Page 27 of Rebel
He pours coffee like he owns the room, steam curling between us. “Are you always this friendly before noon?”
“Only with people who don’t drag cartel hitmen to my door.”
A small smirk pulls at his mouth, restrained. “Noted.”
He leaves, boots deliberate against the polished concrete.
I find him a few minutes later in the guest room. Carter sits shirtless on the edge of the bed, white gauze stark against his shoulder, the bandage already faintly stained. His dog tag rests against his chest, the chain catching the light. His jaw is tight, posture straight, even while wounded.
I sit in the chair across from him, opening the first aid kit between us. The silence lingers, but it's not uncomfortable, just heavy with things neither of us is saying.
"You always watch people this hard?" Carter finally asks.
"Only when they might get me killed," I reply, but my tone's softer than the words.
"Then you should've stopped watching me weeks ago."
"Probably."
I lean back, studying the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curl once into his thighs before flattening again. "Why'd you really go to the cemetery? The morning I found you at Alex's grave."
His hands still, resting on his thighs. "Rebel."
“No deflecting. Not today. You got shot while protecting me. I patched you up. Now you owe me honesty." I cross my arms. "Why do you go there every month?"
He's quiet for so long, I think he won't answer. "Debt."
"Debt to who?"
"Alex." He stares at the floor between his boots. "I go there every month. Leave flowers. Make sure the site's maintained. Talk to him like he can hear me. It's..." His voice roughens. "It's the least I can do."
"The least you can do for what?" I lean forward. "You told me he saved your life. That's not a debt, Carter. That's a gift."
"Gifts come without strings." His jaw works. "Debts come with interest."
The way he says it makes my stomach twist. "What does that mean?"
He finally looks up, and the raw pain in his eyes steals my breath. "It means I'm still here and he's not. It means every morning I wake up breathing is a morning he doesn't get. It means..." He stops, swallows hard. "It means trying to save someone isn't the same as succeeding. And trying is all I did."
"You tried to save him."
"Yeah." The word is bitter as poison. "And it wasn't enough."
I stand, moving to sit beside him on the bed. Close enough that our knees touch. "Tell me what happened. The real story. All of it."
His hands clench into fists. "You don't want toknow."
"Yes, I do. I've wanted to know for four years."
He runs both hands through his hair, and I notice they're shaking. When he speaks again, his voice is hollow. Confession without hope of absolution.
"We were running intelligence on Cartel weapons routes. Joint operation for the military and CIA. I was a field commander." He stares at the wall like he's watching it all play out again. "We needed someone who understood logistics. Supply chains. Shipping manifests. Someone who could spot patterns and make sense of the chaos."
My breath catches. "Alex."
"Alex." He nods. "He was working with the Royal Bastards, had connections to legitimate trucking, and knew how to read shipments. He was perfect for it. And he..." Carter's voice cracks. "He wanted to help. Believed in the mission. Said if we could stop the Cartel from moving weapons, we'd save lives. Kids' lives."
The bandage on his shoulder is already showing a small dot of red seeping through. I should rewrap it. Instead, I sit frozen.
