Chapter 39
CAIDEN
I was sinking into the deep end, and I wasn’t sure how to get out.
Amelia was slowly infecting my blood, crippling my control, devouring everything that I thought I knew, and twisting it into something completely different.
I grew up telling myself that it was easier to be hated. It was easier to carry this anger than deal with what laid beneath it. It was easier to hold power and control.
To keep myself from getting hurt, I told myself that I had to stay guarded. I couldn’t get attached; I had to push away any good thing because if I didn’t, I would ruin it, or it would become lost.
For a long time, that had been who I was.
Now, I’ve morphed into something different, something painted with the essence of Amelia.
Drowning in her purity, her pain, and her beauty.
Amelia was everywhere, and I didn’t want to run anymore.
Seeing her fall beneath the water, not coming to the surface for what seemed like forever, broke something inside of me. I realized she was everything I needed to survive and to feel complete, and I couldn’t lose her.
But Dante had to fucking mess my head up by saying what he said.
He was right, I would break her with my anger.
I’ve learned to control it, but if pushed hard enough, it was like a dam coming apart, and once unleashed, this anger would ruin everything in its path like a hurricane.
Including Amelia.
But I was trying. That had to count for something, right? Trying not to lose it, even when it felt like my whole brain was made of broken glass and every step forward just tore open old wounds.
I split the last log and left the axe blade buried in the stump. My hands shook with something colder than the wind. I wiped them on my jeans, sap and blood smudging together, then went around the front of the house.
Inside, the windows had fogged with the heat of bodies and tea. I could see Amelia and Dante through the glass, sitting at the kitchen table, heads tipped toward each other.
Their hands were close, almost touching. I watched, invisible, as she laughed at something he said, her cheeks flushed, the fire of it visible even from here.
It should have gutted me, but all I felt was a numb, gnawing ache. A hunger for something I had no right to want.
I hated how easy she made it look: the way she could let him in, the way she could put herself back together after a disaster and act like she didn’t still have water in her lungs.
I went inside, careful not to slam the door. Both of them looked up. Amelia’s eyes went first to my hands, tracking the mess of them, then to my face. She didn’t say anything, but the way her mouth twitched made me feel both seen and skinned.
Dante nodded at me. “There’s stew on the stove. You should eat.”
I shrugged, went to the sink, and started scrubbing the sap off my palms.
The soap stung like hell, but I kept going, digging grit out from my cuticles with my thumbnail until the blood ran clean. I could hear them talking behind me, barely above a whisper.
By the time I finished, my hands were red and raw. I poured myself a mug from the half-empty coffee pot and leaned against the counter, watching the two of them.
Dante had this calm, easy confidence. Like he was born knowing where to put his hands and how to say things that made people relax, even when they wanted to fight.
Amelia was curled into her side of the table, face hidden by her hair, but she looked up and met my eyes for a heartbeat before looking away.
It was only then I noticed how tired she looked.
The kind of tired that can’t be slept off. A bone-deep, marrow-tired that comes from years of holding on to something that aches and burns.
She wrapped both hands around her mug and stared into it like she was waiting for a message to appear in the foam.
I wanted to go up to her, maybe touch her shoulder, say something not fucked up for once. But the words jammed up at the gate.
Instead, I said, “Sorry I yelled.”
She shook her head. “You don’t have to apologize for worrying.”
Dante gave me an understanding nod. “No worries, man. I know you were stressed. She’s okay now, it’s in the past.”
The stew was thick with potatoes and something that could have been venison, the sort of food people made when they wanted to fill up a body and quiet a mind.
I ate standing up at the sink, watching the swirl of fat and carrot pieces, listening to the small clinks of Dante and Amelia’s conversation behind me.
I tried to tune them out, but every so often I imagined I heard my name, forcing my muscles to tense, waiting for the verdict.
After I finished, I set the bowl down with a thunk and turned to face the room.
Dante was telling some story about his dad and a busted snowblower, and Amelia was smiling in that way that meant she was only half-listening. Her eyes flicked to me, then away, and I felt something coil tight in my gut.
I went to the living room and sat on the farthest end of the couch, boots muddying the ancient rug.
For a while, I just stared at the fog beyond the window, letting my mind white out.
I counted the knots in the wood paneling.
I watched a spider slow-motion its way down from the ceiling.
I tried not to think about how close I’d come to losing her today, how my hands still ached from the way I’d held her after.
Eventually, Amelia came and sat next to me. Not close, she left a whole cushion between us, as if we were strangers waiting at a bus stop. She had a blanket draped around her shoulders.
I let the silence breed, tried to be the one who broke it, but the words never made it to my throat. I was good at violence but not at being quiet. At last, she said, "You know, I'm not made out of glass." She picked at the ragged edge of the knit, keeping her eyes out the window.
I wanted to laugh, but didn't quite manage. "I know that. If you were, I'd have shattered you years ago."
She pulled the blanket tighter. "You're not the villain in my story anymore, if that's what you're worried about."
I didn't know what to say to that. I wanted to believe her, but I could still taste the villain in my mouth, could still see the look in her eyes the first time I'd scared her for real. There were things you couldn't fix, no matter how many times you apologized.
I wanted to reach over and fix the blanket where it slipped off her shoulder. I wanted to touch her so bad it was almost a physical pain, but I kept my hands locked in my lap.
A minute passed. Then another, the quiet filling up with the sounds of wood popping in the stove and the lake ticking against the dock outside.
“Do you remember that time in high school I locked you in the gym equipment closet?” I said, the words popping out before I could stop them.
She side-eyed me, lips in a straight line. “I try not to remember anything from high school.”
I let out a small, humorless laugh. “Probably smart.”
Beyond the kitchen wall, I could hear Dante moving around, cleaning up, giving us space. He was always good at that. Disappearing just enough to let someone else fill the room.
“I haven’t apologized for that,” I said. “Or for a lot of things.”
She shrugged, the blanket slipping a little farther. “I don’t need any more apologies, Caiden. I’m not sure what I’d even do with them.”
That stung, but I deserved it.
“I can’t stop worrying about you,” I said quietly. “Even when I know it pisses you off. Even when you’re safer with anyone else but me.”
“That’s flattering, but it’s also suffocating.”
She was right. I would suffocate her, then I would burn her, and suddenly I wasn’t sure if I wanted to risk it. She deserved somebody who wouldn’t break her with a touch, a look, or a sentence.
“He’s a good one,” I said, nodding toward the kitchen. “Dante.” I didn’t know why I said it, maybe to drown out all the reasons to have her.
She tucked her knees up, blanket tangling around her shins. “You don’t have to push me at him.”
“Not pushing,” I said, “Just saying. You could do worse.”
She looked at me then, really looked. Her eyes were pale green in the late afternoon light, ringed with a thin circle of brown that always made her look a little haunted. “I know what you’re doing,” she said. “You’re trying to be noble, like you’re some tragic hero. But it’s not necessary.”
I wanted to laugh, but it caught in my throat. “Trust me, hero isn’t a word anyone would ever use on me.”
Something passed between us then, something I couldn’t name, but recognized anyway. A kind of truce, or maybe just the surrender that comes after a war is too old to bother winning.
But she didn’t move away. If anything, she leaned closer, bare foot nudging mine under the coffee table.
Behind us, the kettle whistled. Dante’s silhouette moved in the kitchen, the familiar comfort of his movements making the house feel less like a borrowed space and more like something lived in. I watched him pour tea, then step out onto the porch, leaving us alone in the hush.
“I used to wish something bad would happen to you,” she said, eyes fixed on the lake. “I wished you’d disappear, so I didn’t have to think about you anymore, or your cruelty.”
“I know,” I said. “I wished the same about myself.”
“You’re not as bad as you think, Caiden,” she finally said. “If you were, I wouldn’t be here.”
I looked away, embarrassed at the heat rising in my cheeks. The truth was, I could never quite let go of the image of myself in her eyes. The bully, the fuck-up, the kid who’d once chased her down the halls just to see her flinch. Yet now she was here. Still here. After all of it.
“How do you do it?” I asked. “How do you look at me and not see…” I let the sentence die, unable to finish it.
She didn’t answer for a while, just stared at the lake, the fog rolling in thick over the water. “I don’t forget,” she said finally. “But I don’t want to spend my life carrying all that, either. If I did, it would eat me alive.”
“I don’t deserve it,” I said.