When Maggie Kazansky pulls into the familiar driveway of her family's home, and cuts the engine, she does not immediately move to venture indoors. Instead, she flexes her fingers around the steering wheel, while allowing her head to drop back against the seat at her back, and her eyes slip closed to ward off unwanted tears.
It had been second-nature to take a last minute leave of absence from her office in New York to come home as soon as she heard the news. She can still recall the way her entire world ground to a halt when her parents called, just a little over a week ago to the day.
Hearing that her father's cancer was back—that the doctors knew of nothing to delay the inevitable this time around—had stolen her breath away. Maggie still isn't entirely sure she's fully recovered. In fact, it seems highly likely that she really never will recover at all.
Just the thought of what is coming intensifies the burning that rests barely leashed behind her closed eyelids, and the steering wheel emits a slight squeak of protest as Maggie's grip tightens just a little more in response before she is letting go completely.
She can do this. She has to do this. Her parents raised her to be strong. Self-sufficient. A steady point in a storm.
So that is exactly what the hell she is going to be.
Taking as much strength as she can from the thought, Maggie pushes open the driver's side door and stands erect, stiff muscles stretching until she can feel and hear the muted pop of a few bones along the ridge of her spine. She takes a deep breath of familiar air, trying to pretend it doesn't set off a pang of guilt, deep inside her gut.
She should have come home sooner. Should have visited more often. She should have known that her father's remission, as promising as it was, would never truly last.
Guilt isn't going to serve her now, though. Maggie reminds herself of that as she opts for leaving her bags in the car for now, in favor of simply heading to the front door. She misses her family. Her home. It's been like a physical ache inside of her chest ever since starting the drive across the country.
A thin smile pulls at both corners of her mouth as Maggie wonders exactly what sort of reaction her parents may give at the thought of her driving alone, often with little to no sleep, just to get home that much faster. And even if a part of her knows full well that a plane would have gotten her here faster still, she cannot quite bring herself to regret her choice.
Not knowing that hours sitting, motionless, with the knowledge of her father's disease rolling around in her mind would have only been likely to drive her insane.
With her feet finally on the front porch, Maggie hesitates, torn between reaching for the doorbell, and simply using her keys to unlock the door for herself. She grew up in this home, rendering protocol as a guest a moot point, yet after so long away, she is still not entirely sure what she should do. But before she can make any sort of attempt at discerning why she is suddenly so uncertain, the door opens on its own, and she catches herself looking at her mother's familiar smile.
"Hey, Mama."
If asked later, Maggie couldn't have said which one of them moved first. She couldn't tell whether her mother pulled her into a tight embrace, or if she had somehow moved naturally towards that outcome, herself. All that she does know, after the fact, is that the ability to fold herself into someone else like that has apparently been a skill not lost to time apart.
By some miracle, she is able to keep the stinging at the corners of her eyes at bay, though she cannot possibly tell for how long that small mercy will last. Maggie inhales the scent of her mother's familiar perfume, and savors the squeeze of the older woman's arms around her waist.
Truthfully, she would be content to stay precisely where she is forever, if such a thing would actually be allowed, but the sound of shuffling coming from farther down the hall is enough to pull her away from her mother. To have her lifting her head to peer around the shoulder that is partially obstructing her view.
All it takes is a single look at her father. A second, beneath the assessing nature of his gaze, before all hope Maggie possesses for maintaining some semblance of composure falls to pieces. Her mother releases her completely, then, and she surges forward, throwing her arms around her father's middle as his own come to wind around her shoulders, and one hand lifts to press gently at the back of her head.
It would have taken far more restraint than she is currently capable of to hold back the strangled sob that tears its way free of her throat, and so Maggie does not even bother trying to resist it, her fingers fisting in the fabric of a familiar blue sweater as though holding onto him as tightly as she can will keep her father here, with her, no matter what outside force may come to yank him away.
She can still feel the strength in his own hold on her smaller frame. She can hear the steady thump of his heart beneath where her ear rests against his chest. Maggie is more than aware of how her tears seem to be causing her entire body to shake. Of how they are soaking into the fabric of the worn blue sweater she is pressing against, and even then, her father does not move. He remains steady, just as he always has, before.
It strikes her as odd, noting that strength. She cannot seem to reconcile it with the fact that he is a dying man, whether she truly wishes to face up to that reality or not.
Nothing about this embrace feels any different. Absolutely nothing. And if she had not been raised to be logical—to accept the facts—by the man she now clings to as though her own existence depends almost exclusively on his, Maggie knows that she would be utterly powerless to resist the urge to give in to denial with everything she has.
"You know, if you'd called to let us know when your flight was getting in, we could've met you at the airport and saved you trying to find a rental."
"I didn't fly in, Mama" Maggie admits, frowning at the way her voice seems to tremble, as though she is too far gone to even try to appear capable of gathering herself together. Already, she can sense her mother's frown, even without pulling away from her current position curled into her father's frame to look the older woman in the eye.
Josephine Kazansky's next words truly do not surprise her daughter at all as she pulls away from her father enough to finally turn to face her head-on, and she uses the momentary distraction provided by them to lift both hands to wipe at errant tears.
"I suppose you managed most of the trip with little to no sleep?"
"Well there was plenty of coffee—"
"Maggie," Jo sighs, leveling her daughter with an affectionate, if not exasperated smile, one hand already reaching out to tuck a stray lock of dark hair behind the younger woman's ear along the way, "What are we going to do with you?"
"Keep me around, hopefully. The gas to get out here alone was like—insanely expensive."
"Yet another reason why flying would've been better."
"Of course you would say that," Maggie quips, rather eagerly accepting the weight of her father's arm around her shoulders in time with his own attempt at adding his thoughts to the conversation, and leaning against his side not long after, "I think the term for it is bias, Dad."
Her father's answering laugh, pained though it may sound, provokes a smile, even if Maggie can tell in seconds that it falls woefully short of her usual. And although she can already feel it beginning to fade, she is still just a little reluctant to disclose the real reason behind her decision to travel by car.
Or at least she is until she gets a chance to really look at her father's expression. To recognize the way in which he already seems to be drawing his own conclusions, even though she has not spoken a word of the truth out loud.
And as soon as that realization sets in, Maggie decides there really isn't much point in trying to keep her reasons to herself anymore.
"I just didn't—I couldn't just sit there. It was easier to have something to—to distract me, I guess."
Aware of the look her parents share, Maggie does what she can to persuade her former smile to reappear. She tries to take a steadying breath, because if her attempt at providing reassurance is to be believed, there can be absolutely no trace of uncertainty or hesitation in her voice.
Though she hardly wants to, she forces herself to pull away from her comfortable position leaning against her father's side, her teeth digging into her lower lip for a moment before she summons the wherewithal to speak.
"I'm fine. Really. I just really wanted to get home, and it—this seemed like the best way to do it."
"Well when was the last time you ate something?"
The predictability of the question has Maggie sharing a slightly more convincing grin with her father, and it isn't long before he inclines his head just a bit to indicate they should follow after her mother, who is clearly already intent on heading for the kitchen. In truth, she hadn't even given much consideration to food, but now the mere mention of it has her stomach emitting a rumbling growl.
Her father's arm winds around her shoulder again, and Maggie happily leans against his side, trying to avoid any prolonged thought of what is to come in favor of simply enjoying the moment. She blinks rapidly as the burning sensation attempts to return to her eyes.
It would be a lie to pretend she doesn't know what is coming. That she can't feel it in her very bones, despite hardly wanting to believe it. Her father is dying. There is nothing she can do to stop it. But even with that reality all but staring her in the face, Maggie is determined to do whatever she can to be there for her father, just as he had been for so many years, for her.
Even if that means she is left with little choice but to fall apart later.
…
When Casey had asked him to come to the bar that night, Pete admittedly hadn't really known what to expect. There was only so much he could glean from a singular text, anyway, but even so, he hadn't been able to shake the sensation in his gut, telling him something was wrong. That something had her scared.
Regardless of whether the thought troubles him more than he cares to admit, Casey had stopped immediately reaching out to him to fix her problems a long time ago. From the sound of things, she'd done the same with Penny. Ice and Jo, too. And sure, in theory, he understood the reasons why. She is hardly a little girl anymore, and independence had always been something he and Penny had tried to encourage from day one.
Still, those facts aren't entirely enough to relieve him of his concern. Of the idea that, if Casey is actively seeking guidance rather than trying to handle everything on her own, she must really be in over her head.
Occasional glances at Penny throughout Casey's attempt at disclosure tells him she is thinking essentially the same thing, but if Pete knows nothing else, it is that his daughter is hardly the sort to know a friend is in danger, and turn the other way.
And now, here they are. Apparently on the other end of a pissed off drug dealer who wants his money back, no questions asked.
A pissed off drug dealer that is already in California, and had already turned up at the bar as well.
The slight squeak of the office chair as Casey shifts just a bit in the silence since her latest confession effectively pulls Pete from his own internal musings, though, and as soon as he notices the way she bites down on her lower lip, he knows.
He knows she is waiting for one of them to say something. Anything to indicate the two of them took in a word at all.
So why is the idea of actually trying to do that suddenly as difficult as pulling teeth?
Pete knows why. Or at least he does, if he is being honest with himself, because before, whenever Casey had been in trouble, the problems had been, comparatively, easy to fix. Nothing had ever been a direct threat to her life.
Even having years to get to know Evie as something of a wild card, at times, he can hardly fathom how she got herself tangled up in a situation like this. But the fact of the matter is, they're in it, now.
They're in it now, and they clearly need to find a way out.
Something Penny apparently has a better handle on than he can, at least at the moment, if her sudden decision to break the silence between them is any indication at all.
"I don't think not going to the police is an option, honey. Not if he's here."
"No, I—I know," Casey acknowledges, the defeated expression that graces her features before she can stop it causing Pete's jaw to clench at the idea of anyone who would make her feel that way at all, "And I mean maybe—she finally agreed to the idea of me telling someone outside of the two of us, so maybe—"
"Maybe you can talk her around?"
"Actually, I was kind of hoping one of you might do that."
It seems painfully obvious how much just owning up to the admission costs, because even though he is not the one Casey is directly responding to, Pete can recognize how quickly she is averting her eyes. As though the idea of needing help at all is something to be ashamed of. And he gets it. He's felt it. He's been the guy trying so damned hard to do everything himself that he can't even recognize the signs of impending fracture until it's too late.
It certainly isn't anything he ever wanted for his daughter, but somehow, she seems to have inherited the tendency from him regardless. For Casey to be able to ask anything of him, or Penny, right now, only goes to show how terrified she truly is.
Terrified. But also brave as hell, because Pete isn't entirely sure he would be capable of letting anyone else in, if he was in Casey's shoes.
Maybe she's got a bit more of Penny in her, after all.
"Does she still have the money?"
Casey manages a nod in response to Penny's question, but seems capable of little else, and when Penny shifts her attention towards him, Pete can already tell that she's putting together the pieces of everything their daughter cannot seem to say out loud.
Pete wants to do something—anything, really—to remove the tension that is so apparent in the taut line of his daughter's shoulders. To get rid of the fear that causes her hands to shake when she lifts them to card through the dark strands of her hair. Although she is well into adulthood by now, there is absolutely nothing that will convince him that protecting her is no longer his primary concern.
Even if all signs point to exactly how he has failed to do so, thus far.
"I'm—I'm sorry. Really. I didn't mean to drag either of you into this, but I just—I couldn't—"
"You did the right thing."
The words are out in the open before he is consciously aware of it, but even then Pete is nowhere near close to taking them back. Not when Casey's gaze flicks to his own, her expression practically begging for the chance to believe that the assurance he provides is actually real. He recognizes that, as well. He remembers going to Viper after Goose died, needing someone else to tell him what to do. Clawing for any semblance of a reason to believe his decisions had been the right ones to make.
"You did the right thing, kiddo. If you don't believe anything else, believe that."
Pete would have to be blind to miss the relief that causes Casey to sag almost instantaneously in response to the statement, but the sentiment is far too short-lived for his liking, her face paling just a bit as she suddenly rockets up from her seat, one hand pressed firmly against her lips.
"Casey, what—"
She disappears through the office door before he can even finish the inquiry, and Pete spends a minute torn between following after her, or looking to Penny for answers, instead. Before he can fully decide, though, Penny seems to take the liberty of doing so for him, having somehow stood from her own spot perched against the desk when he wasn't looking to move close enough to place a hand against his shoulder.
"So what do we do?"
"Maybe go see if she's okay, for a start," Pete replies, startled as soon as he realizes his effort to move after his daughter is thwarted by the slight tightening of Penny's fingers against the fabric of his shirt, "What?"
"She's not okay, Pete. Neither is Evie, and they won't be, until—"
"I don't like the idea of the three of you, and Amelia, on your own in that house, Pen."
"Well I'm not about to put Evie out on the street. Not even if we didn't both know Casey would go with her the second I did," Penny protests, the vehemence behind the words perhaps just a bit unwarranted, given the understanding that flickers in Pete's expression almost as soon as he realizes what he's just said, "We need to get her to talk to the police. But if we can't, I don't know what else we're supposed to do."
"Then we find a way to change her mind."
"How, Pete?"
He doesn't have an immediate answer to that, and it kills him, because for all of his jokes about never needing a concrete plan over the years, he knows that sort of response is nowhere near what Penny needs right now. It isn't what Casey needs, either.
Pete can't exactly escape the crippling sense of failure that slips in once he really considers that. As he wonders when it became so difficult to keep everything together.
On his feet before he can even fully recognize it, he only just manages to notice Penny's incredulous expression as he moves toward the office door. Whatever she might have expected him to do, this clearly isn't it. Not even close. But even with the lack of any sort of concrete plan, he knows he can't just stay here waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Pete. What are we going to do?"
"See if you can talk to Evie about the police. We'll figure it out from there."
"Pete!"
"Pen, I promise. We'll figure it out from there," Pete assures, hardly knowing if he can believe the words himself, but trying to make it seem as though he does for Penny's benefit, if nothing else.
He has no way of knowing if Evie will agree to go to the police. No way of knowing if there is anything they can do to help her if she refuses. Casey will absolutely stick by her friend's side, no matter what, and all of this could blow up on them before anyone even has a chance to stop it.
His hand hovers on instinct over the pocket of his jacket that conceals his cell phone, and suddenly, the decision is made. Or at least it is if Penny does not succeed.
Ice apparently wants to see him anyway. There's nothing saying he can't at least try to find out if the man who always seems to have every last facet of his life together has any insight to this at all.
It isn't entirely a secret that Penny is still caught off guard by his actions. Pete can read that quite clearly just by looking at her face. But he had never been one to back down from a decision, whether it had been made in a split second or not.
And this time appears to be no different from any others in the past.
…
The blond pilot—Hangman—is back, again.
Evie's cheeks flame as soon as the realization sinks in. She hates how her stomach swoops as soon as she meets his gaze head-on, and he offers her a not so subtle wink.
She shouldn't be entertaining any thought of him at all. She is a fool for doing anything other than trying to figure out how to get rid of Aiden for good. But here she is. Behind the bar, turning to hand him a beer, and finding that she cannot stop the grin from pulling at the corners of her mouth as soon as his fingertips brush against her own.
"Change your mind, yet, darlin'?"
"What?"
"Well, last time I was here, you were dead set on saying you didn't like me," The pilot clarifies, the smirk he wears prompting Evie to bite down on the inside of her cheek to restrain yet another smile, "Was just wondering if you'd changed your mind yet."
"I hardly know you."
"That can change any time."
In spite of the blatant implication behind the words, Evie somehow manages not to drop the empty glass she had been intending to wash, but it is a near enough thing, her heart jackhammering along against her ribs whether she wants it to be or not. A part of her isn't all that convinced that the man so intent upon teasing her hasn't picked up on this already. That he hasn't seen her pulse jumping against her throat, or heard the rapid pounding of her heart somehow, even above the music wafting down from speakers above the bar.
If he does, though, he says absolutely nothing about it, and Evie allows herself to take some measure of solace in the task of taking care of the empty glass in her hands even in spite of the lingering burn of a flush against her cheeks.
Or at least she takes solace in it until the pilot decides to attempt pulling her into a conversation yet again.
"What time are you done here?"
"Oh, I—you don't have to—you shouldn't be asking me that," Evie stammers, keeping her gaze carefully averted because she knows just a singular glance at the pilot's cool blue-green eyes will unravel her in seconds.
He shouldn't be asking her anything about her free time. She shouldn't be struggling against a nearly overwhelming urge to give him exactly what he wants.
Evie squeezes her eyes together for a moment in order to take a steadying breath, her hold on the glass in her hands tightening just enough that she almost fears it will crack beneath the strain.
"Don't ask me that."
The man's brow furrows, and for a moment Evie almost feels guilty over her own role in his apparent confusion. She almost wonders if she should try to take the words back, even knowing that she never can. There is absolutely no justification she can find for getting involved with anyone else. Especially not with Aiden here.
It's bad enough that Casey is involved. Bradley. Mav and Penny.
The knot inside of her stomach twists in protest at the thought of what Aiden could do to any one of them, if he wanted. And every last minute of whatever it was would be her fault.
It is something she simply cannot afford, and she knows far more than most that bringing yet another person into her circle right now would only give Aiden more leverage than he already has to bring against her.
Even with how she hardly knows this pilot, her heart staggers a bit within her chest at the thought of what could happen if Aiden thought she was involved with someone else. He had always been the jealous sort, and it's never been beneath him to pick a fight.
Evie's stomach twists again, and it is all she can do to place the glass on the bar before it shatters to the floor, her breath escaping her in a strangled hiss as panic threatens to overwhelm her yet again.
Her hands press, palms flat, against the surface of the bar, and she forces herself to look the pilot in the eye. She forces herself, because maybe, if she succeeds, he'll take her denial seriously. Maybe he will realize this isn't just an attempt at being coy, or trying to egg him on.
The very real flicker of concern in his expression when she does meet his gaze nearly severs her resolve, but even so, Evie persists, swallowing past a sudden constriction in her throat, and finding herself more than a little surprised when her attempt at speaking is rather abruptly cut off.
"Why?"
"I—why what?"
"Why can't I ask you when you're done here?"
The question isn't issued like any of his other statements thus far. Evie could have recognized that even if her panic had managed to fully consume her. If she had not been able to keep at least a part of it at bay. Instead of the obvious cockiness behind his former attempts at conversation, this time, the words are softer. Almost as if he truly does harbor some sort of genuine concern.
It surprises her, because even in spite of her intrigue, Evie had rather quickly pegged him as the sort that is only ever looking for a conquest. Concern for anything or anyone other than that one, singular thing, had seemed to be out of the question.
Her throat goes dry as she continues to watch him, watching her. She tries to swallow again, but the effort clearly fails.
For what has to be the hundredth time since he sat down, Evie feels her cheeks beginning to flame beneath another blush. She watches, as a slight furrow forms between his brows because clearly her silence is hardly reassuring.
Her eyes dart over to where Jimmy has come to join her behind the bar, either having sensed her distraction, or just because they were a bit busier than they had been moments before, she cannot tell. But all too soon, her attention slides back to the pilot she truly does owe some sort of an answer to, and Evie does what she can to manage a faint smile for his benefit, even if she already seems to know he isn't going to take any stock in it at all.
"I'm just—I'm not really looking for—well—that."
"That?"
"Oh come on, you know exactly what I mean!"
"So you've been thinking about it," The pilot quips, the smirk that toys with the corners of his mouth causing Evie's eyes to go wide, while her mouth pops open in shock, "Sounds like you're the one making assumptions here."
"No, I—that's not what I'm—"
"You do like me, though."
"I did—I definitely did not say that," Evie denies, unable to fully stop her own grin from spreading as her companion's answering laugh causes something to turn over within her chest. She can tell he isn't buying her attempt at diversion. Not for a second.
It doesn't fill her with fear like she half-expects it to. For a moment, she fully embraces the way his attention makes her feel, because she is so very tired of living on a knife's edge, waiting for everything to fall apart.
The feeling cannot last, though. And it doesn't, the sensation of how it is already beginning to fade taking away Evie's smile in little to no time at all. Again, she bites down on her lower lip, and she can tell the pilot standing across from her is once again returning to his former show of concern.
Her attention shifts as soon as she realizes Casey is weaving her way toward the bar, while Penny is doing the same, and it is not long before she catches herself frowning just a bit in momentary confusion, the only thing stopping her from directly questioning their intentions being the way Penny offers her a warm smile while simultaneously moving behind the bar to take her place.
"Why don't you and Casey head on home, okay? I think Jimmy and I can take it from here."
"Are—are you sure?" Evie questions, almost immediately aware of Penny's answering nod, in time with Casey's presence hovering at her side, "I—I'm sorry. Really, I—I am."
"No one blames you, sweetheart. You did the best you could."
Startled, Evie can hardly believe the words, but the sincerity behind them is nothing short of abundantly clear. Even if she isn't poignantly aware that the entire exchange only seems to ignite the interest of the man she had been speaking with earlier, she wouldn't know how to reply. She couldn't even come close.
The sensation of Casey's hand reaching for her own effectively removes the opportunity from her in seconds, though, and Evie can do no more than force a tremulous smile to her lips as Casey begins to gently tug her away from the bar, in hopes that Penny will somehow understand exactly what it means.
"Wait—wait, Casey what about—what about Bradley?" The blonde inquires, her steps slowing just a bit as she glances back to where the man in question had been sitting, only to realize with a jolt that she can no longer see any hint of him at all, "I didn't—I don't want you to miss out on time with him just to take me home."
"I won't be."
"But he's not—"
"He's already outside, silly. You are apparently the lucky recipient of the rare opportunity for a ride home in the Bronco."
"But my car's still here."
"I know," Casey nods, something in the small furrow between her brows giving Evie pause, and prompting their exit from the bar to slow once again.
"What aren't you telling me, Casey?"
"I'm gonna need your keys."
Horror steals through Evie's frame at the thought. Her blood runs cold, and it feels as though her heart will simply stop at any second. Already, Casey is turning to face her, and Evie recognizes the familiarity behind the stubborn gleam to her friend's gaze…
"No. No. Absolutely not!"
"Ev—"
"No! You can't—you can't even begin to tell me Bradley actually agreed to this!" Evie exclaims, the words already ringing false, since she knows the woman standing before her well enough to realize that there is absolutely nothing to be done to talk her out of this if her mind is already set, "You didn't give him a choice, did you?"
"To be fair, Ev, if—if anything does somehow happen, here, you'll want him with you, as opposed to me."
Unable to do anything but shake her head, even knowing it will do little to no good, Evie once again fights against the nearly overwhelming panic that threatens to drag her under. She knows that Casey has a point. She can see that her friend hates the idea of what they are about to do just as much as she does. And as much as she hardly wants Bradley getting hurt because of her, Evie is not blind to the reality of how he stands a better chance against Aiden than either she or Casey would alone.
Perhaps that is why she finally allows Casey to loop their arms together and resume their trek out to the parking lot, her mind already going in at least a thousand different directions, trying to anticipate any of the multitude of ways in which all of this could go wrong.
It isn't until they actually reach the Bronco that she summons the wherewithal to speak once again, her hand clinging to Casey's like a lifeline as she tries to plead with her friend to change her mind.
"Casey, that's—Aiden knows that car. You can't—you can't just drive off on your own."
"I won't be alone."
Confused, Evie is all but prepared to question the words, or at least she is until she follows the line of Casey's gaze to a point in the parking lot a mere few feet away. A familiar figure is waiting on an idling motorcycle, and for a moment, Evie allows herself to succumb to at least some manner of relief.
Even if she cannot entirely give in to it in full, Evie would be a liar to pretend the idea of Pete sticking by Casey's side isn't something of a reprieve when it comes to the knot of anxiety threatening to narrow her throat until it is nearly impossible to draw breath.
She clings to Casey's hand for only a moment longer, before digging into her pocket for the aforementioned keys. And even if she could not possibly miss the slight tightening of Bradley's jaw as he watches Casey begin the trek towards the other vehicle, Evie forces herself to remember that it really isn't that far from the bar to Penny's home. That Aiden is, in all likelihood, simply waiting at the hotel, hoping she will be foolish enough to come to him on her own.
Her stomach is still in knots when she clambers into the passenger seat, and she flinches as soon as the Bronco's engine rumbles to life beneath her. But in spite of all that, she tries to maintain her composure as best she can.
Even when a single glance at Bradley in the driver's seat shows that he is every bit as on edge as Evie is, herself.
…
"Want to tell me what the hell that was?"
"I don't—what are you talking about?"
"Jesus, Case," Bradley groans, dragging a hand across admittedly exasperated features, and simultaneously managing to take a few steps away from Penny's back porch, despite the small furrow that makes itself known between Casey's brows as a result, "The little stunt with Evie's car?"
"It wasn't a stunt. I drove home from the bar, Bradley, that's all."
"She said Aiden knows that car."
"Well someone had to get it home."
Bradley does not miss the slight hint of hesitation behind Casey's reply, and he knows he really should take that as her acknowledgement of how things could have turned on an edge in seconds, flat. He knows it should count as proof that she is fully aware of the consequences, if they had. But he can't. No matter how hard he tries, he can't get past it.
He knows nothing that's happened with Evie is her fault. That she could never have seen this coming any more than he could have, himself. And he understands the need Casey feels to protect a friend, but there's more than just Evie's survival at stake, now.
Her stubborn determination that had been at play ever since agreeing to the plan for getting both Evie and Casey home from the bar is exactly what Bradley cannot seem to wrap his mind around. Even if he had agreed to the entire ordeal, it had never been meant to signify his complete acceptance of it on the whole.
Evie's reluctance aside, if he had been given any choice in the matter at all, they would have gone to the police. There would have been no need for any attempts at subterfuge at all. But that hadn't been how it played out. Not even close.
His jaw tightens enough that it seems as though the bones will likely crack, and it isn't until he feels the slight weight of a hand on his back, resting between his shoulder blades, that he is capable of pulling himself from his own thoughts over how everything could have gone wrong.
"Bradley, I'm sorry—"
"Sorry isn't going to mean a thing if one of you ends up dead."
Casey's hand drops from his back in seconds, and Bradley doesn't even have to turn around to be able to see the flash of surprise and hurt that would inevitably flicker in her expression before she can stop it. By the time he does manage to turn towards her, he cannot help but regret the words, even knowing it is far too late to even attempt to take them back.
Knowing her for as long as he has, it is all too easy to recognize when the walls go up. When the slight tightening of her shoulders means she is trying to keep any hint of emotion at bay.
It would be a lie to pretend he doesn't wish there was some way to avoid this, but he also realizes that Casey is just stubborn enough to persist in putting Evie's wants—regardless of how foolish they may be—above her own needs, unless someone else steps in to stop her.
He just never anticipated that the only person willing to do that, at least at present, would be him.
"Case, you need to—"
"I need to what? Drag Evie into the precinct against her will and bully her into coming clean?"
"Bullying isn't exactly what I had in mind, but someone needs to make her see—"
"Make her see what?" Casey demands, a glance back at the house assuring her that they are not currently running any risk of being overheard, which comes as a bit of a relief seeing as Evie had still been beside herself by the time they all arrived, safe and sound, "That we're just like Aiden? That we'll intimidate the hell out of her just to get her to do what we want?"
"That's a bit of an exaggerated angle, Case."
"Like hell it is."
"Care to maybe tell me why you think that?"
"Because she's—she's terrified. I've never seen her like this in all the time I've known her."
"Yeah, well, stealing money from a drug dealer will do that to you."
"So what, this is her fault?"
"Case, I didn't say that," Bradley sighs, already able to recognize that Casey is not quite capable of believing the words from her expression alone, "I didn't. But you and I both know there's more to this than Evie, now."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means maybe you should stop throwing yourself headfirst into risk after risk without thinking about consequences."
"That's what you think this is?"
"I don't exactly see how I can think that it's anything else."
Casey's eyes narrow just a bit in response to the words, and Bradley catches himself trying to scramble to make his expression every bit as neutral as hers had been mere moments ago. He had been straying perilously close to the real reason for the majority of his current frustration without even realizing it, and now it may be too late to reel it in.
The similarities between Casey and her father had always been there. He'd seen ample evidence of them simply growing up with her tagging along at his side. It had always been something he could handle. Something that was easy enough to accommodate, and accept. But now?
Now it is nearly impossible to simply accept her apparent willingness to plant herself between Evie and Aiden, or anyone who attempts to force the other woman's hand in going to the police like some sort of human shield. Logic is no longer at play, here, or at least it doesn't seem to be. And even if Casey is apparently capable of ignoring the worst case scenario, Bradley knows he will never be able to do the same.
Something Casey seems to realize as well, if the hushed words that leave her in the next seconds are any indication at all.
"This is about my dad, isn't it?"
"Case—"
"No. Tell me. It is, right? It's about him? Because you think this is—that this is exactly what he would do, if he were in my shoes?"
"I know that it's what he would do. It's what he did."
"So that none of us would be driving around alone, Bradley. There was no other reason behind it than that."
"Well he certainly didn't seem to be too worried about not going to the police."
"Funny you can know that, since you never said a word to him," Casey retorts, wincing at the vehemence behind the words, as well as the sudden bloom of a headache between her temples. Exhaustion is more than apparent in the sudden weight of her limbs, and her heart twists at the thought of what she had initially intended as a few quiet moments on her mother's back porch between herself, and Bradley going so sour, so quickly.
All she wants, in that moment, is to close the distance between them. A gulf that feels nearly insurmountable, despite being only a few steps. She wants to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him like she had in the Bronco the other day, but just a look at his expression tells her in no uncertain terms that he would never accept that. At least not right now.
Torn over what to do—desperate for something, and unsure of which way to turn—Casey chews at the inside of her cheek while remaining firmly in place. Her head pounds in time with her pulse, and she swallows back bile, because apparently even after her sudden nausea at the bar earlier, her stomach isn't quite finished tormenting her, yet.
A stinging sensation becomes apparent at the corners of her eyes and Casey blinks rapidly to clear it, but it isn't until she fully recognizes the meaning behind Bradley's next words that shattering into pieces becomes almost completely impossible to prevent.
"What happened to Switzerland, Case?"
Her mouth opens, but somehow, Casey cannot manage even a single word. She can do nothing more than blink again, because she'll be damned if she lets even a single tear break free. Somehow, everything about the evening had gone wrong, even without Aiden showing up to make a mess of things himself.
And even if she thinks she can see just a fraction of regret in Bradley's features, suddenly, Casey isn't entirely sure it will make a difference at all.
"I should go check on Evie."
"Case—"
"And then there's your curfew," The brunette adds, carefully avoiding any hint at looking Bradley in the eye as she slips past him to head for the back door of her mother's home, even if the act of resisting prompts her stomach to start twisting itself into knots. She hates this. The tension. The feeling that all of her attempts to accommodate everyone else's feelings and needs is falling apart in her hands.
"Case, c'mon, I didn't mean—"
"It's fine, Bradley. And I really do need to check on Ev."
Casey is already slipping inside the door and closing it behind her before Bradley can stop it, and a low curse escapes as her departure inevitably leaves him standing alone in the glow of the lights streaming through nearby windows as a result. He could kick himself for taking things as far as he had. For reacting, rather than trying to listen, instead.
He'd only wanted to protect her. To get Casey to see the reasons for his concern, but all of that had backfired, whether he intended for it to or not.
She'd seen the entire ordeal as an attack on her choices. On her father's. And as Bradley begins the trek around the house to the Bronco parked out front, he knows.
Regardless of his own best intentions, when it comes to the outcome of it all, he really only has himself to blame.
…
Oof, you guys! This chapter is just—a long one. And it completely got away from me. And our lovebirds are apparently experiencing a bit of trouble in paradise. Oops? But regardless of all of the twists and turns, here, I continue to hold onto the hope that you're all still following along with me? New angles and plotlines keep surfacing on me when I least expect them (brought to us all in part by the sometimes nefarious but beautiful mind of FirstToKnow ), but either way, my hope is that all of this is still a worthwhile read!
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 FirstToKnow, SirenWolf28, and ChiTown4ever for always leaving such lovely feedback each time a new chapter comes out! I truly do appreciate the support so very much more than I could ever put into words! And I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as the last?
Until next time, darlings…
angstytalesrx