Page 46 of Carter

“Wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

We leave group together, waving goodbye to others as we pass.

Outside, a few of them linger, waiting for ride shares because they don’t want to walk to the subway or risk getting on it.

I get it. I always have a spike of anxiety each time I get on it, but I tell myself I can’t be so unlucky that I’m in a situation where someone, myself included, is attacked out in public twice.Though, this is New York, so it’s not entirely unheard of. I don’t want fear to control my life, so when those thoughts pop up, I do my best to shoo them. I’m getting pretty good at it. And ride shares are expensive. Group is not close to home the way work and the shelter are, but it’s the only trauma support group I’ve found around here.

There is a bar a block down that I’ve been to a few times with people from group over the years. Every now and then, you just need a drink to take the edge off after a rough session. For me, talking helps, but it does hurt. But I meant what I said to Nash about it being worth it.

My life isn’t great. I could be doing so much better, and I miss Ryan more than I can explain. I’m fucked up and sad all the time, but I would never, not for anything in the world, take back what we had to lose this pain. He was worth it.

“How are you doing?” Kane asks as we hop onto stools at the bar.

The light is dim, the bulbs burning a dull yellow. Even the TV’s brightness is down. The volume is off so we can hear the classic rock music playing from the juke box in the back corner by the pool table that’s occupied by a group of guys that look like they spend too much time here.

“I’m… okay.”

“You don’t sound very confident.”

“What can I get you guys?” the bartender asks as he puts down a thin coaster in front of each of us with the logo of the bar—Bunny’s. I think it used to be a mafia thing—maybe it still is.

The bartender certainly has the look of an Italian mobster. Handsome and dangerous looking.

“Beer for me,” I say. “Whatever is on tap.”

“Same,” Kane says, then brings his attention to me again. “So?”

“I really am okay. It’s just that re-opening Ryan’s case is difficult. I have to relive everything all over again and it’s not easy.”

“Cops never make anything easy.”

“Nash is actually awesome.”

“First name basis, huh?”

My cheeks heat. The bartender puts the beers down in front of us, so I grab mine and take a few swallows.

“He’s the first person who has taken this case seriously. I think he really has a chance at solving it. He always updates me, keeps me in the know, and is patient. He isn’t down my throat about what I know. He listens. He—”

“I get the point,” Kane chuckles. “He’s a good one. Fine.”

“He is.” I feel Kane’s gaze on me, so I turn to look at him. “What?”

“You like him.”

“What? No. Of course I don’t.”

“You do.”

“No, I don’t—”

“Okay, fine. You don’t. But it’s okay if you do, you know. You’re allowed to move on.”

“I can’t move on with the cop who is solving Ryan’s case.”

“Why the hell not?” he asks.

My mouth opens. Words are supposed to come out now.