The anger in me is ugly, but so is the doubt. I can’t help it. Having her with Levi, with Nico too, it should’ve felt wrong, but the truth is it felt natural, like we all fit together somehow. Only now, that feeling twists inside me. What if she did it because Jinn told her to? What if we’re all being played, just like before?
Carrie’s voice trembles. “JC, that wasn’t—” She blinks hard, and tears well up, making her eyes shimmer. “That wasn’t planned. I didn’t set out to hurt you. Any of you. You have to believe me.”
For a moment, all I see is pain on her face, the same pain I’ve been carrying for weeks. My chest tightens. I realize I went too far.
“Carrie, I—” I stop, run a hand through my hair, fighting for control. “I didn’t mean that. Not the way it sounded. I just—this shit, it messes with my head. I don’t know what to believe anymore. I want to trust you. I do.”
She wipes at her cheeks, lips trembling. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I swear. I just…I made mistakes. I thought I was doing what I had to. I didn’t know how much it would hurt.”
I sit on the edge of the table, head down, anger cooling into something heavier. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not just you. It’s everything.”
Carrie reaches for my hand, hesitates, then lets it drop. “You want the truth? Being with you, with Levi, with Nico…it wasn’t about Jinn. For once, I just wanted to feel something good. Something real. I wanted to forget all the ways I’ve been hurt.”
I look at her, and for the first time, I see the exhaustion in her eyes. The hope too. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “Me too.”
Carrie lets out a shaky breath, relief and sadness mixing on her face. “I get it, JC. I do. You have every reason to doubt me after everything that’s happened.”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t make it right. You didn’t deserve that.” My voice comes out rougher than I want.
She looks down at her hands, fidgeting with the corner of a book. “You want to know the truth? I wish I could take it all back. The secrets, the mistakes. But I can’t. All I can do now is try to help. Even if you never forgive me.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, my voice low. “I don’t hate you, Carrie. Not even close. That’s the problem.”
Before I can say anything else, Mrs. Jackson rounds the corner from the reference desk, a stack of returned books in her arms. She glances up, catching the two of us at the back table.
Carrie straightens, busying herself with a pile of books. “I’ll be right there, Mrs. Jackson.”
I watch Carrie, noting how quickly she shuts down, retreating into that careful, polite version of herself. The connection between us is gone, just like that.
I can’t help reaching out again, though. “Carrie, do you feel…safe? Working here?”
She glances up, surprised by the question. For a moment I see a flicker of warmth in her eyes. “We manage,” she says. “It’s quiet during the day. Mrs. Jackson knows what she’s doing.”
I nod, but it’s not enough. “Still. If you ever need anything—if someone gives you trouble?—”
She cuts me off with a small, tired smile. “I’ll be fine, JC. I promise.”
She turns away, shoulders straight, but I can see the way she closes herself off again. The moment between us is over. She disappears after Mrs. Jackson, leaving me with my unfinished worries and everything I didn’t say.
I watch her go, feeling protective, frustrated, and still wanting her just as much as ever.
I linger at the table long after I’m supposed to be gone, flipping through a dusty law book, but not really reading. I keep glancing at the back room, waiting for Carrie to come out. I can’t bring myself to leave. Not yet.
Finally, Carrie reappears, arms full of returned books. She stops short when she sees me. “You’re still here?”
I shrug, trying to look casual. “Had some reading left. Figured I’d stick around.”
She bites her lip, glancing away, a little smile tugging at her mouth. Before she can say anything else, the doors creak open. Three inmates shuffle through, heading for the fiction shelves. I recognize one of them—a loudmouth named Ritchie, always showing off, never knowing when to quit.
As Carrie moves to shelve a book, Ritchie passes close behind her, hand snaking out. He grabs her ass, squeezing like he owns her.
Everything in me snaps.
I’m on my feet in a second, grabbing Ritchie by the collar and yanking him back so hard his feet barely touch the floor. “You think that’s funny?” I snarl, voice low and cold.
Ritchie tries to laugh it off, but I don’t give him the chance. My fist connects with his jaw, sending him stumbling back into the shelves. The crash echoes through the library. I’m onhim before he can recover, driving him against the books, my forearm pressed to his throat.
“You touch her again, and you’ll leave here in pieces.” My words are ice. “You got that?”
