Chapter 3
THREE
Branson wasn’t terribly alarmed when Eriq called him in the middle of the afternoon, even though they typically texted.
He paused the movie he’d been watching, because Tarius had recommended it the other day.
So far, his film recs had been legit, if a bit obscure.
The only downside was that Tarius hadn’t been available to chill today and watch it with him. “Hey, man, what’s up?”
“First of all, he’s not hurt,” Eriq said.
No good conversation ever started like that. Branson stood, the remote falling to the floor. “Who’s not hurt? Is it Emory?”
“No, Em’s fine, he’s home with the boys. It’s Caden. He’s been taken to division for questioning.”
“Questioning? For what?” Six days. Their parents had only been gone for six days. “Do I need to go down there?”
“No, I’m on my way to see what’s going on, and hopefully, I can handle this without formal charges.”
Branson started pacing the length of his apartment, from the balcony door, past the sofa, to the kitchen counter, and back again. “What did he do, Eriq?”
“Disorderly conduct and public intoxication.”
“In the middle of the afternoon?”
“I don’t have all the information yet. Constable Corinth called me as a courtesy, since Caden is family. Caden was at Pete’s, likely smoking in the backroom, and he tried to punch the bouncer who was trying to throw him out.”
“Fucking hell.” Caden got high and then got into a fight? That was…not his brother.
How well did Branson still know his brother, though?
“Listen, Branson, I’ll be at division in about five minutes, but there’s a good chance this is going to end up on the evening news. I wanted to give you a heads-up so you can call your parents. I don’t want them blindsided by the press during tonight’s book signing.”
“Good idea.” Branson hated the idea of Caden’s fuck-up ruining Dad’s tour. Their family couldn’t manage two damned weeks without drama? “I’ll call them. Does Em know?”
“No, I want more details before I upset him.”
“Okay. Shit.”
“I know. I’ll update you later, okay?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Branson ended the call then debated which of his parents to drop this on first. They were in Delphia Province this weekend, doing signings in four different locations.
This morning’s should be long over, and the next wasn’t for a few hours.
He called Papa’s mobile, because Papa was good at breaking bad news to Dad in a way that kept him from panicking.
“Hey, I didn’t expect to hear from you today,” Papa said. “Everything okay at home?”
“No, and that’s why I’m calling. No one’s hurt, and Eriq is handling it.”
“What happened?”
“Caden got high and punched a bouncer.”
A beat of silence followed, and then Papa said. “I think I need to sit down for this.”
Branson was on pins and needles waiting for Eriq to call back with an update.
He couldn’t sit, couldn’t concentrate on the movie anymore.
More than once, he nearly called Tarius just to hear a friendly voice, to be reassured everything would be okay.
But this wasn’t gossip, it was a serious family matter—at least, until it hit the evening news.
When Eriq finally called and said Caden had been released without charges, Branson wanted to burst into relieved tears. When Eriq told him they suspected Caden had smoked Flax laced with something stronger, those relieved tears turned into furious ones.
Fury at Caden for smoking Flax in the first place, but even more fury at whoever had laced an already dangerous substance with something even more dangerous. Mixing illegal drugs got people killed.
He thanked Eriq for the update, then called Papa back so he knew what was going on. He could hear Dad cussing in the background when Branson mentioned the laced Flax.
“If Caden starts feeling unusually sick, he needs to go straight to Emergency,” Papa said. “Damn it, I wish we weren’t so far away.”
“I know, but we’re all here for Caden, I promise. Eriq is taking him home, and I bet he’ll be watching him like a hawk.”
“Or like a constable.” Papa grunted. “Thank you for calling. I don’t want Caden to feel smothered or ganged up on by me calling him directly.”
“Yet,” Dad yelled out in the background.
“Hopefully, he’ll call us all himself,” Branson said. “Try to enjoy the signing tonight.”
“We’ll do our best,” Papa replied. “Talk to you soon.”
“Bye.”
Branson’s finger hovered over Caden’s contact, but Papa was right.
They couldn’t smother him. Caden hated that.
He still wanted to call Tarius, just to have a good friend tell him everything would be okay, but Branson didn’t want to start the gossip chain.
Not this time. Not when Caden was clearly going through something.
Branson had been a horrible gossip as a teenager, but he was slowly growing out of it.
Growing up and understanding that sometimes it was okay to have secrets.
Time inched by, and when his mobile finally rang with Caden’s number, Branson felt a huge weight lift from his chest. “Hey, dude, are you okay? Eriq texted that you’d been released.”
“I’m home and I’m okay.” Caden didn’t sound okay; he sounded hoarse. “So far so good.”
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
“Do you have at least thirty minutes? I’ll tell you all about it.”
That eased some of Branson’s temper over the whole situation. Caden wanted to talk to him. Finally. “Yeah, okay.” He perched on the edge of his sofa. “Start talking.”
“First of all, I love you, and I am so fucking sorry for everything. All of it. And I promise I will never smoke Flax again.”
Branson blinked hard against a rush of gratitude that made him want to cry. He couldn’t remember the last time Caden had said “I love you” to him and sounded like he truly meant it. Once he found his voice, he said, “Good start. What else?”
Caden chuckled softly. “I already bared my soul to Emory, but I’ll tell you, too.”
“You’ll tell me why you smoke Flax?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“I started smoking when I was fourteen, because a buddy at school offered it to me. We’d just started at secondary, and it was overwhelming being in a new school, with a bunch of new students who were up my ass about the twin thing, and I hated it.
My buddy said Flax would relax me, make things seem less stressful, and it worked.
So I kept smoking it. For the last six years. ”
Branson closed his eyes. His chest ached.
Six years. How had he only noticed it in the last few months, if it had been happening for six years? Right under his nose. Maybe they weren’t as close as Branson always assumed they were? It wasn’t as if either of them had initiated any real heart-to-hearts recently, and that was on Branson, too.
“But you’re done now, right?” Branson asked. “You swear to me?”
“I swear. I don’t know what happened today, brother. I lost five hours of my life, because I smoked some bad shit, and I could have done something a lot worse than break a table. I could have killed myself or someone else, and I don’t ever want to lose control like that again.”
“Good. You’re a pain in the ass sometimes, but I love you, Caden. I need you safe, just like I need Emory safe. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost either of you guys.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know. But quitting a drug problem cold turkey isn’t easy. You have got to lean on your family, okay? Let us love you.”
“I will, I promise.”
“Okay.” They would definitely be talking more about this in the coming days and weeks, but Branson couldn’t hog his brother’s attention. “You’d better call Dad before his signing starts. He’ll want to hear your voice.”
“I’m calling him next. I love you, big brother.”
“Love you, too, little brother.”
Branson put his phone down and rubbed his eyes, overwhelmed and frustrated and scared, and also insanely relieved. The drug problem was out in the open, and they were finally going to deal with it as a family—something they should have done years ago.
But nothing in the Cross family was ever easy, and neither was Caden’s journey to sobriety.
When Uncle Braun called Branson the next day to say he and Eriq had driven Caden to Emergency because Caden was exhibiting bizarre withdrawal symptoms, he hadn’t panicked.
Not until Uncle Braun began describing those symptoms. Branson had seen a university friend get clean after a ten-month Flax addiction, and his was nothing like Caden’s reactions.
So, he’d quit what he was doing and driven straight to the hospital to be with his brother.
Four days dragged by. Branson only went back to his apartment twice, and both times were to get clean clothes and take a shower.
Between sitting with his family at the hospital and helping with the triplets, he was an exhausted, stretched-thin, walking ball of anxiety.
His job was being incredibly understanding—your brother screaming obscenities and trying to slam his own head into the wall from drug toxicity wasn’t something he’d wish on anyone—and he missed three full days of work.
He called out today, too, and he didn’t care he was using up all his paid leave. Caden had nearly died, damn it!
Frey and Khory were at the house, along with Khory’s son Asher, the pair of mated omegas helping Branson with the triplets.
All the children were awake and engaged in a game of their own making, corralled in the den by a wall of couch cushions, which gave the adults a bit more freedom to clean.
Branson didn’t want Caden coming home to a hot mess.
Because he was coming home. He just had to wake up. Now that his doctor had found the right treatment to fight the drug toxicity, Caden could heal and wake up. And come home.