Page 113 of Carrick
He went quiet for a moment.
“Niko taught me structure. Gave me something to follow. Deacon gave me quiet when I needed it. Jax—God, that kid taught me how tothink.How to ask better questions. And Sully…”
His mouth curved, slow and quiet. “Sully reminded me how to live.”
The room stilled—like even the walls were holding their breath. Carrick leaned forward again, forearms on his knees, head bowed low like the memory itself was weight.
“And Rooker…” His voice caught. “He gave me my life. Not just a job. Not just a mission. A life.”
I let the words sink in, anchor-deep. Every single syllable landed like a stone tossed into still water.
“I never knew,” I whispered.
“I never told anyone,” he said.
“But you told me.”
He looked at me, eyes shadowed but steady. “Yeah. I did.”
The air thickened, like something sacred had just been spoken aloud. The kind of truth that shifts gravity. He’d taken off his armor and left it between us—and somehow, it felt heavier than if he’d kept it on.
And maybe that’s what cracked something open inside me. Because silences like that don’t just sit there forever. They demand to be answered.
So I did. “You’re not the only one who got left.”
Carrick turned his head. Looked at me with that quiet, haunted patience he wore like a second skin.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t push. He just… waited.
And somehow, that made it easier to go on.
“I was six the first time I realized something was wrong. Not just with my parents, but with the world. The way the walls in our house never held heat. The way my mom would forget to pick us up from daycare. The way my dad’s voice changed after a few drinks—went from quiet to dangerous, like someone had flipped a switch.”
I stared down at my knees, wrapped in the blanket, legs pulled tight beneath me.
“Rayden was still in diapers. He was always smiling. Always into something. He was my shadow. I used to make up stories about how we were secret agents, how I had to protect him because he had a superpower the world didn’t understand.”
Carrick didn’t smile.
But he didn’t look away either.
“My parents… they weren’t evil. Just broken. Overwhelmed. Maybe sick. I don’t know. The system got involved after a neighbor called in a noise complaint and found me outside on the porch holding Rayden, barefoot in the middle of winter.”
My throat tightened.
“They split us up,” I whispered. “Said it was temporary. Said it was for our own good. I was eight. He was six. He barely even understood what was happening.”
Carrick’s fingers curled slightly where they rested on his knee.
“We were in different homes. Different cities. Different counties, even. And every time I asked when I’d see him again, someone would say, ‘Soon, sweetheart,’ and then change the subject.”
I swallowed hard. “Two years. Two fucking years.”
I felt my voice start to break. Didn’t try to stop it.
“I begged. I wrote letters. I refused to bond with anyone in my foster home. Got labeled ‘difficult.’ But I didn’t care. I didn’t want new parents. I wanted my brother.”
I looked up at Carrick then.
