Commanding Casey

by Nicolina Martin

  Cole goes softer in me and turns off the water. I’m numb. I don’t think I can move. I ache everywhere and I’m so relaxed and drowsy that it’s just not natural. It’s as if I’ve been drugged. He wraps a towel around me, meets my gaze and then grabs under my back and knees, pulling me into his arms. Elbowing open the bathroom door, he first steers his steps to my room, but after one look at my messy bed, he turns and throws the curtain aside, dropping me onto his bed, immediately following suit.

  He buries his face in my neck and holds me tight. “Thank you,” he mumbles. “Sorry.”

  I feel like I’m drowning. His need transfers to me: his need for a human touch, for something more than sex, more than casual play. I want to climb inside him and stay there. I don’t ever want him to leave.

  “Why sorry?”

  “I hurt you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  “It’s all right,” I whisper and caress his hair, pulling him closer. “It’ll be all right.”

  “It won’t, Casey. Everything is shot to hell. I can’t fight it anymore. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

  “Don’t worry about it tonight. You’ll be all right. I promise.”

  I can’t promise him that. In fact, the worry grows in me, festering. I know where I’ll go. I have a job waiting for me, my parents, the guys, a couple of friends. From the sound of it, he has nothing.

  “Come with me,” I say. “To Daytona.”

  When he doesn’t answer, icy tendrils spread through me, and they hurt. He won’t, and he’s right. He needs to reconnect with his children, I know that. I’m selfish and want him with me, but his path doesn’t lie with me. He needs to rebuild his life. He has to rebuild his life.

  Holding him tight, as if our lives depended on it, and with a terrifying feeling of doom raging in my chest, I snooze off, twitch awake with nightmares, snooze off again.

  I shoot back to consciousness with a squeak when something hits me. I pat down my belly, feeling a hard object, then I throw myself to the side to turn on the lamp. On the comforter lies a book. My book about the natives. In the doorway stands Cole, his face frozen, his eyes dark. I scramble back and sit, clutching the book.

  “What are you—”

  “Did you do this?”

  “What?”

  “Did you rig the explosion?”

  “What the fuck? Why—how can you even—”

  “With your talk about the natives, about how wrong the pipeline is. Did you come here to sabotage it?”

  He takes a step closer. My eyes dart between his furious expression and his clenched fists. My stomach tenses into a tight coil of raw fear. I whimper and look around me, look for an escape. I have no idea who Cole is. I don’t know what he can do. I don’t know if he’ll hurt me.

  “I didn’t, Cole!” I clutch the book to my chest, as if it could protect me. His gaze falls on the book, then he looks back up at me with a sneer. I drop it as if it burned me.

  “Did you fucking fool us all with your sweet ways? Was anything you said true?”

  I shuffle to the side and stand. My head spins from the abrupt awakening and the rising panic. “I didn’t—”

  He darts toward me and grabs my chin, pushing me back against the wall, towering over me. I don’t recognize him at all and I realize how little I know. He keeps telling me about his dark past. I never believed him, that it could be that bad. Now I see how it can be true.

  “Who do you work for?” he roars in my face.

  “No one,” I sob as tears stream down my cheeks. “No one. Oh, God, please don’t hurt me!”

  “Shut the fuck up! Did you fucking kill my men?”

  I jerk my head loose and push at his unyielding chest. “No!” I cry. “Let me go!”

  He doesn’t move. I glance down at his tightened fists, then I throw myself to the side and dart to the hallway. Grabbing my jacket, boots, and pants, bunching them in my arms, I slam open the door and run. I’m naked and barefoot. The outside is deep frozen, icy, and lethal. The surface of the snow is crusted and scrape my feet with sharp pricks of pain. Everything is quiet and there’s no one in sight. My sobs get stuck in my throat and hitch on the intake, sounding like a wounded animal on the exhale. I run a few steps to the left, then turn and run to the right. Shivering violently, I realize I’ll kill myself if I don’t put clothes on and get inside. I dash across an open space and then behind another trailer. In the dark, sobbing loudly, I put on pants, boots, and my jacket, shaking from the shock and the cold, my chest tight with pain and fear. Pain over his accusation, and that I’ve lost him. Fear that he’ll believe it enough to hurt me.

  I run, stumble, run, hugging myself. First I head to the cantina and try the door, but it’s locked, then I run along a couple of sheds and try Max’s office. It’s unlocked. And empty. Slamming the door closed behind me, I sag along the wall, trembling, my teeth chattering. The tears on my cheeks have frozen, but new ones heat the old. Hugging my knees, I rock back and forth and wail. I see Cole before me on repeat, raging, terrifying. I can’t believe he would think, even for a minute, that I’d plant a bomb. Hurt people. The feeling of betrayal burns in me. For a book? For a fucking book? And my heritage? And that I question how ethical it is to plow through these lands.

  My throat is tight, too tight. I claw at it and tear my jacket open, fighting to get air. Something’s wrong and I’ll die here! I’m choking! I need help, but I can’t get up. I crawl on hands and knees toward the door, but then I curl up in a little ball on the floor. I gasp and cry and fight the panic. Eventually, it subsides, and all that is left is a profound feeling of sorrow and loneliness. I want to hate him for thinking I’m a terrorist, but in a way I understand where he’s coming from. I see what he’s seeing, with what he could perceive as evidence, but it doesn’t help much. He didn’t listen to me for even a second, he didn’t stop to give me a chance. He had made up his mind.

  Finally, there are no more tears, just hot eyes and a burning heart. I sit, curled up, and watch as the shadows creep across the floor and walls as the moon moves over the canopy. The shivering doesn’t stop. My rough jacket and pants, my dirty, sooty, bloody, outdoor wear chafe my unprotected skin. I want to go back to the trailer so bad and rest in my own bed, put on some soft, warm clothes, and I feel for the keys in my pocket when I realize that I can’t go back. Cole looked like he could murder me. I don’t dare to face him on my own.

  He thinks I set off the explosion? He really thinks that? A whimper escapes me and then I crumble again. The tears seem to be endless. How can there be so many?

  Voices and steps outside make me jerk back to the present and my heart shoots to my throat, fear making my stomach clench. Did Cole tell the others of his suspicions? Or rather, his conviction. It must be morning. I’ve sat here, on the hard floor, the whole night. Steps on the front make me shoot to my feet, and in the next moment the door opens and Max steps inside, stomping off the snow from his boots. Then he sees me in the far corner and slams a hand to his heart.

  “What in the fucking hell? Christ, you scared me! What are you doing here?” His gaze travels along my filthy appearance and then rests on my tear-streaked face, then his eyes soften. “It was a rough day yesterday. Everyone is feeling it today, I tell you. Come on. We’re gathering in the cantina. I have some info on what happens now.” He cocks his head for me to follow.

  By God, I don’t want to go to the cantina. The mere thought of seeing Cole and his dark, accusatory gaze makes me nauseous. I still feel him in me. I’m still swollen and raw and the memory makes me squirm.

  “Okay. Cool.” I force a smile and make my feet move despite barely feeling my legs.

  Cole sits with his arms crossed over his chest, his legs stretched out in front of him, his whole posture aloof, the animosity radiating off him.

  Everyone stares at my ragged, dirty appearance, including Cole. I meet his gaze for a millisecond, then I look away. My insides crawl, his presence making me tingle and ache. My moves are robot
ic as I pass him and find a seat as far from him as possible. A few seem to notice that something is off, but most of the men look more or less like I feel. Shocked. Numbed.

  Max clears his throat. “We lost six men yesterday.” He tightens his lips and looks down. “Sam Brody, Clayton Wesley, Thomas Lindquist, Gerry May, Dexter Dunnet, and Tommy Heedy. We will have a silent minute. May they rest in peace.”

  Everyone bows their heads. I cry again. Silent tears drip on my pants. I wipe at the snot and the wetness on my cheeks. I didn’t know them that well. We’d talked on and off, about work, nothing else, and still my heart aches for them. I wonder if they had families, kids.

  Finally, Max clears his throat again. “Work is shut down until further notice. There’s people on the way to investigate the cause of the explosion. At this point we will stay off any wild theories.”

  In the corner of my eyes I see Cole move. Please, please, please, don’t do it. I’m so fucking afraid that he’ll tell everyone I did it. I don’t understand how he can believe that!

  He doesn’t say anything, but I’ve lost focus on what Max is saying.

  “—so there will be buses to pick you up, they should arrive this afternoon. A plane has been chartered to take you to Anchorage and you will take it from there yourself. Track Line Corp is paying for the flight home including one hotel night, whether you need it in Anchorage, somewhere on the way, or when you’ve gotten home...” His eyes sweep over the crowd, and I know he talks about those who have nothing to return to. Like Cole.

  Yesterday, I lay in his arms and offered him to come with me. Today he thinks I caused a mass murder.

  “Track Line will stay in contact with each and every one of you and will offer counseling for those who need it. Work will continue when this has been sorted out. We will find what caused the accident and make sure it can’t happen again.”

  “Accident,” scoffs someone from the back of the room. “Attack, you mean.”

  It’s not Cole, but I tense, fear creeping through my every vein.

  “We have no reason to jump to conclusions,” says Max, raising his voice as a low murmur fills the room. “Breakfast will be served shortly. Then I suggest you go pack. Our thoughts today are with the families of the deceased, and with our friends who fight for their lives in the hospital.”

  My legs are filled with lead as I stand. I’ll do the packing first and then eat something. I pray Cole will eat first and that we’ll miss each other.

  No such luck.

  I’m in the shower, trying to get rid of all the filth, the memory of his skin on mine, trying to warm my eternally frozen core, when I hear the front door open and close and the unmistakable sound of his steps. I’m so attuned to his moves that I know it’s him without a doubt. He has to eat. I decide to stay in the shower until he leaves.

  When the door slams shut again, I turn the knob and grab my towel, drying off before I exit to finally find some warm clothes.

  I walk right into Cole.

  “Oh, God!”

  His lips are twisted, and his nostrils flare as he looks me over.

  I try to dodge to the side, but he slams a hand to the wall, stopping me. I throw myself to the other side, only to get caught by his other hand, hitting the wall so close to my head that I cry out.

  “Please, leave me alone.”

  “Where did you go off to?”

  “That’s none of your business!”

  “Everything you do is my business,” he growls. “Did your guilty conscience catch up with you?”

  “You’re sick.”

  “I’m in good fucking company then,” he sneers and leans in, his face so close that it blurs.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” I whisper, frozen against the wall, my heart pounding so hard that he must hear it.

  He clenches his hand into a fist and then slams it into the wall next to my head, making me jerk. “I want to—”

  I shake my head, widening my eyes. “Please.”

  Cole pushes away and holds up his hands, palms toward me, backing. Then he scoffs and the final look he gives me is so filled with loathing that tears well up in my eyes again. I spin on my heels and dart into my room, slamming the door closed. In the next moment the front door slams and when I part the curtains I see his retreating back as he stomps off in the direction of the cantina. Sinking to the floor, I hug my knees and fight the trembling, and the bone-deep sorrow. I sit until I’m so cold that it overtakes every other feeling. Shuddering violently, I scramble to find my clothes to get dressed. I pull out my suitcase from under the bed and throw it on the mattress, pulling my meager belongings out of the drawers and the closet. I don’t see my book and realize it’s still in Cole’s room. Yeah, not going in there. The memories of him are everywhere and I can’t stay here a minute longer. I grab my toothbrush, towel, soap, and shampoo and dump it on the rest of the stuff, snap the suitcase closed, and pull on my outer wear again, dragging my luggage with me back to the cantina. I want to hide, but I desperately need to eat or I’ll faint.

  I don’t speak to Cole again. I eat alone. Wait. Eat again. My cup of coffee gets cold. Finally, two buses arrive to ship us off to the airport. I sense Cole’s eyes on me and I yearn for his touch, and never want to see him again, both feelings fighting for space inside me. I choose the other bus.

  At the Anchorage Airport we finally part ways. In a restroom, I shed my jacket and thick pants and throw them in a wastebasket, pushing them down until they fit. Wherever I land next, I won’t need them, and I can’t stand the sight of the grisly fabric.

  I call Mom and tell her in as few words and with as little drama as possible that I’m coming home.

  She screams on the phone, crying and gasping. She has seen it on the news. No one has answered at the site and I haven’t even thought about calling them.

  Tears stream down my cheeks as I comfort her while my insides freeze. I’m alive. I hadn’t realized until now that I could have been hurt, or dead. It was my primary workplace that went up in flames. They wouldn’t even have been able to scrape my remains up off the ground.

  I’m as clueless as everyone else. There was nothing in there that should have self-ignited.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cole

  I’m torn as fuck. I remain standing in the middle of the arrivals terminal as the people I’ve worked with for so long silently leave, walking in different directions. A few lift their hands in a goodbye greeting. Some give each other an awkward half-hug. The grief over the ones we lost, and the worry about the ones fighting for their lives in the hospital has set my chest in a constant state of searing pain. Watching the hunched back of a flustered Casey as she drags along her suitcase, I’m filled with doubts. Her face is stiff, her jaw clenched. She has avoided eye contact with me since this morning, all through the flight. No wonder. I want to run after her and tell her I’m sorry, but the things I said can’t be unsaid. I broke every little thread of trust between us.

  Because I’m a dick. I lash out. I jump to conclusions and I don’t fucking stop and listen.

  I eye the liquor store, the old urge flaring up. What do I even have to live for? Why do I try?

  I think of Wrightwood, the little town we lived in, before Sandra took the kids and left for LA. Mom and Dad are in their seventies, they had me late, and I don’t want to burden them with my return.

  The little faces of Alicia and Sage appear before me as Casey disappears around a corner. Come with me, she said, but I knew I couldn’t. The moment she said it, I knew I had to go back home. I can’t return to the bottle. I need to do things right this time. It’s not too late. I have money. I haven’t spent many dimes. A year and a half’s worth of really good pay has filled my bank account. I can buy a house, get a job, and...

  The mere thought of approaching my ex makes me sweat. There was passion there once, but we were never friends. Immature attraction turned to loathing, turned to hate, and we lost all respect for each other. I looked deeper and deeper into th
e bottle, and when she threw in my face that she’d slept with a movie producer, I lost it.

  It’s my darkest moment, wrecking our house, drunk as a fucking bat, in front of our kids. I couldn’t stand to look them in the eyes after that and my life ended.

  Casey believed in the good in me when no one has bothered to look for a very long while. She trusted me to treat her right, and what the fuck did I do?

  What have I done?

  I try to sort my thoughts, make up a plan. I need a ticket home, obviously. Not Wrightwood, the memories will pull me under. My kids are in LA. Expensive as fuck, but I’ll think of something. I want to be close to them. I need a room, a motel, somewhere to just land. A job. I really need a job.

  Looking down at my horrifying state, aware of the looks from passersby, I decide to get rid of these clothes. They’re unsalvageable anyway.

  A plan forms. I’ll find a storage for my luggage, take a ride into town despite my bone-deep exhaustion, get a haircut and a trim, call my former employer, get a ticket home, and take it from there.

  The day I approach my ex and my kids, I’ll have my life set up, ready to try to reconnect. I have Alicia- and Sage-sized holes in my heart. As I leave the airport, scanning the crowd for Casey, I realize I’ll leave Alaska with a new hole in my heart.

  A hole the size of a cocky little black-haired mechanic.

  * * *

  Casey

  Mama, Papa, and Josh meet me at the airport. I’ve tried to make myself look presentable in the restroom. There is no blood left on my skin or my clothes. There are no visible signs of the horrors of yesterday, but inside I carry a growing chill.

  Leroy Keagan, a man of few emotions, cries when he sees me. I’m engulfed in a hug so tight that I cough. “Casey Keagan,” he mumbles in my hair. “You should never have left. Me and the boys would have had your back. You know that.”

  “Papa, it’s good. It’s okay now.”

  It will never be okay again, but I can’t tell them that. I wonder where Cole is in the world. I hope for his sake that he gets his kids back in his life. My heart is torn in pieces. I’m shocked by how much I miss him. I should be angry, but that’s not what I’m feeling. All I see before me is the despair in his eyes, his longing for a connection, for someone to hold him. I know I gave him something. I know I meant something. I hope it’s enough. Me, I gave my everything and I don’t know where to begin to pick myself up.