Page 47 of What Remains

“Easton.” Carter stands, obstructing my view of Gwen. “You hear anything I said?”

I heard that, but I’m still fifty percent stuck in that room at the compound and forty percent stuck in the land of what-ifs. That only leaves ten percent of headspace for him.

“Get up.” The command is deep enough it forces me to give Carter a hundred percent. “Come on.” He doesn’t wait, taking off for the bedroom like he knows I’ll follow him. Because I will.

I stand, and it’s Gwen’s eyes I catch in the process. She abruptly sits taller, no longer leaning in to share a view of Julian’s screen.

I finally get my ass moving, because one thing Carter isn’t is patient.

Inside his bedroom, he shuts the door behind us, and I contemplate making a joke to lighten the mood, but I’m fresh out of them.

“Does your mother-in-law know what’s going on?” As secretary of state, I assume word got out to her one way or another.

“No, I asked POTUS and Secretary Chandler not to tell her yet,” he grumbles while dropping onto the bed. “You know how she is. And with this election shit, she’s already proving to be a serious pain in my ass.” He rests his forearms on his legs. “How’s your back?”

Guess he’s done talking about his mother-in-law. Don’t blame him. But . . . “How do you know about that?” I falter. Literally, too. A light chop—probably convection building under us—has me shifting my weight to stabilize my stance. The shears have been a little spicy, and we’re only an hour into the flight.

“Gwen told Natasha, and she told me.”

“A few scars are the least of—” I don’t have the energy to finish that sentence. “Just get to why you really dragged me in here, will ya.”

He eyes me for a few unsettling seconds, and I set my back to the door to keep my balance, forgetting I’m in pain. Too late to move now and show my cards, so I have to suck it up and stay here.

“Zoey told me how many bodies you two racked up. And that you walked in on that piece of shit about to rape Gwen, and you slit his throat.” He drops the truth like his words aren’t covered in filth and blood and all the damn things.

I lift my palms, expecting them to be painted in red. They’re not, so that’s something. No mindfuckery happening.

“After what Oliver went through when he . . .”

My arms land like dead weights at my sides as it clicks. The why I’m in this room.

“You were already on edge because of the accident, and now this happens.”

This definitely wasn’t the conversation I thought I’d have to deal with when it came to him. Constantine, maybe. New leaf turned for him and all after he married my sister. But Carter? Nah. He’s still morally gray as fuck. He’s supposed to only do the feelings shit with his wife.

“What Oliver went through is different.” I don’t want to think about the hell he and his now-wife, Mya, endured back in Thailand during an undercover op a few years ago. “I’m not running away and going on some bender.”

“You did go to your old man’s after the crash, just like Oliver did.”

“Okay, but that’s still, umm . . .” I try to summon a word other than “different,” but that’s all that comes to mind. “Not the same,” I say under my breath. “Gwen’s not Mya. I’m not Oliver. We’re⁠—”

“Different, got it,” he grunts and stands.

“Don’t forget, they were a thing when that happened.” Well, mostly. I think. “Gwen and I aren’t.” Just friends. “There will never be more between us, and you know that. It’s dif⁠—”

“Say different one more time . . .”

It’s all he needs to say to get me to shut my mouth.

So, instead, I hold my hands palms out to show him they’re clean of sin. You know, the “not wanting to hook up with your buddy’s daughter” kind of sin. There are unspoken rules amongst operators. That’s at the top of the list.

“When you took off after the accident, you hurt her.” He points over my shoulder in the direction of the cabin. “She’s tough. She’ll get over what happened to her at that compound by getting revenge. But what she won’t get over is you abandoning her again.”

Abandon. That word is going to rattle around in my head like a loose screw now. Great.

He folds his arms, standing his ground as if we’re at sea level and not thousands of feet above it. Not that Carter would let a little thing like turbulence knock him down.

“And here I thought you were worried about me after killing so many people tonight. As if I didn’t hunt assholes with you on the regular back in the day,” I half joke. “But if you’re okay with it,” I quickly pivot, “I’m moving into the hotel. I already told Gwen that. No running, you have my word.”