Chapter 17 – Cain #2
“They died eight years ago. Eden was only ten years old when they passed and I was still in college. We’ve all had to step up and make sacrifices to keep the family business afloat. It’s our parents’ legacy which is why we all work so hard for it.”
Damn.
I couldn’t imagine losing both of my parents at the same time so tragically and being responsible for a ten-year-old while trying to finish school. It makes sense now why Gabriel is so protective of his sister, and why they are such a close-knit family.
I glance around their home and notice, maybe for the first time, just how little there is in the space.
It’s all simple—just the bare necessities of mismatched furniture, a few family photos on the walls, and a throw rug on the floor.
Yet it still feels warm and lived-in, like every piece belongs here.
It hits me how different this is from the home that I grew up in. Despite having two living parents and grandparents, our homes never felt this inviting. My childhood was spent in cold, sleek skyscrapers, just like where I live now.
Visits there meant walking on eggshells. Rosie and I had to keep our hands to ourselves, terrified we might break something and earn Grandpa’s wrath. The house that my dad raised me and Rosie in was just as bad. A fabric couch would have never been found in his possession.
This house, though? It feels like the kind of home I used to read about in bedtime stories. Cozy, welcoming, a place where you’d want to sit down with a warm drink and stay awhile. It’s the kind of space I didn’t know I’d been missing or thought I’d ever enjoy.
I rub my chest, an ache spreading as I realize just how different we really are.
She busts my balls more than anyone else I know, but she has a damn good reason. She’s hardworking, tenacious, precocious, and resilient. She and Gabriel are the ones keeping the lights on, the roof over their heads, and the love in their home while they raise Eden.
And even though they’ve lost the two people who were supposed to protect and guide them through life, they have more family than I do. The family they have left means more to them than I could ever understand.
I finish drying the last plate and stack it in the cabinet, finally noticing the chips and scratches in the surface of the wood.
I grew up with privilege all around me, practically born a nepo baby, but here I am, now seeing it—blind to the cracks in my own foundation, the dust on the floor of their simple home, or the dings in her dishes. I realize those things are what make her home feel like a home.
In all its imperfection, it’s beautiful. Just like Rhiannon.
“Well, that’s it,” she says drying her hands and turning to me.
I quickly return to lawyer mode, neutralizing my expression so that she can’t read what I’m thinking.
Knowing Rhiannon and the pride she has, the last thing she’d want is to think that I’m pitying her.
And I don’t pity her. I envy her. Which is a ridiculous thing to think about someone who was forced to take on so much at such a young age and handed some super shitty circumstances.
“So, my boxers were an interesting dinner outfit choice.” I point at them.
She grins. “I was wondering when you were going to say something.”
I raise a brow, hoping she’ll continue.
“I had to wash them, sorry, hope that doesn’t ruin their luck, but I simply couldn’t walk around my brother and sister with that gigantic cum stain on the front.”
I laugh gently. “You know what they say, the bigger stain, the bigger the-.”
She holds up her hand and shakes her head, a smile on her face. “I’m aware just how big you are. I don’t need to be reminded.”
I stick out my chest and she laughs easily.
“Do you want them back?”
And because I’m fucking smitten for this woman and like the thought of her wearing them around her family I say, “No. They look much better on you.” I also hope she thinks about me every time she puts them on.
“Are you okay to head out now? If it’s too late, you can always crash on the couch here until the morning.”
“Nope, I’ll be fine. I enjoy the drive,” I lie because I’m dreading leaving her when it feels like we’re getting along outside of being naked. Plus, this long drive back to the city sounds painful. For my hand. My dick. And my head.
She smiles. “Thanks again for bringing my wallet.”
“Thanks for dinner.”
Now we’re just awkwardly thanking each other.
She hesitates and then starts to walk towards the door before opening it slightly. Guess she’s ready for this night to be over.
“You know, there’s something that’s been bothering me about your penthouse.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“You don’t have anything personal in there.
No photos, no witty signs, no sweatshirts from your college football team laying around.
There’s nothing that says someone lives in the home full time.
I didn’t even know it was your place because there’s nothing there that says Cain or Prescott. Why is that?”
I don’t know how to answer her. The truth is that the penthouse has always been just a place to crash—a bed to rest my head after long days in court, cross-country work trips, or client dinners.
The night I met her in Bryant Park had been a rare escape, one of the few times I allowed myself to step outside of my structured schedule and let loose.
I rarely indulge in anything just for the sake of enjoyment and entertainment.
City life is something I only engage with when it’s tied to work.
Maybe that’s why things had felt so easy between us that first night.
We were both doing something outside of our usual routines, and it made everything flow naturally.
Now that I think about it, all four of the times we’ve run into each other has been because I’ve done something out of my norm.
Ironic that to meet someone like her, I had to break the routine that I’ve clung to like a second skin for years.
“I’m rarely there, and it’s never felt like a home. I didn’t see the point in decorating it.”
She nods, biting down on one of her lips as she digests my words.
I wonder what she thinks about that considering her home is warm, inviting, decorated and very well lived in.
This place is relaxing to her, a break from the grind.
Meanwhile, my house is an extension of my career.
It’s not an oasis of relaxation; it’s practically a second office.
Hers is warm. Mine is cold. Hers is decorated. Mine is barren.
“Okay, well, take care of your hand…” she trails off.
I’m not sure if I should give her a hug or a kiss on the cheek.
Hell, I don’t know anything anymore when it comes to her.
I feel like I’ve learned more about her tonight than I have any woman I’ve ever dated before.
So, instead of deciding, I simply step over the threshold and head toward my car, feeling like a failure and thoroughly confused as fuck.
“See you around, Cain!” she calls after me, her voice echoing as she shuts the front door behind her.
See me around in a city of nearly nine million people?
Unlikely, but I’m going to make sure of it…