Whatever they’re doing in the bathroom doesn’t speak well. It’s the sort of wound neither Pope nor Carver want the others to know about. Riley’s seen gunshots, the aftermath of IEDs, the awful shit that tears kids to pieces.

This is different. Carver’s crying and the others are looking away very deliberately to pretend they don’t see.

“C’mon,” Riley murmurs, getting his arm around Carver. “Just hold onto me, let’s go.”

He wonders if he can just take Carver and drive him to the nearest goddamn hospital. If he can get out the door without the others dragging them both back. Probably not.

But he gets Carver up, shaky and feverish as he is, and he tries not to think about the way Carver limps.