A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(28)

“Does your head hurt?” the doctor asked.

Carter glared hard at the man, too damned exhausted to come up with any witty shit.

“I’ll go and get some painkillers,” the doctor muttered and scurried out of the room.

Carter was surprised to see the two guards also leave, glancing nervously at Jack as they did.

“Well, hell, at least I can still clear a room,” Carter muttered.

Jack pushed his hands into his pockets. “We need to talk.”

“About what?”

Jack fixed Carter with a penetrating stare. “You know what.”

Carter’s head dropped back against the bed.

He was entirely too confused and still in a state of complete shock to talk about … well, f*cking anything, least of all the huge revelation that had hit him in the head like a damn brick.

It was her. Peaches. The girl he’d dreamed about for sixteen years.

The girl he’d saved—

“Wes,” Jack pushed. “It’s confidential, if that’s what you’re worrying about.”

“I’m not worried about anything, Jack. I just have nothing to say. Goddammit!” Carter fisted the bedsheets, wanting to tear them into small strips so they matched the tumultuous sensation vibrating through him.

The sound of a chair being pulled across the floor toward his bed reminded Carter that Jack was a stubborn and persistent son of a bitch who wasn’t about to let him off lightly without some kind of explanation.

Jack leaned his elbows on the side of the bed. “Wes, we’ve known each other a lot of years. We’ve talked, we’ve argued, we’ve sat in silence—but I swear to God, boy, you’ve never scared me as much as you did yesterday.”

Carter’s eyes flew to Jack’s tired ones to see only truth behind his words. His confession made Carter feel strange. He didn’t give a shit about other people’s thoughts or sensitivities usually, but knowing that Jack had been worried made Carter feel … something.

“Yeah, well,” he murmured with a shrug while looking at the ceiling, “I’m fine.”

“What’s Peaches?”

A tremor of anxiety swept up Carter’s spine, causing a wave of nausea to crash through him.

“No one important.” The words were forced, whispered.

“So Peaches is a person?”

Carter pushed his fingertips to his temples and closed his eyes. “Jack, please,” he groaned. “Leave it.”

He hoped that the desperation lacing his voice was enough to stop Jack’s persistence. Surprise crossed Jack’s eyes and Carter knew he’d dodged the bullet for the time being. He just didn’t have the energy or the inclination to try to explain something or someone he’d thought about every day since he was eleven years old.

He had to get his own head out of his ass before he could do that.

He had to get his own head out of his ass before Monday, when he had his English Literature session.

A one-to-one session with her.

With Miss Lane.

With Peaches.

*

Carter was sitting behind a wooden table when his Peaches entered with a wide smile at the guard. It dropped minutely when she registered Carter’s purposefully listless appearance, though her confident gait never wavered.

“Good afternoon,” she said, pulling books and papers from her mammoth bag.

Carter kept his eyes trained to the floor while his thumbs spun around each other on his lap. Fuck, he was sweating. She cleared her throat.

Carter lifted his head, praying his voice would work. “Good afternoon, Miss Lane.”