By the time we were done, I was exhausted and shaking. The adjustment from not working to working was damn hard. I had to sit down to collect my thoughts and fight the anxiety swirling around my stomach.

Carter and Rome picked me up that evening. Melanie stayed back, to my surprise, telling me she was picking up a second shift. When I raised my brows in surprise, she shrugged and said, “Bills, babe. Fucking bills are a killer, and I have a sister to look after.”

Yeah, she wasn’t so bad at all.

“Well, thanks for everything,” I told her sincerely. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

She winked. “You’ll get better and then you’ll make it up to me. That’s what we do around here. We look after each other.”

Okay, so she was awesome.

I waved goodbye to her and climbed into the backseat of the waiting jeep out front. My eyes widened in surprise when I saw Carter there, half-asleep.

“What’s going on?” I asked as Rome peeled out of the curb.

He shrugged. “He had a bit to drink.”

“A bit? He’s smashed!”

“Yeah, don’t know what happened. He made a call sometime and didn’t look happy when he got back. I thought he’d been talking to you and you guys started fighting or something.”

I shook my head slowly. “No, nothing like that happened.”

“Well… I don’t know. He got back, shitty like I’d done something wrong, and then he drank himself to oblivion. He’s been muttering nonsense since then, so I wouldn’t pay any attention to him. Honestly, he’s a fucking disaster, but the voice on him… Holy shit, that voice gave me goose bumps, Leah. I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

I put my hand against Carter’s forehead. He was sweaty and hot, and his eyes opened and looked at me. His lips flinched downwards in a frown and then he closed his eyes and kept them that way.

When we got to the house, Rome helped him into the suite. He crashed into his mattress, and I stared at him in worry, wondering who he’d made a call to and what had gotten him so worked up.

“You wanna go out for dinner or something?” Rome asked. “Or I can pick something up. Pizza?”

I nodded. “Sure, that sounds good.”

“Cool. I’ll be back in twenty then.”

He left us after that and I crawled into the bed. Straddling Carter, I grabbed at his arms and removed his jacket. It took every ounce of my energy, and when I was at the second sleeve, he stirred again and mumbled.

“Don’t hate me.”

I paused and stared down at him. “Carter?”

“Don’t hate me, Leah.”

“Why would I hate you?”

He opened his mouth, and it stayed that way for what felt like forever, before he whispered, “Cause I killed her.”

My body tightened. I was so confused. I leaned over him, and rested a hand against the side of his face. “Who, Carter?”

He was too out to respond. I sighed heavily and removed his jacket, throwing it on the floor. Then I grabbed at his shoes and took them off. I stood by the edge of the bed, hovering over him, wondering what he wasn’t saying.

I didn’t leave until Rome returned, and even then I checked up on him every hour.

*

It was the sound of puking that woke me up in the middle of the night. I jumped out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. Carter was over the toilet, half-naked, his skin pale and sickly looking.

I hurriedly opened the cupboard and removed a washcloth. Soaking it in cool water, I returned to him just as he flushed the toilet and leaned back. I kneeled down next to him and set the cloth over his forehead. He stared at me with bleary eyes.

“You’re sick,” I muttered with concern.

“I’m fine.” The sound of indifference in his voice made me frown.

“You don’t sound it and you certainly don’t look it.”

He grabbed the washcloth and threw it away. “Don’t push, Leah. Alright? I’m not in the mood right now.”

I glanced at the forlorn wash cloth and then at him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!”

I jumped, not at all expecting his random burst of anger. I moved away from him and rested my back against the wall, bringing my knees to my chest. I watched him for some time as he stared off in space, looking worse for wear the more minutes that passed.

“Who did you call?”

He shut his eyes and sighed. I couldn’t help it. I needed to know what was wrong, even if it meant him yelling at me again.

“Carter.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You wouldn’t have had so much to drink if it was nothing.”

He opened his eyes and stared at me evenly. “Jesus, you don’t stop, do you?”

I shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry that I can’t help it. I care for you.”

“Well, fuck, Leah, you’re not my personal diary, alright? If I want to keep things private, I will.”

Whoa.

Where had that come from?

I blinked back tears. He was so blasé saying that to me. It wasn’t everyday he was in these kinds of moods. In fact, I could count on one hand how many times he’d talked to me like this.

It stung.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he then said, shaking his head. “You can’t demand shit I ask you to let go of and expect me to be a patient saint about it.”

“I’m only trying to help.”

“I don’t need your fucking help, Leah. I don’t need any of it. So keep it, alright? Hold onto your help and leave me alone.”

I casually wiped my eye. I wasn’t crying or anything. I was tired. That’s all.

I nodded at him. “Okay,” I finally said in a whisper. “I’ll leave you alone then.”

I stood up and returned to bed, feeling a little defeated. If I was his best friend, why wouldn’t he let me in like one?

I waved my hand over my eyes. Nothing was coming out. I refused to let that happen. Nobody had the right to make you cry, and I didn’t want to blame a man I loved for doing it. If nothing came out, I couldn’t be sad about it.

He was just upset, I consoled myself as I slipped under the covers. Everyone is entitled to want to be alone.

I shut my eyes and tried to forget, all the while listening intently on every noise outside the room. He was out there, shutting me out, and I was in here, praying he was okay.