(Seven weeks earlier)
When Casey wakes the next morning, she is alone in bed, her brow furrowing as she blinks to clear her somewhat-blurred vision, while simultaneously trying to reorient herself to time and place. A headache blooms between her temples, and she winces as her stomach gives a tiny lurch, protesting the alcohol she had consumed the night before. But the longer she remains awake, levering herself up to sit while the palms of her hands rest against the mattress, and the blankets pool around her waist, memories resurface.
A flush flames across her cheeks as she remembers calloused hands on her skin. Kisses that sent fire racing through her veins, and tangled limbs.
One of her hands lifts to cover her mouth because Casey can suddenly remember every second of the previous night in vivid detail. Her skin tingles from the ghost of every caress. And although she can honestly say she regrets none of it, she cannot be too sure that the other participant feels the same.
They hadn't talked, after. Casey had dozed off, curled against Bradley's chest, at least until the sensation of his mustache tickling against her skin eventually led to both of them getting lost in one another for a second time. And it had been so startlingly easy to lose herself in those moments. To ignore potential repercussions, because truthfully, Casey had wanted this for what felt like forever.
Waking alone leaves her with questions, though. Questions over whether Bradley had wanted it too, or if he had simply gotten caught up in the moment. But as soon as Casey recognizes the sudden sound of running water coming from behind the closed door of her bathroom, she realizes maybe she isn't as alone as she initially thought…
She spends a moment or two motionless, wondering if it would be better for her to give Bradley space, or try to talk to him now. And before she can second-guess herself, Casey is throwing back the sheets and swinging her legs over the side of the bed, stooping to pluck a familiar shirt from the floor to tug over her head before standing, and heading to the bathroom door.
When she opens it, steam from the shower momentarily blinds her, but Casey remains undeterred, taking some measure of reassurance from the fact that Bradley clearly had every possible chance of leaving, and hadn't.
And that could mean he didn't think what happened between them was a mistake at all.
Or it could mean he was trying to spare her any pain, because their friendship is still important, despite recent decisions.
Frowning as the second thought comes to mind, Casey wavers on the spot, coming very close to turning back, and pretending she'd never even ventured this far at all. But in spite of that instinctive desire, she knows that she isn't going to find any answers by running away, herself. And her teeth dig into her lower lip for a moment before she gathers the wherewithal to step just a bit closer to the shower, all the while trying to ignore the way she can make out the broad lines of Bradley's torso through the condensation on the glass of the shower door.
Her mouth goes dry, whether she wants to or not, and Casey takes a meager step backward, the only thing stopping her from a second attempt at a full-on retreat being the sudden sound of Bradley's voice over the shower spray.
"Sorry, I—I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't," Casey assures, her heart landing somewhere in her throat as soon as she realizes the shower door is sliding open so that Bradley can step a bit closer, and the steam is not exactly concealing anything at all, "I um—I can—I didn't mean to interrupt."
"You didn't."
"You stayed."
"Did you really think that I wouldn't?" Bradley questions, the words soft—so soft, that Casey almost can't hear them clearly over the sound of the water coming from the showerhead, spraying onto the tiles.
"I don't—I didn't expect you to."
"Do you want me to go?"
"No."
Bradley wants to question the response because it seems far too sudden. Too much like something Casey is just saying to keep the peace. But just one look at her expression—at the determination flashing in her eyes—tells him that there is more to it. That she wouldn't be here, wearing his shirt and nothing else, if she wanted to pretend like the last twelve hours had never happened at all.
And maybe that is why he decides to direct the conversation down another path, entirely, stepping just a bit closer to the shower's edge, and reaching out a hand to trace a finger against the collar of an all too familiar shirt.
"Looks good on you."
"What?"
"My shirt."
The flush that almost immediately comes to life beneath Casey's skin forces her to avert her gaze, at least until Bradley's finger moves to rest underneath her chin, directing her to look him in the eye. Every nerve ending she possesses is aware of their proximity. Of the tiny droplets of water that splash against her skin. How every instinct all but demands she step closer. Closer than she already is.
Casey does step closer, and Bradley's hand slips to cup her jawline. Tingles race across the skin from the contact, and she leans her cheek on instinct to get closer to his calloused palm. Before she can fully rationalize what she is doing, she is following him as he backs into the shower and slides the door closed in their wake, the spray causing his shirt to stick to her skin while his mouth brushes against her temple.
"Case, is—is this okay?"
"Is it okay with you?"
Something not all that far from vulnerability is apparent in Casey's expression, and the sight of it nearly takes Bradley's breath away. He's accustomed to her bravado. To stubborn determination and a myriad of other things that make Casey who she is. But this is different. The way she is looking at him, her teeth chewing at her lower lip, says all too clearly that he could shatter her into a million pieces with just one word.
For the first time that he can recall, Casey seems genuinely uncertain. Scared. As though she truly thinks he might actually possess the ability to hurt her in any way.
And he is suddenly more than a little determined to get her to realize that will never happen. Not if he has any control over it at all.
"You really have to ask?"
"I mean technically, I—yeah. Yeah, I have to ask because I don't want you to feel like you're trapped with this—with me—and it's—I mean I don't want you to go, but you totally can if you need to, and—"
Casey is not a rambler. Not usually. But she cannot seem to stop herself from babbling on like an idiot while Bradley looks on for a moment, with a vaguely amused grin, before stifling any further attempts at an explanation with the pressure of his mouth against her own.
His hands fall on either side of her face, drifting to her neck—her shoulders—and finally, they fall to the hem of her borrowed shirt, lifting it up and over her head, and allowing the sodden fabric to fall with a muted thwack to the shower floor. And it remains there, forgotten, as the two of them get lost in each other all over again.
It isn't a discussion by any means. Both of them know that. Both are well aware of how there are now several things that require open communication between them. But for now, they seem to have reached some sort of neutral ground, and neither one is entirely willing to disturb that, now.
Instead, they simply focus on the moment. On the sensation of skin on skin, and the water's warmth enveloping them.
They do not leave the shower until the water has gone cold, and even then, a discussion of what is happening between them does not occur. But that might just be because Casey's phone is ringing insistently by the time they make it back to the bedroom to dress for the day ahead.
Not for the first time, Bradley catches himself both amused and frustrated by the perfectly imperfect timing of one Evie Saunders, but he can't exactly complain about the phone call. Not when he watches Casey's already expressive eyes light up, while she tosses her head back in a laugh.
It might just be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
…
(Present Day)
"You're not coming in?"
"Probably better if I don't," Pete replies, aware of the perplexed frown Casey wears, and managing a reluctant smile of his own in response, "Look, I don't want to make things worse."
"No, I—I get it."
"But you don't agree with it."
"You have a right to be here, same as everyone else. That's all," Casey sighs, her hands slipping inside the pockets of her jeans while a sudden gust of wind tosses a stray lock of hair in front of her face, "I'll um—text you later?"
"Sounds good. Wouldn't want to keep your friend over there waiting."
"My—friend?"
Her father nods in the direction of a parking spot just a few feet away, and Casey has to suppress an eye roll and a groan, one hand lifting in a half-hearted wave for the familiar figure before she turns away.
"I told you, he's not my friend."
"Kinda seems like he's trying to be."
"Hangman's not my type."
"Oh, so you have a type," Pete muses, unable to resist a grin as he watches while Casey flushes, her teeth digging into her lower lip before she manages a reply.
"We are—we are so not having that conversation right now."
"Later, then?"
"Preferably never."
Pete laughs at the predictable remark, and pulls Casey to him for a final embrace, the amusement that shakes her shoulders far more reassuring than he truly cares to admit. He can tell that she is still holding something back. That something has her on edge. Nervous. Almost fearful.
But he also knows that she is trying to keep that reality to herself. That she isn't ready to talk about—whatever it is that is bothering her. And pushing now will only be a sure-fire way to get Casey to clam up for good.
"We'll see about that."
"You're sure you don't want to come in?" Casey asks, already suspecting she knows the answer, despite how the realization hardly makes it any less disappointing when her father shakes his head in response, "Okay. Guess I'll just go spend time with my—"
"Friend?"
"Ugh."
Even with her exasperation, Casey can't help but grin as she spares a final wave for her father, and then turns to head toward the bar in earnest. And even when she looks up in time to see Jake Seresin pushing his frame away from the back of his car to meet her halfway to the door, that grin doesn't fade, one eyebrow lifting as she takes in the obvious curiosity in his expression before he can even attempt to stow it away.
"What?"
"Nothing. Just uh—what's the deal with you and Maverick?"
"There's no deal."
"Really? Because that right there? Kind of looked like it was a deal."
"What do you think it was, Hangman?" Casey inquires, allowing her newfound companion to open the door for her, in favor of looking up at him with a skeptically raised brow. He seems to hedge for a moment, wondering if he should press the issue, or simply let it go. But it is not all that surprising when he opts for the former, and Casey has to exert a significant amount of effort to refrain from laughing outright as soon as his question is out in the open.
"Heard a lot of talk about all of his exploits earlier."
"And you want to know if I'm one of them?"
"I didn't say that," Jake protests, caught off guard by Casey's faint smile, her steps slowing as she peers up at him with an unreadable expression, "Look, I didn't miss how you were more than willing to let us take the hit on tossing him overboard last night."
"You're right. I was definitely more than willing to let you take the hit."
"And today, I found out that the guy we tossed on his ass last night is actually our instructor, and something tells me you knew that all along. So I'm just a little curious what the relationship is there. That's all."
"You're really sure you want to know?"
"Wouldn't be asking if I wasn't."
"Okay," Casey begins, casting a glance farther inside the bar, her smile fading just a bit as she realizes her appearance has already garnered some attention, whether she wanted it to or not. Her mother is pausing in the act of handing a patron a beer, and Bradley is seated nearby, waiting for her as promised, the look he shares with Penny giving Casey every reason to believe she needs to end this quickly, before either of them come to the wrong conclusion, "I'm not one of his exploits. Just to be clear."
"No? What are you, then?"
"Just the result of one."
The shell-shocked expression on Jake's face is far more rewarding than Casey expects, and she cannot suppress her satisfaction as she offers him an attempt at an innocent smile before she turns to walk away. And she knows it's probably stupid. Juvenile, even, to obtain so much amusement from something so miniscule…
Even so, she would be a liar to pretend she isn't enjoying it, and whatever vestiges of uncertainty that remain fade away rather quickly when Jake catches up to her, giving her a slight nudge with his elbow, and ample opportunity to register the resigned amusement behind his obvious smirk before he speaks.
"Thanks for that. I love a good heart attack after a long day in the air."
Casey might be wrong, but she thinks she sees the faintest hints of a grudging sort of respect beneath Jake's amusement and slight frustration over her antics. And maybe that is what makes it so easy for her to return the nudge he had given her, even if the effort is overzealous enough to actually cause him to stumble.
"Any time, Hangman. Any time."
…
"So you and Hangman. Is that a thing?"
"Um—definitely not."
"Does he know that?" Bradley questions, eyeing the obvious twitch at the corner of Casey's mouth, while she slips into a seat beside him at the bar, confusion apparent in his own expression as soon as he notices her shoulders shaking with poorly suppressed laughter, "What?"
"Nothing."
"It doesn't look like nothing."
"Trust me. It is," Casey assures, doing her best to tamp down her amusement over exactly how much Bradley is sounding like her father right now, because she knows saying anything even remotely close to that would be a sure-fire way to dampen the mood between them in seconds, "Jake and I are just—"
"Friends?"
"Probably more like frenemies."
"Frenemies," Bradley repeats, unable to fully resist the soft laugh that escapes, even in spite of the lingering confusion over Casey's intentions and the mischievous slant to her smile, "Why is that not reassuring me right now?"
"I have absolutely no idea."
"Playing the innocent card. It's—cute, Case."
"Aww. You think I'm cute?"
Casey freezes as soon as the words escape, and her heart very nearly slams to a stop inside her chest, the flush that burns at her cheeks uncomfortable, to say the least. She hates this. This undercurrent of tension that both of them have been trying so hard to ignore. But she doesn't exactly know what to do to fix it. How to even begin trying to talk about it. How to make it go away.
They always used to tease each other like this before. It had come to them so easily that it was almost second-nature. And Casey had always figured that part of their relationship would never change. Never.
The fact that she was obviously wrong about that had never been more clear than it is right now.
Fortunately, however, Bradley seems to pick up on the turmoil of Casey's thoughts, at least to a degree. He seems to sense her nervousness and discomfort, because before she can even attempt to try to correct herself, he is giving her a nudge to the side with his elbow, a slight smile twitching at the corners of his mouth before he replies.
"I think I would be smarter if I didn't answer that."
"Ouch."
"Ouch?"
"Yeah. You know, it's a word people say when something hurts them."
"Oh really? I didn't know that."
"Well now you do," Casey teases, returning the nudge Bradley had given her earlier with one of her own, far more relieved than she cares to admit for some shred of hope at returning to more neutral ground, "How um—how was it? Today."
"Don't worry about it."
"Nice one. Try again."
"Seriously?"
It doesn't take long for Bradley to realize he really should have seen this coming. That he should have known Casey wouldn't be likely to back down from finding out the events of the day. And he doesn't want to involve her. He doesn't want to make her feel trapped between him, and her father.
A part of him worries over mentioning anything about the day's events at all. Worries that doing so will only accentuate the lingering undercurrent of uncertainty resting between them. But even with that uncertainty, Bradley can recognize the determination in Casey's eyes. In her expression. He knows she isn't about to back down, and that she will see through any attempts at distraction in seconds, flat.
Bradley doesn't want to answer honestly, but he also doesn't want to risk upsetting Casey with a lie. A sigh escapes, and his shoulders flex, despite knowing that the act will only spark further suspicion than he has already earned with his silence.
He is about to come clean—finally—when the sudden sensation of Casey's fingers threading through his own bring him pause, his gaze meeting hers as she offers him a tentative smile.
"If you—if you really don't want to talk about it, I'll shut up."
"Case—"
"I'm serious. I didn't—I don't want to pry. I just—"
"You just what?"
"I just want to make sure you're okay."
"I'm good," Bradley assures, glancing down at where Casey's hand rests securely in his own, the pad of his thumb brushing against soft skin before he can fully decide if he wants to stop it or not, "And you're Switzerland, remember?"
"Actually, I kind of thought the fact that I'm asking specific questions would sort of imply that I'm not."
"I don't want to put you in an uncomfortable position, Case."
"And this is me, saying that you won't."
"He's your father."
"Yeah? And you're my best friend."
"You really aren't going to give this up, are you?"
"Not unless you actually really want me to," Casey confirms, watching as a muscle in Bradley's jaw seems to jump, while his hand tightens just a bit around her own, "I can talk about literally anything else if you'd rather."
"Anything else?"
"Um—yes?"
"Then what did you really want to talk about yesterday? Because I get the feeling it wasn't supposed to be about Mav."
Frowning, Casey tries to ignore the sinking sensation in her stomach. The nausea that bubbles up from out of nowhere. Her hand slips free of Bradley's, and she tries not to consider it a loss, regardless of the tug around her heart that comes about as a result. Suddenly, it feels like the air is thinning around her, making it difficult to catch her breath. But she knows that the longer she remains silent, the more suspicious she will seem, and so she forces herself to swallow past her nerves, a shaky exhalation escaping before she turns to look Bradley in the eye.
"I just—I wanted to talk about what happened after—after that last mission, but I don't think we should do it here."
Recognition flares in Bradley's eyes, and he manages a small nod, his concern only growing as he recognizes the tension that seems to reverberate through Casey's frame. Her shoulders are taut. Back straight. Almost as though she is preparing to leave at the slightest provocation.
His hand is reaching to regain a hold on hers before he can stop it, because he doesn't want her to leave. In fact, he is nothing short of desperate to prevent it. And even though he can feel her muscles twitching beneath his fingertips, he doesn't let go.
"You're right. We probably shouldn't."
"So do you—um—do you want to—"
"Get out of here?" Bradley suggests, waiting for the nod Casey gives, and fighting back a smile as she almost immediately hops down from the seat she is perching on, her smaller frame coming just a fraction of an inch closer to his side as a result, "Okay. Let me just pay the tab."
"Oh, I can cover that."
"Seriously? I think I can afford your club soda and a beer."
"You sure about that?" Casey quips, cheeky smile already in place, even in spite of the roiling nervousness that makes it seem like a swarm of hornets has been unleashed in her gut. The smile Bradley has been trying to restrain finally breaks free, and she is stunned for a moment at the sight of it.
It is all that she can do to keep at least some small shred of composure as she watches him slide free of his own seat, the movement bringing him impossibly close. Close enough for her to be able to lean up on tiptoe to brush her lips against his if she really wanted to.
And God, does she ever want to…
The sudden boldness of the idea startles her, but Casey doesn't have time to decide whether or not she should actually act on it, her attention distracted by the sensation of something metallic sliding against the skin of her palm. She blinks, glancing down to notice a set of keys in her hand that had not been there seconds before, and looks back up just in time to notice Bradley's amused smirk, and skeptically raised brow.
"I'll um—I'll just—"
"I'll meet you at the truck."
Nodding, because she can't seem to get any more words out past the sudden obstruction in her throat, Casey turns and begins to weave through the bar toward the door, the memory of Bradley's almost mischievous grin causing a small smile to tug at her own lips as well. Her heart is still pounding, and she can feel her hands trembling around the keys.
Casey tightens her grip on them, and tries to think of something—anything—to calm her nerves, because she doesn't want her own inability to settle upon even a fraction of her usual confidence to put a damper on anything if she can help it. But before she can fully commit to such a thing, the sound of her cell phone chirping from inside her jeans pocket distracts her, her brow furrowing as she withdraws the device. As she fights against the jolt of recognition she experiences when the number Evie had contacted her from the previous day flashes across the screen.
Nearly dropping the phone in her haste to answer before it goes to voicemail, Casey presses herself back against the wall as another group of pilots enter the bar, and manages to lift a hand to motion for Natasha to go ahead without stopping to greet her as soon as she catches the dark-haired woman's curious gaze. Nat looks more than a little confused, but she still proceeds inside, leaving Casey to focus on taking in a breath before she answers her phone, a million questions firing in her mind all at once and making it nearly impossible to settle for a simple greeting on its own.
"Evie? Hey, what—what's going on?"
"Can you meet me?"
"Yeah. Yeah, of course," Casey agrees, frowning as she immediately shifts her mind to the task of trying to come up with a reason to leave town, while simultaneously casting a glance back at the bar in time to watch Bradley say something that causes her mother to laugh, "Where are you?"
"Outside a bar. The Hard Deck. Do you know it?"
"Of course I know it, Ev, I—wait. Are you—are you in North Island right now?"
"I know, I'm sorry, I never meant to just drop in like this," Evie apologizes, something in the shaky nature of the words prompting Casey to cut in before her friend can say another word.
"You're welcome to drop in any time. You know that. I'm actually at that exact bar right now, so just give me a sec and I'll be right out, okay?"
"Oh. Yeah, sure. Okay."
The line goes dead, and Casey slips through another small grouping of patrons to step out into the blazing sunlight of early evening, squinting her eyes until they can adjust to the sudden shift in light. It takes a moment for her to locate Evie, but when she does, alarm bells clamor almost immediately.
Her friend looks—tired. Drawn. Almost scared. But as soon as Evie turns to see Casey herself, her expression changes, her steps carrying her forward until she can pull her friend into a warm embrace.
"God I missed you, Casey—"
"I missed you too, Ev," Casey says, aware of how her friend seems to tremble in her embrace, even in spite of her best efforts to hide it, "What—"
"I don't—I don't want to talk about it here."
"Okay. Where—where do you want to go?"
"Can we just—go inside, for now?"
Casey wants to question the request, because if they do go inside, they clearly won't be talking about anything remotely related to whatever led to Evie's presence in North Island. But as she pulls back, just a single look at her friend's expression indicates that Evie needs this. That she needs a reprieve, even if it only lasts a moment.
In spite of her better judgment, Casey nods, looping an arm through Evie's to tug her back inside the bar, and hoping with all she has that whatever is so unnerving to her friend is not something she cannot outrun. But even hoping doesn't make her any less determined to help, no matter the cost, because Evie is family. Even if she is not related by blood. And if Casey remembers nothing else about her childhood, she knows one thing.
Family is something worth fighting for to the end.
…
When Bradley finishes paying for the drinks he and Casey shared, negligible though they were, and slips away from Penny's apparent suspicion about what may or may not be going on between the two of them, he is left with an almost unnerving level of apprehension. From what Penny had been asking him, she wasn't privy to the exact details of the latest shift in his relationship with her daughter. Casey hadn't told her.
He had been grateful for that, at first. Grateful, because he isn't entirely sure he wants anyone coming to a conclusion about everything that had happened between them until he and Casey could talk about it themselves.
But now? Now he is starting to wonder if Penny knowing might actually be a good thing. If she would be able to talk Casey through some of the uncertainty she is so clearly experiencing, because Bradley isn't sure he can do the same without somehow scaring her off.
If Casey hadn't told her mother, though, he sure as hell wasn't going to do it and risk betraying her trust, and so Bradley begins the trek toward the doors to meet her by his truck. He manages to get about half of the way there, before noticing Casey walking back towards him with a familiar blonde in tow.
As soon as his eyes meet Casey's, Bradley recognizes her slight shake of the head. He notices the slight pallor to Evie's usually tanned skin.
Another look at where Casey is standing by Evie's side tells him in no uncertain terms that he would be wise to avoid questioning her sudden appearance now, no matter how much he might want to. And that leaves Bradley with no choice but to accept her presence, at least for now, even if it means that talk with Casey will probably have to wait.
As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Evie seems to hesitate for a moment before slipping away from Casey, and moving toward Bradley instead, her arms snaking around his waist while his own wind around her shoulders. And as he meets Casey's eyes again over the top of her friend's head, he can't help but marvel over one single fact that makes Evie uniquely herself...
The woman always did have some pretty uncanny timing.
…
Hello there, darling readers! And welcome to a brand new chapter! I know, I know, Casey and Rooster technically haven't had a chance to actually talk about everything that's happened (and everything that is about happen) between them just yet, but the muses sort of took over and wanted to go the way we ended up here, instead. Oops? In any case, though, I do hope you all enjoy what you found here? I promise Casey and Rooster will have that talk sooner rather than later! I just thought it might flow a little better to introduce my other variable in the plotting (aka Evie) now, and then see how things pan out from there!
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 those who left such encouraging feedback the last time around (Boris Yeltsin, SirenWolf28, ChiTown4ever, and batgirlinmetropolisoncybertron, this means you!) I would be absolutely nowhere without all of your kindness and support, and I truly hope everyone continues to enjoy where the story goes from here!
Until next time, angels…
MOMM