Monday morning found Casey up early once again, though more for a lack of ever managing to fall asleep than anything else. He’d returned to the ranch around ten last night, knowing Abilene would likely be in bed and wanting to give her space. And yeah, to spare himself the sting of whatever he might see in her eyes—pity, or regret, or worst of all, disgust. That was what she’d thought of his past, after all, and in hindsight, he couldn’t blame the girl. Though that didn’t ease the ache in his chest any.
He’d hung out downstairs while Miah had gone out on a late-night patrol of the property, on the off chance any of the hands came rushing over with news of another creep sighting. Nothing on either count, and nothing from the deputies stationed along the highway, and he’d fallen into a restless sleep on the couch around one.
He’d heard Mercy wake an hour later, wailing, and his muscles had tensed, poised to get him up and moving toward the stairs. A reaction more instinctual than intentional, and he’d had to remind himself in that second to stay on his back, stay down here.
He’d gotten to a point where that baby’s needs felt like they were half his to meet. And he’d be smart to knock that shit off and content himself to help only when asked.
If she ever asks again, that is.
He’d never purported to be a good guy, never told himself there was anything redeeming about what he did in order to sleep at night. He’d slept just fine, knowing he was one of the bad guys. Not a terrible person, but no Boy Scout. Not unless fire starting had its own badge.
He did regret it all now—how couldn’t he, when just as he’d been poised to step up and become the man he’d been wanting to be, it all came around to bite him in the ass? In the deepest pit of his heart, he felt a little broken, a little sick, to realize he’d always reserve a fond, nostalgic place in his heart for those three years’ work. He’d enjoyed every second of those jobs, from the promise of a new gig through the planning and the sweet, torturous anticipation of a thousand Christmases, the adrenaline of the nights themselves, the euphoria of success, the trophy of the payout.
He supposed, for that reason, there wasn’t much arguing with Abilene.
Fuck, this shit burned. In the fashion of every lame metaphor he could think of, his heart hurt. Like a cut, a vise, a bruise, a hole. All of them.
He’d fucked up a lot of things in his life, but never anything this good, and never anything he regretted half as much. So there was her remorse, right there. If only it weren’t such a selfish strain of the stuff.
He hauled himself off the couch, knowing these thoughts would be following him for days, maybe weeks, trailing after him like a bad smell, asserting themselves the second he stood still long enough to catch a whiff. Keep busy, he thought. Keep your mind on other things. More useless advice he’d never given himself.
Perspective was key. She’d be working with him again soon enough, and he intended to help her move out when she was ready. Beyond that, he’d meant what he’d said—he was her friend, whether he got to sleep with her or not. It would hurt like fuck for a while, but Casey consoled himself with the lie that it wasn’t as though he’d been in love with her. He’d never said it aloud.