(Seven weeks earlier)
"Wow. You look like you need a drink," A familiar blonde teases, slipping into the booth across from her friend, and lifting a brow as soon as she notices the already half-empty margarita glass sitting on the table between them, "Or several."
"This is actually my third."
"What happened?"
"Boyfriend finally see the light and go off to find someone better?"
"He's not my boyfriend," Casey replies, risking a glance at the second new arrival sliding into the booth in time to note how her friend almost immediately elbows him in the side in retaliation.
"Aiden, stop."
"I'm teasing, love," Aiden replies, an arm curving around the blonde's shoulders to pull her against his side before he is turning back to Casey, instead, "Casey knows that."
"Do I?"
"Oh come on, lighten up! This is supposed to be a party, yeah?"
"Could you go get me a margarita from the bar, baby? Casey could use a refill, too."
She doesn't want to admit it, but Casey is remarkably grateful for Evie's intervention, such as it is, the sensation of her friend's hand covering her own while Aiden slides out of the booth causing a lump to wedge itself in the back of her throat. She's never liked the guy. Never understood what Evie even sees in him, because in her mind, she deserves far, far better.
The blonde has become a regular fixture in her life since they first met in a general economics class in college. She knew things about Casey that very few others did.
A fact that is never more clear than when Evie gives Casey's hand a light squeeze, her gaze flicking to where Aiden is standing beside the bar for only a moment before she is satisfied that they are not under any immediate danger of being overheard.
"Okay. Why are we drinking tequila like a fish before the party's even started?"
"I haven't heard from Bradley in three weeks, Ev. I don't—the squadron was on a mission and I have no idea if—if he's even—"
"You said it was just a small thing," Evie interjects, her brow furrowing in concern as soon as she recognizes the familiar waver in her friend's voice, and the way Casey is obviously trying to blink back tears, "In and out. Maybe—maybe he just left his charger somewhere, or something."
"Or maybe the one thing I've been trying to—to pretend will never happen actually did."
"Well he still has time. Technically, we don't need to move on to the house until seven-thirty. I don't think we need to dive over the cliff-edge into worst case scenario valley just yet."
Casey does not immediately reply, and Evie frowns at the realization, because she knows they are veering dangerously close to things that her friend prefers not to discuss at all. She doesn't want to push. She knows exactly how much Casey wants to keep some things to herself.
But she can also see that the brunette is struggling. Holding onto composure by a thread. And something about the way Casey is reluctant to accept any reassurances at face value tells Evie that something else must have happened. Something Casey has not yet divulged.
"You heard something."
"Someone didn't—someone isn't coming back."
"Casey, you don't know it's him."
"I don't know that it's not."
It would be a lie for Evie to pretend she doesn't understand Casey's panic. That she has not experienced it on some level, herself. With her brother in the Marines, she is no stranger to the worry that the person she loves won't make it back home.
Evie knows what it feels like when the walls are closing in. She knows exactly how it feels when trying to hold onto hope seems impossible. And she hates what her friend is going through. Hates that Casey seems determined to endure it alone.
She has no idea how she can make this better, when continuing to act as though the world may not be yanked out from beneath Casey's feet will seem placating at best, and startlingly insincere at the worst. But that doesn't mean that Evie is any less determined to try.
"Maybe you could—try reaching out to your dad, or—or someone else? See if they have any news?"
"Except I don't even know if I—if they would even be able to give that information," Casey stammers, ignoring the way her voice breaks over the words as best she can, just as she tries to ignore the way Evie's expression seems to radiate something she does not want to face, "I'm not—I mean, I'm not anything to—I'm not anything to him."
"Okay. I'm gonna stop you right there."
"Evie—"
"No. I am," Evie says, once again snagging Casey's hand, effectively stalling her friend from using the not quite finished margarita to distance herself from the conversation altogether, "You seem to be forgetting how often I've seen the two of you together."
"And over half of those times, you were probably imagining things because you were drunk."
"Or, I was actually seeing things more clearly. Which helps, obviously, because you two are so far in your little world of denial that it's almost painful."
It would be easy for Casey to deny the slight laugh that shakes her shoulders. To pretend the twitch at one corner of her mouth was not an almost successful transition to a smile. Because she is terrified. She's been terrified for what feels like forever, even though it's only been three weeks.
Somehow it almost feels wrong to allow herself even a momentary break from that terror, but of course Evie wouldn't be Evie if she didn't try to push Casey past those sorts of hangups, regardless.
"I mean, there was the time he punched that ass in the face when he was coming on too strong at the bar after graduation—"
"I remember."
"And then there was that Halloween party, where he showed up in that ridiculous costume because we all knew Dave was gonna bail on you for the contest—"
"Evie—"
"And—now this one is my personal favorite—your twenty-first birthday when you were completely blitzed, and he let you crash at his place. In. His. Bed."
"Okay. Now I'm gonna need another margarita just to deal with you," Casey groans, pleased to see Evie responding with an obviously smug grin, rather than taking any offense to her words at all, "That's just—all of it, it's just—I mean we grew up together. Like siblings."
"Like I said. Denial."
"I hate you."
"You love me," Evie corrects, the toe of one of her pumps nudging at Casey's shin beneath the table, "Just admit it, or I'll torture you for the entire rest of the night. Especially when Mr. Badass Pilot finally saunters through that door."
"Who are we torturing?"
Casey reaches for, and downs the remainder of the margarita already on the table as soon as Aiden slides back into the booth with refills in hand, because she is nowhere near to being ready or willing to carry on the discussion while he is within earshot. And she is remarkably grateful for Evie's seeming ability to recognize that and react accordingly.
"No one. Just messing around."
"Well that sounds more like a party than what we had when I left," Aiden quips, nudging one of the margarita glasses he procured Casey's way, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as she almost immediately lifts it to take another sip, "Even without our esteemed guest of honor."
"Actually, I don't think we're without him anymore."
Casey nearly chokes on her drink in response to Evie's declaration, one hand lifting to conceal a cough while the other slides the glass back onto the table even in spite of the sudden trembling shaking her fingertips. The knot at the back of her throat is returning, and she can feel her heart thundering along against her ribs.
She almost does not want to turn to look, but instinct rules out any attempt at delaying the inevitable, even with being aware that both Evie and Aiden are watching her for how she may react.
All of that seems to fade away rather quickly though as soon as she does look at the man in question, and her body slides out of the booth on instinct. Bradley is there. He's real. He's alive.
Everything seems to move in slow motion as Casey catalogs the small cut on his left cheekbone. The gauze pad taped to his neck. The shadows moving behind his eyes that ordinarily are not there.
The shadows dissipate just a bit as soon as he really sees her, and starts to head in the direction of their table, and Casey wants nothing more than to meet him halfway. She wants to do whatever she can to reassure herself that this isn't just some figment of her own desperate imagination. But something stops her. Emotion is threatening to strangle her where she stands, and suddenly it is all just a little too much.
"Casey?"
"I—I think I left my phone in the car," The brunette murmurs, turning back to the booth to snag her purse, and hoping that the way in which her hair falls across part of her face because of it will conceal the slight sheen to her eyes, "I'll be right—I'll be right back."
Casey already knows she is making the wrong decision by bolting. She knows it as soon as she summons what has to be a pitiful attempt at a smile after shying away when Bradley reaches for her arm to stop her. But she can't stop herself. She can hardly even breathe.
A frustrated sob catches in her throat as she makes it through the restaurant doors, breaking into a jog to get to her car. To get some air.
To find some way of pulling herself together, so that she doesn't end up ruining the night before it can even begin.
…
"Wanna tell me what that was, earlier?"
The question causes Casey to jump, because she honestly thought she was alone. After a few more drinks, and a round of appetizers at the restaurant, their little group had returned home, as expected. She had managed to get it together, by then, and the remainder of the evening had gone well. A few of their other friends had managed to stop by, as well, including a particularly leggy redhead who made it her mission to drape herself all over Bradley as soon as she could.
Even then, Casey hadn't reacted. She took it all in stride, despite Evie's significant looks from across the room.
All in all, she was almost proud of herself for how things had gone, even though keeping up appearances has rendered her absolutely exhausted now…
And maybe that exhaustion is exactly why her reply to the question being asked slips out before she can even think to rephrase.
"I thought you left with Jenny."
"I walked her to her car. Figured you could use some help cleaning up."
"You didn't—you didn't have to do that."
"Walk her to her car? Or come back to help?"
"Both," Casey supplies, keeping her attention on stacking the dishes she recently gathered from the den beside the sink, because she knows that if she looks Bradley in the eye, her wavering resolve will break entirely, "And you definitely didn't have to let Jenny go home alone."
"Yeah. Because that was gonna happen."
"It was pretty obvious she wanted it to."
"I didn't," Bradley states, aware of how Casey's shoulders seem to tense, her fingertips curling around the edge of the countertop until the skin covering her knuckles goes white, "What is this, Case?"
"What—what is what?"
"You're acting like you're waiting for someone to rip your heart out and force-feed you the pieces."
"Profound."
"I'm being serious."
"I'm fine," Casey persists, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, a shaky breath escaping as soon as she realizes Bradley is closing the distance between them. His hand is reaching for her wrist to pull her own away from her face. It has never been more obvious that he is intending to do whatever he can to get her to look him in the eye, and she wants to pull away, but bumps against the corner of the countertop in the process, her body effectively caged by the perpendicular pieces and her companion's significantly taller frame, "I need to—I need to get this cleaned up."
"I lost my phone. Right before heading out. That's why I never replied, so if being upset is what's behind this—"
"Upset? You—you think I'm upset?"
"Why wouldn't I? It's pretty damn obvious with how you've been avoiding me all night."
"Because I was—Jesus, Bradley, I'm not upset! I'm—I'm fucking terrified."
Casey can practically feel her heart slamming to a stop inside of her chest as soon as she says the words. She can feel the heat rushing to her cheeks, and the burn of frustrated tears at the corners of her eyes. And all of that only becomes a thousand times worse when she recognizes the feel of Bradley's palm against her cheek, her breath catching in her throat as she finally meets his gaze head-on while he replies.
"Why?"
"Because I—I know someone died."
Whatever Bradley had been expecting her to say, that clearly isn't it, his hand dropping from Casey's cheek to hang loosely at his side instead. He hadn't wanted to talk about that. Hadn't wanted the loss to mar the limited time they would have together before being forced to go their separate ways yet again. But somehow, Casey knew, already. She knew, and the circumstances of that, coupled with the loss of his phone had her panicking.
He already knows, somehow, that she'll want answers. That if he is any sort of friend at all, he should give them. But doing that would mean acknowledging the guilt—the frustration and sadness—that has been eating away at him ever since it happened, and that is something he doesn't think he will survive.
"I'm fine, Case. I'm right—I'm right here."
"It could have been you."
"It wasn't."
"But it could have been. And as much as—as I hate myself for feeling relief when another family's entire world is going to be destroyed, I just—"
"You just what?"
Casey shakes her head, too terrified to say the words that are bubbling up inside her throat, fighting to escape. She can't say them, because once she does, everything will change. There will be absolutely no way to take them back, and if Bradley doesn't feel the same—which he likely doesn't—she may lose him anyway, regardless of his very real presence before her in the moment.
They've coexisted as friends—as family—for so long now that the idea of exploring anything more almost seems impossible.
And Casey will be damned if she risks losing it all for something that is probably only a foolish dream inside of her own head.
"I think you probably should've just gone home with Jenny."
Bradley's obvious shock over the words allows Casey to slip past him and head back toward the dirty dishes in the sink, and she bites down on her lower lip so vehemently that it is almost a surprise when she does not taste her own blood. Her eyes are burning again, even in spite of the way she scrambles to erect any sort of barrier between her feelings, and the reality of Bradley's silence as she can.
The sound of muted footfalls reaches her ears and for a moment she almost thinks he is going to leave. For a moment, she almost turns to stop him, because she's still very obviously drunk, and hates that what was supposed to be an enjoyable homecoming is now sliding down the drain. She hates that it is her fault. But before she can make any sort of rational decision over what she is supposed to do to fix any of it, the footsteps stop. Silence reigns over the room for another minute or two at best, and Casey holds her breath, wondering if this is the point where she should apologize, or if she should simply wait for whatever Bradley has to say, so she doesn't ruin anything else.
"When that plane went down—I wasn't thinking about Jenny."
"Bradley—"
"I wasn't thinking about her, or my team, or any of the other women you're probably already planning to mention, okay?" He insists, moving back to stand just behind Casey, aware of how she tenses all over again, and remains resolute in keeping her back to him for as long as she can.
Which is fine, he thinks, because if she were to turn to look him in the eye right now he would probably lose his nerve.
"I was thinking about you."
Casey almost doesn't trust that she is hearing properly, even with Bradley's proximity. With how she can feel the heat radiating from his frame against her back. Through the fabric of her shirt. And before she is fully aware of it, she is turning to face him directly. Preparing to question the claim, because it cannot possibly be true.
As soon as she looks at him, though—really looks at him—the words die in her throat. His fingers brush against a tear that is slipping down her cheek, before tracing their way down to cup her jaw.
Bradley's lips are covering her own in seconds, while his hands fall to her waist to pull her close, and her back bumps against the edge of the countertop not long after. And Casey allows herself to be carried away by the sudden shift, clinging to his shoulders as though she will drown if she ever lets him go.
She allows herself to revel in the way her heart thunders against her ribs. In the way Bradley's thumbs slip beneath her shirt to brush against bare skin.
And even though she knows nothing will ever be quite the same because of it, Casey savors everything about this moment, perhaps most especially because she is not entirely certain it will ever be a possibility again.
…
(Present Day)
"It's been declined."
"You're kidding," Pete sighs, aware of the almost immediate grin Penny gives him as she slides the credit card across the bar to confirm the statement, just as he is aware of how Casey is suddenly feigning an unusual sort of interest in a dirty glass she has just withdrawn from another patron sitting at the bar to conceal her own amusement as well, "Too bad I don't know anyone that could maybe help me out."
"Well he can't be talking about me. Mom, tell me he's not talking about me."
"Even he isn't stupid enough to expect the bar owner to pay for his tab. My guess? Yeah, he's talking about you."
"Crap."
"Wow. You two are dangerous when you coordinate. Has anyone ever told you that?"
"You love us and you know it," Casey teases, slipping past Penny to deliver another beer to a man sitting a few spaces away, though her smile fades a bit as the music playing overhead stops, and a familiar figure weaves through the crowd to take a seat at the upright piano not long after, "What's the bill?"
Penny slides the bit of paper towards her daughter, and watches as Casey's eyes widen almost comically, her hand moving to rest on the younger girl's shoulder to deliver a squeeze before she speaks.
"Still think you wanna rescue him?"
"I um—yeah, maybe not."
"Okay," Pete concedes, fishing some bills out of his wallet, and frowning as he counts the negligible amount held in his hands, "How about—"
"That won't cover it."
"I'll come by tomorrow, and bring you the cash."
"I'm afraid rules are rules, Pete," Penny declines, walking backwards towards the bell hanging over the placard listing the bar's etiquette, and giving it another ring. A cheer goes up around the bar, and Penny shares an amused look with her daughter standing nearby. And she is more than a little pleased to see that Casey's grin is only growing in response to the familiar chant that is now echoing around the bar.
"Overboard! Overboard! Overboard!"
"Really?" Pete protests, looking from Penny, to Casey instead, and noting how she appears to be biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing outright, "You're gonna let her do this?"
"Overboard! Overboard!"
"Hey. Her bar? Her rules."
"That's very considerate of you, Casey. I'm proud."
"You probably should be," Casey deadpans, unable to restrain her smile, perhaps most especially when Hangman and two of the other pilots that had been gathered around the pool table move to stand at her father's side.
"Ladies. Want us to—take care of this for you?"
"Please do," Penny agrees, standing back to watch as Hangman and another taller pilot hook Pete under the arms, while their third companion takes hold of his legs by the ankles to begin towing him away while laughter echoes around the bar, "Great to see ya, Pete!"
She turns in time to notice her daughter's parting wave for their would-be victim, and the devious glint to her familiar green eyes, and Penny gives Casey a tiny little nudge in the side with her elbow before speaking again.
"Wonder what they'll do tomorrow when they find out they just tossed their instructor on his ass in the sand."
"I have no idea," Casey replies, unable to shake her amusement, even in spite of the small pull she feels in her gut as a tune she knows by heart begins to waft toward them from the direction of the piano, "But I would kill to be a fly on the wall in that room when it happens."
"Kill?"
"Or at the very least, sell a kidney."
The two of them share another laugh, but Penny can tell Casey's attention is rapidly drifting elsewhere, following the line of her daughter's gaze toward the piano with little to no effort at all…
"If you want to get over there and join him, you can. Pretty sure I can hold down the fort on my own now."
"No, I—I can help."
"Casey—"
"Really, Mom. I can help," Casey repeats, suddenly more than a little anxious to find any reason at all to prolong the inevitable talk she knows is coming, even if doing so will only risk making things worse, "At least let me get you through to closing."
Penny eyes her daughter for a moment, because she knows there is something beneath the surface. Something Casey is not saying. Some reason why she is reluctant to get too close to the one person Penny thought she would be most eager to see.
Whatever it is though, Casey is very obviously not anywhere near being ready to talk about it, and Penny isn't about to push when her daughter is finally back home.
Not when she knows that would likely be the one thing to convince Casey not to stay.
…
Hello, darlings! And welcome to a brand new chapter! I had initially intended to get to Casey and Rooster's talk by the end of this, but, as you can see, the flashback kind of got away from me, and I really wanted to feature the 'Overboard' scene at the bar in the present. So hopefully no one minds all too much? I promise, there will be more Casey/Rooster the next time around!
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 so far! And special thanks to Boris Yeltsin, ChiTown4ever, and Luvreading67 for such kind words the last time around! I appreciate the support so very much more than you know, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last!
Until next time, my loves…
MOMM