Carver moves toward me, prowling menace in his swift steps. I hold my ground, craning my neck to look at him. Although his face is leaner and his nose straighter, the similarities to Griffin are startling. The storm-gray eyes. The stubborn jaw. The way his expression flattens when he’s feeling too much.
Carver lifts his hands as if to grab my shoulders, but then his fingers clench into fists and drop back to his sides. “I thought you of all people would understand.”
“Understand what? Being an idiot?”
That seems to surprise him enough to add something new to his countenance. A trace of humor softens the stark lines of his face. “No.” A wry smile just barely curves his lips. “Maybe.”
“I am an expert idiot,” I say. “I practice all the time.”
Little Bean chooses that moment to agree—or maybe disagree. In any case, a strong ripple of chaotic baby magic rocks me hard. I hiss in a breath and grab my lower belly.
Carver turns whiter than a realm-walking spirit. “What is it?”
“Little Bean,” I gasp out.
He spins on his heel. “I’ll get Griffin.”
I shoot out my hand and grab his arm. “There’s no need to worry Griffin. I’m fine. She’s strong. And…experimenting. She’s done this before.” And she likes to let me know when her uncles are being asses, but I don’t add that. “I just need to sit.”
Carver gets me back into the chair like his life depends upon it. My feet actually leave the ground for a moment, but he helps me to land softly enough. Once I’m seated again, he kneels in front of me, gripping my hands hard. He looks terrified, pale under the dust and sweat on his face. His hands even shake a little, probably from a rush of adrenaline. I almost want to laugh at his complete overreaction, but it’s just not funny in the end. It reminds me of something Jocasta once said about pedestals, glass cases, and sisters. Carver confronted the Hydra with a smirk on his face, but this makes him look like he’s about to vomit.
“I’ll get more water. Do you need food? A blanket?” He looks around, his eyes turning frantic when he realizes he has none of those things. “A hot bath? A cold bath?”
I shake my head. “A bath would be fabulous. But it can wait. Right now, I need you to talk to me.”
Almost impossibly, his brow furrows even more. “About what?”
“About what’s bothering you enough to turn you into a drunk.”
He sits back on his heels without letting go of my hands, his expression turning wary again. “I’m not drunk.”
He does seem relatively sober. His words aren’t slurred. He’s not wobbly. Beside his somewhat unkempt appearance and the two wine jugs in his tent, not including the one I just smashed, there’s room for him to argue. Unfortunately for Carver, not drunk right now isn’t a strong enough argument for me to leave him alone. What about tonight? Or tomorrow? What about when we’re fighting for our lives?
“I know what it’s like to lose someone,” I say gently. “And to lose myself because of it.”
He stares up at me, and the pain in his eyes is almost too much to bear. His mouth flattens as his throat works on a painful-looking swallow. A lump rises in mine. Then he lets go of me, his hands slipping from my lap as he starts to back away.
Before he can get too far, I reach out and push a lock of dark hair back from his forehead. It was hanging over his eye and clinging to his eyelashes, bouncing with every blink. I continue the movement, sliding my hand through his hair and smoothing it back, trying to comfort him. He needs it.
Carver stops moving. I do it again, and a shudder rattles through him. Then, in a movement of slow surrender, he gradually leans forward until his forehead rests upon my knees. Still on the ground in front of me, he breathes once, long and deep, and then sits more comfortably, turning his face so his head is in my lap.
My heart aching, I keep lightly stroking his hair. His eyes close. I don’t say anything, letting him rest while I try to figure out the words that might help him.
When I do finally speak, I pitch my voice low and even, like I would if I were trying to keep a skittish animal from running away. “I thought I’d live a short life and die alone. Griffin was never in any of my plans. And certainly not Little Bean. I was so convinced my path would be a lonely one that I think I even ended up wanting that. It was safe, in a certain way. There was no one to endanger. And it was much easier than wanting what I thought I could never have. What I thought I didn’t deserve after Eleni died.”
Carver sinks more heavily into me, wrapping his arms around my legs. There’s something so weary and needy in the way he seeks comfort that my heart breaks even more for him, and it was already pretty torn up.
My eyes sore with unshed tears, I trail my fingers through his hair, wishing I could take away his pain.
“Then what?” he murmurs.
“Then Griffin. You. Kato. Flynn. Your whole family.” Not Piers. “Ianthe. Little Bean. If I’m being honest, even Bellanca.”
Carver snorts, the quick puff of breath warm through the light linen of my pants.
I smile as much as I’m able to right now. “I like her. She has spirit and flair.”
He snorts again, like that’s a colossal understatement.
“You all lit a fire inside me. The good kind. The best kind. And now my heart is so full, it can be overwhelming.” I brush Carver’s nearly shoulder-length hair off his neck, smoothing the dark strands to one side. His neck is warm and tanned. Strong. His hair is straighter than Griffin’s and feels slightly coarser, but maybe that’s because it needs washing. “It hurts sometimes,” I admit. “A lot.”
Carver takes a deep breath. “I hurt all the time.”
My eyes burn, and I beat back tears. Carver needs me to be strong.
A splash of sunlight brightens the tent, and I look up to see Griffin standing in the entrance, holding back the flap. His eyes widen, his expression turning anxious. His worry for Carver is palpable, and there’s no doubt in my mind that he wants to come in and help in any way he can.
I give Griffin an almost imperceptible shake of my head. With his eyes closed and his head in my lap, Carver has put himself in my hands, if only for a moment. I feel as though we’ve struck a pact, and even Griffin isn’t a part of it. I try to convey that with my eyes, hoping Griffin will understand.
Griffin hesitates for only a second, and then he steps silently back and lowers the tent flap again, leaving us alone.
I look back down at Carver, my hand still on his neck. “The more you hurt, the more capable you are of great emotion.”
Gods, that sounded stupid and trite, even if it’s true. I go back to stroking Carver’s head. I don’t have much experience with comforting people, but a gentle touch seems like an okay thing to do. It’s better than meaningless words.
After a long silence, I try again, figuring I’ll be better at hard truths and tough love than at subtle insight or attempted finesse. “Instead of focusing all your passion on a woman who is gone from this world, why don’t you look to the living instead?”
Tonelessly, he says, “I don’t want anyone else.”