot place.
It's Pete. It has to be, because she's used to the home being a revolving door of sorts for both of her daughters, and Evie as well. And to be fair, he's been in and out of her life enough that this shouldn't come as any surprise. What's different, Penny supposes, is that this time around, she is actively trying to prevent things from going too far. From going back to that place that only ends in one or the both of them getting hurt.
If only he wouldn't sit in the chair at her kitchen table just so, boots crossed at the ankles, like he just—belongs there. Then it would be easier to pretend she didn't want him there at all.
Pretend she doesn't want him there. Because even with how fervently she tries to deny it, Penny knows that the truth is anything but.
"So Evie's bartending."
"Evie's bartending," Penny confirms, slipping into a chair opposite where Pete sits, her fingers curling around a mug of tea to distract herself from the slight twitch to his lips as the movement causes her foot to nudge against his own.
"How's that going so far?"
"She's a quick learner. Fast on her feet, and she can definitely handle all the trouble liquored up pilots can throw at her."
"Trouble?"
"You know what I mean."
The familiar exasperation behind the words has Pete grinning openly in seconds, even if he knows it may not be the smartest thing he's ever done, and for a moment, it is only too easy to remember when he was one of the liquored up pilots, himself. It was how he and Penny met, after all. Young, and stupid, until the consequences of that stupidity finally caught up with them.
Discipline from his superiors had never scared him. Glares and hard remarks from Penny's father hadn't scared him. But finding out he was going to be a father, himself?
That had nearly taken him to his knees.
Sometimes Pete still doesn't feel like he has a clue what he's doing in that regard. Especially now, with the glaring reality of whatever it is Casey's hiding staring him in the face. Penny was always the one better equipped to wheedle the truth out of their daughter as she grew older…
Just like she had always been able to do the same with him.
"Pete."
"What?"
"You're getting that look again."
"What look?"
"That look," Penny says, gesturing in the general direction of Pete's face, and biting the inside of her cheek to keep the smile that threatens at bay, "The one that says you've got another question you don't know how to ask."
"Maybe I'm just trying to think before speaking for once."
"Try again, Pete."
A sigh escapes as he shifts to lean forward with both elbows resting on the table, Penny's eyes following the movements all the while. And even if he isn't entirely certain he has any right to ask the question, Pete forces himself to do exactly that, even if the end result only shows him that their daughter is every bit as lost at the moment as he is, himself.
"Does Casey seem—off, to you?"
"Well I wouldn't let her hear you say that."
"Penny, I'm being serious," Pete chides, a soft laugh breaking free before he can stop it, because clearly both of them are equally as surprised that he is opting for anything less than bold moves and occasionally predictable humor in the first place, "Something isn't right."
"Have you tried asking her about it?"
"That's what I had been hoping to do tonight."
"And here I thought you just wanted to talk to me."
"Well, there's that, too."
"Nice save," Penny teases, the remark not carrying the humor she had hoped for, because she knows precisely what the answer to Pete's question will be. An answer she isn't exactly sure she has the right to give. It had been more than a little obvious that Casey didn't really want to come clean about everything, even to her. That circumstance had motivated the reveal more than anything else.
And then, with everything still left unsaid between Bradley and the man sitting across from her at her kitchen table, Penny has to wonder how Pete would even react once he learned the truth.
"There is something, isn't there?"
"It's nothing bad."
"That's it?"
"I think she wants to tell you in her own time."
Pete would be lying if he were to say he is not at least a little discouraged by the answer. He would be lying if he tries to pretend it doesn't actually make him more concerned than he was already. But it's Penny telling him this. Even if things weren't always easy in the beginning, the two of them did have a fair track record of being there for their daughter, even if they were not together themselves.
There had always been certain limits in the confidence Penny kept, over the years. Things she would not keep secret, not even for Casey's sake. So if this one—whatever it is—is something she feels she can wait to divulge, he might do better to just trust her judgment and wait for Casey to come to him.
Even if doing so would be far from easy, and may just come close to driving him up the wall.
"Any idea where she is?"
"With Rooster."
"Of course," Pete murmurs, running a hand across his face and exhaling as he once again slumps back in his chair. And in truth, he's grateful that's where Casey is. Grateful that Bradley has someone in his corner that he will actually speak to, particularly after the events of the day. The idea of tensions eventually bubbling over honestly should have been something he saw coming, but even if he had, Pete wonders if he would have been able to stop it.
Goose's death had and always would be a touchy subject for him, and Bradley both, and from the looks of things, Seresin had known exactly which buttons to push.
"You might want to watch out for that pilot that started all of this," Penny remarks, clearly sensing the line of Pete's thoughts even if he hasn't spoken a word of them out loud, "You know Casey has a protective streak a mile wide when it comes to her friends."
Penny is right. Pete knows that as well as he knows his own name, and he remembers quite clearly when Casey had come to him, somewhere around seven years old, proudly declaring that thanks to Bradley, she now knew how to throw a punch. The details around why such a thing was even necessary are a little fuzzy, but he can still remember that niggling sense of pride he felt as though it happened only hours ago.
If Casey had decided to follow in his own footsteps, the only way he would ever have been comfortable with it would be if Rooster had been at her side. But it seems even without that as her chosen career, the two are still every bit as willing to fight back to back as they have ever been.
And somehow, that is far more reassuring than anything else could ever be.
"If Rooster does tell her anything, I might let her get in one good swing."
"Knowing her, she may try for more than one."
"You're probably right," Pete allows, one corner of his mouth twitching upward into a smile, "I'll—keep an eye on her."
"I'm sure you will."
"You could try to sound a bit more confident, Pen."
"Hmm. I don't think so," Penny retorts, her own amusement only growing as she watches Pete's eyes widen just a bit, clearly surprised that she is choosing to toy with him over this, instead of anything else. For a man who always behaved like he knew his way around a woman, it was more than a little fun for her to prove him wrong. To make him sweat. To catch him off his game.
And perhaps that is what makes it so easy for her to stand, leaning across the table to swipe the mug Pete had been drinking from with a smile curving at her lips.
"Where would be the fun in that?"
…
As the air hockey puck sails just shy of her left ear, Casey is forced to bite down on her lower lip to keep back a smile.
"Sorry."
"Getting a little aggressive there, Bradshaw. People will start to talk."
"About what?"
"Well, for starters, about the fact that I'm still kicking your ass," Casey shrugs, turning and stooping to snag the puck from its spot on the ground a few steps away, her lips curved into a smile as soon as she straightens and turns back to put the object on the table, "So either you're letting me win again, or—"
"Or?"
"Or, you're still distracted."
Brow furrowed, Bradley realizes that he is still distracted, though not exactly for the same reason as he had been when he first arrived. Now, instead of the nagging anger, and the memory of words that were clearly supposed to crawl beneath his skin, his thoughts keep turning to something else, entirely.
Due to the nature of the game they play—the prerequisite of leaning over the table to take a shot—he hasn't exactly been able to avoid noticing a resultant dip in the neckline of Casey's shirt. The way the dragonfly necklace she's worn ever since her mom gave it to her for her eighteenth birthday slips out, and shines beneath the light hanging overhead. And that pulls his attention elsewhere, too.
He isn't entirely sure if Casey has noticed him staring or not, but if she has, she doesn't particularly seem to mind. And there is something about the flush on her cheeks—the slight spark in her eyes—that has him wondering.
Wondering if she would mind too much if he just said fuck it all and kissed her right here, right now.
The idea is tempting. Too tempting, and before he is even fully aware of it, Bradley is abandoning the idea of anything even remotely to do with the game they have been playing to step towards Casey instead. She seems to register the movement in seconds, green eyes widening a bit while the flush against her cheeks grows.
For a moment, she seems content to simply wait for him to make a move. To stand in place, watching him while a smile tugs at her lips, and her hip cocks against the edge of the air hockey table, a silent dare for him to keep going.
But just as he gets close enough to reach for her, Casey turns back to the table, and takes another shot, sending the plastic puck sailing right into his now-undefended goal.
"I think they call that cheating, Case," He groans, the words not truly holding any weight at all, because already Casey's answering smile is nearly blinding enough to erase all thought from his mind.
"Funny. I call it a goal."
"So if we stop now, you win."
"Seems that way," Casey agrees, still grinning because even if the idea of Bradley coming still closer sets her heart to racing, she would be lying if she said using that distraction against him isn't the outcome she'd been hoping for all along, "Do you want to stop?"
"From the looks of things I don't really have a choice, do I?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
"Did any of this actually work?"
"What do you think?"
Casey isn't entirely sure how to reply, at first, but something in the way Bradley is looking at her makes her believe the answer is probably closer to a yes than a no. Risking a step closer herself, she notices the slight relaxation of the tension that had been in his shoulders. Some of the exhaustion is fading as well.
Before she is fully aware of it, her fingers are threading through his own, and she would be a fool to pretend the flare of relief that floods her at the contact doesn't mean the world.
"I think maybe it worked a bit."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I think it might've worked more than a bit."
"Does that mean I actually won?"
"You're impossible," Bradley sighs, the snort that had escaped just prior to the comment only prompting Casey to offer a slight shrug before she replies.
"It's part of my charm."
"That's what you're calling it?"
"That is absolutely what I'm calling it."
"Wanna take that charm and get out of here?"
The question nearly stalls Casey's heart inside her chest, and she can feel the heat of another flush ghosting against her skin, the familiar tug in her abdomen momentarily robbing her of all conscious thought. And even though the decision to have Evie drop her off here had never been a deliberate attempt to ensure Bradley is the one who takes her home, Casey would be lying if she tries to pretend she has the heart to tell him no.
In addition to taking his mind off of whatever had happened earlier that day, Casey cannot entirely deny the hope of finding enough courage to tell him what she wants out of this. What she's always wanted, if she's being honest, because she knows she doesn't have forever to give him an answer to the question he'd asked her after she told him about the baby.
She doesn't want to see other people. Doesn't want him to see other people either. And she wants to find some way of telling him that now, before she loses her nerve and the chance altogether.
And that is what prompts her to manage a tremulous nod, her teeth digging into her lower lip for a moment before she responds.
"Sure. Sure, let's go."
Bradley's hand stays in hers, his grip even tightening as he tugs her against his side. And Casey allows herself to take some measure of solace in how, for the moment at least, everything seems to be okay.
For now, nothing has happened that she doesn't have the ability to fix.
…
"He knew about my dad."
The interior of the Bronco goes dead silent after the statement, because until then, they had managed to avoid any and all talk about work. Life, really. Reality. It's been nice, in those few moments of denial. In the protective bubble they'd built around themselves like a shield. But on some level, both of them knew it would never last. And as much as Casey misses it, she is also more than a little grateful that something finally persuaded Bradley to tell her what started all of this in the first place.
"He?"
"Hangman."
"God, Bradley, I—I'm so sorry."
"I shouldn't have let him get to me."
"You absolutely should've let him get to you!" Casey exclaims, wincing at the vehemence behind the declaration because a part of her is already wondering if it may only end up making things worse, "I'm sorry, I just—there's giving people a hard time and then there's just being an ass."
"Well he's definitely that."
"What um—what brought it all on?"
"Case—"
"If you don't want to tell me, it's okay. I didn't know your dad, so—"
"You know enough," Bradley cuts in, running a hand across his face while Casey shifts in the passenger seat of the Bronco to face him more comfortably, the seatbelt long since forgotten since they are now parked in front of her home, "I didn't say this to get you involved."
"Involved."
"I'm not gonna drag you into my shit, Casey. I just—I thought you had a right to know what happened, and I didn't want your dad to—"
"To tell me first."
Whatever judgment or frustration Bradley expects to find in Casey's expression as a result of his answering nod is surprisingly not there, and it takes him a minute to wrap his head around it at all. Once again, he's managed to put her between him, and her father, even without fully meaning to at the start. But even if she is coming to that conclusion herself, Casey doesn't react. She doesn't do anything other than look at him with an understanding he is all but certain he could never deserve.
And even with his shock over all of those things, Bradley soon comes to realize that Casey isn't entirely through with surprising him yet.
"I think that's what people do, though."
"What people do."
"Get involved," Casey clarifies, her fingers twisting together in her lap because she is close—so close—to just coming out and saying it. Saying what she's been wanting to tell Bradley all along. A part of her still hesitates, unsure if mentioning anything related to her own personal feelings will be remarkably selfish. Whether it will seem as though she is trying to make his pain about her, even though that could not be farther from the truth.
The idea that if she holds her tongue now, she may never have the courage to say anything again weighs heavily in her mind, and even then, she is more than a little relieved when Bradley takes her silence as leave to speak, himself.
"When have I ever pulled you into my fights, Case? That's not us."
"It—it wasn't us."
"What are you saying?"
The question escapes before he can stop it, and Bradley does not miss the visible flinch that has Casey sliding backward just a bit until her back rests against the passenger side door. He could kick himself, because whatever she had been feeling that had been so apparent in her expression is rather quickly shuttering itself away, and he knows. He knows his inquiry came out far more abruptly than he intended.
He wants to fix it. Needs to, because for some reason it almost feels as though Casey is already slipping away. But before he has the chance to do anything, she is looking him in the eye again, some of the vulnerability that had been present before making a reappearance and threatening to tear him in two.
The same uncertainty that seemed to plague her when she told him she was pregnant is back again, but still she forces herself to speak, and it takes every ounce of willpower Bradley has to let her without reaching for her hand.
Somehow, he knows if he does, right now, he will only end up putting a stop to whatever it is she wants to say.
"I don't know how to do this. I don't. I'm scared I'm going to say the wrong thing, or—or just mess things up. But I—I want to have your back. To get dragged into your fights, if—if you want that, too."
"Kind of sounds like you're offering to be my hitwoman."
"No. Well—technically yes, so to speak, but—but not entirely."
"Case, c'mon."
"What?"
"Talk to me."
"Technically, I am."
"I think you know that's not what I mean," Bradley presses, the familiarity behind Casey's obvious attempt at deflection almost prompting a grin, but for the fact that he can see the slight tremor in the muscle of her cheek. Clear evidence that she is chewing the inside of it, likely hard enough to draw blood.
The idea that he'd do anything to take away whatever uncertainty is clearly troubling her is nearly overwhelming, and for a minute, that is enough to override the worry of pushing her away that is keeping him silent.
"Casey—"
"I don't want to see other people."
"Then what do you want?"
"You."
It's just a single word. More of a whisper than anything else, but it's out there, now. It can never be taken back. Casey can feel her skin practically burning, and she isn't sure whether it is because of her confession, or the weight of Bradley's gaze, pinning her in place. He's not saying anything. And she can't quite read his expression, which has her stomach twisting into knots in next to no time at all.
Maybe she shouldn't have said anything at all. Maybe he's already moved on. Maybe she took too long to get to this point, and now, there's nothing left at all.
All of these thoughts converge on Casey at once, threatening to devour her. To burn her from the inside, out, until there is nothing left of her but ash. And as the sensation of that burning spreads to the corners of her eyes, Casey sneaks a hand behind her to fumble at the handle of the passenger side door…
"I'm sorry. I never—I never should have—"
"Get over here."
"I—what?"
Certain that if he even tries to repeat what he just said, he will either find some way to change it, or that Casey will actually leave the confines of the Bronco for good, Bradley opts for a move that, ordinarily, he might not even consider. Not in a million years.
In a way, Hangman had been right. He is conservative. Careful. But if being that way means losing Casey, then Bradley is starting to think it's about damn time he opted for something else, instead.
What is it Mav said? Don't think, just do?
Somehow, he doesn't think Mav had any intention of the same principle being applied to his daughter, but that isn't quite enough to stop him from reaching across the space between them in order to pull Casey towards him. The startled squeak she makes turns to something more like a gasp when his fingers thread through the loose strands of her hair, and he wastes no time in covering her mouth with his own.
He can feel her freezing for a moment, the realization that her body has somehow managed to instinctively shift until she is straddling him in the driver's seat of the Bronco clearly giving her pause. But then he feels her fingertips tracing against his jawline. Her body presses flush to his, and his heart slams against his ribs in response.
Casey has to be able to feel it, because now one of her hands is resting against his neck, perilously close to his pulse point. The other is hovering at the back of his neck just above the collar of his shirt, the sensation of her fingernails scraping against his scalp provoking a shiver while his own hands drift down to squeeze at her hips.
This is all real. He can still barely believe it, but it is. Casey is here. Practically melding her body to his, and he can feel the tip of her tongue tracing lightly along his lower lip.
A groan escapes as he gives her hips another squeeze, and when she rocks against him, he uses that hold to tug her just a little closer. Close enough to feel exactly what she is doing to him without even trying. Casey's nails scrape against his scalp again, her muted whimper going straight to his groin.
Somehow, she's broken away from the heated kisses without him fully realizing it, and Bradley would protest, but then he feels the brush of her lips against his cheek, moving from there, to his jawline until she is offering open-mouthed kisses to the skin of his neck. He allows his fingers to slip beneath the hem of her shirt to graze against bare skin, and her hips press against his for a second time.
"Fuck, Case—"
"Do you want me to stop?"
He doesn't. Not when it feels like if he did, she could slip right through his fingers. But an ill-timed glance at the clock on the dash suddenly brings reality crashing back over him like a damned tidal wave.
Whether he wants to or not, he cannot stay here all night. And as much as it pains him, he knows that what they are doing right now has to stop.
"Case—"
"You have to go."
Bradley can feel the weight of the disappointment behind the words as easily as if it were his own. And really, it is, even if Casey can't see it, her gaze dropping as she moves to pull away, until he stops her with the pressure of a hand curving against her cheek.
"You want this?"
"Do you?"
"Would I have kissed you just now if I didn't?"
"Well I don't know," Casey begins, the words causing a flare of trepidation to coil inside Bradley's chest, at least until a closer look at her features gives him ample proof that she is smiling. A shy smile, but a smile all the same, "Maybe you're not in your right mind."
"You think so."
"It would certainly explain a lot—hey!"
The sensation of Bradley's fingertips suddenly moving from careful touches to something more akin to tickling against her sides has Casey squealing and pulling back in seconds, her back bumping against the steering wheel and causing the horn to blare out a short beep. Both of them are laughing, and Bradley's hands return to her hips to steady her until she manages to slip off of his lap entirely.
He would be a liar to pretend he doesn't regret the loss, even if he understands the necessity behind it. And as Casey's hand moves to rest on the handle of the car door again to prop it open, he cannot resist the urge to stall her one last time.
"Dinner tomorrow? If you're free?"
Once again, Casey's answering smile is nearly blinding, and he spends a moment trying to memorize it, because before dinner becomes an option he must survive another day of training. Another day with Mav, and Seresin, and all the rest. The thought is almost distracting enough to make him miss her reply entirely, but somehow the slight brush of her fingertips against his own brings him back before that can become a reality.
"I'd—yeah. I'm definitely free."
Bradley doesn't say anything else, in part because he honestly doesn't think he can. But Casey doesn't seem to require him to, at least not for now, her expression settling into something far more at ease than he has seen since his last return from deployment as she finally climbs out of the Bronco and heads to her own front porch.
Distracted by the events of the evening, and the lingering pull for more that still persists somewhere in his lower stomach, he doesn't even notice that when Casey reaches the door, a familiar blonde is already holding it open, clearly having seen more than either he or Casey every would have intended had they known she was there at all.
…
Aaaaah! I'm back! Finally! And hopefully, with a chapter that was at least somewhat worth the wait? I have to admit, I had a little too much fun with Pete and Penny, as well as the final snippets of Casey and Roo. So I really do hope that I don't end up being the only one that feels that way!
As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite and review this story thus far! And special thanks to those who so kindly reviewed the chapter just prior to this one (SirenWolf28 and Roostette, this means you!) I am so, so very appreciative of your support and I hope you enjoyed this installment as much as the last!
Until next time, lovelies!
MOMM