Chapter Seven
Iknow exactly the moment that Cade gets home, because he slams the door so hard the house shudders and rattles, like a bone-chattering skeleton in an episode of Scooby-Doo.
Interesting. He’s never been great at restraining his emotions, but this is probably a first for us.
“Cade?”
Silence. I can feel him, though. I know he’s standing in the entryway, his shoes still on as he clutches whatever anger or misery is fueling him, trying to let it go before he gets any closer to me.
Again, I feel a twinge of guilt, because even his worst days still seem to revolve around managing me.
Instead of waiting, I go to him. He’s standing exactly where I expected; one hand on the worn bannister, his shoulders slumped but every muscle in his body tense.
Even the air around him feels tense. It’s the kind of sensation my brain is hard-wired to avoid—either by leaving the room or desperately appeasing the source of the tension—but forcing myself to stare at Cade’s features rolls back that initial instinct.
I never want to avoid him. I want to help; even if I feel too useless to, most of the time. Asking him what’s wrong is not my next step. I’ve learned at least that much after spending the better part of a year living together.
“Hey.”
The word slips out of my mouth before I can think of something meaningful to say. It’s a start, at least.
When Cade’s eyes flick up to mine, I expect to see anger there. Rage or frustration because of whatever happened to set him off into this mood. Instead, I see grief. It’s a hollow expression, like a dark, empty room with waves crashing against the outer walls, trying to get in. I know it well.
But it’s not an expression I’ve seen Cade wear before. I’m briefly grateful that Cade agreed to have the girls stay with their aunt for the weekend, so he doesn’t feel the need to put on a brave face for them more than he already does for me.
“Did something happen?” I ask.
Cade shrugs, before letting out a deep sigh. I see his eyes flick from side to side—like he’s trying to reset himself—but it doesn’t really work.
“No,” he shrugs, affecting nonchalance. “I’m just tired.”
I nod. I don’t believe him for a second. “Okay.”
There’s no point in pushing him.
“Do you want me to make you something to eat?” I ask, prompting Cade to rub both hands over his face, looking paler than usual.
“Like what?”
He doesn’t say it in a bitchy way, but it stings nonetheless. The food thing is still a sticking point between us, even if neither of us is willing to explicitly acknowledge it out loud.
When I don’t respond, Cade does a weird, aborted sort of flinch before casting his gaze to the floor.
“I’m sorry, I’m…” he trails off, still not looking me in the eye and not seeming to really know what he’s trying to say. “I’m gonna go for a ride.”
My heart thumps too hard when the words drop into the space between us. This time he does look up, catching my eye and holding me pinned there.
Yet another thing we’ve stopped fighting about, without really getting to the bottom of. Jesus, maybe our relationship is a lot more precarious than I realized. Maybe we’re just getting really good at avoiding acknowledging anything that causes conflict between us.
Or maybe Cade just keeps changing himself to appease me. The thought makes my pulse race from guilt and shame more than the anxiety that normally comes from anything to do with motocross.
I never asked him to stop riding. I never would.
It’s not his fault that as soon as I was able to free myself from something I’d come to fundamentally hate, all the anxieties I’d suppressed about it suddenly spiraled out of control.
I’d always had shuddering flashes of getting injured during a race.
I think a part of me thought about it so much because I secretly wanted it.
I wanted to be crushed and broken so badly I wouldn’t be able to perform as my father’s prize cash cow anymore, and we’d both be forced to find out whether he’d even tolerate me if I didn’t bring anything productive into his life.
If the only thing that tied him to me was the fact that he was supposed to love me anyway.
But when Cade and I got together, those images were suddenly replaced with him. Cade hurt; Cade broken; Cade taken away from me. And the more he rode, the worse it got. I tried to hide it, but he’s always been able to read me better than anyone else.
It got to the point where I was having a panic attack every time he went out, especially if it was for a competition, but even if he was just riding by himself.
So, he stopped. And I never thanked him for it, because that meant acknowledging that he did it for me.
Because I couldn’t control my emotions enough to not take something away from him that he loves.
Instead, neither of us ever discussed it.
Just like everything else new and painful that’s slowly filling this house around us.
I’m worried that this mountain of unsaid will ultimately smother us.
Or is it only going to keep pushing us together, until we’re bound more by the threat of mutual destruction than any real desire?
“I’ll come with you.”
My voice breaks the silence before I’d really formulated the thought. Cade’s eyes widen, just as shocked as I am at the suggestion.
There were a couple of months between when my dad left me—taking my bike with him as his consolation prize—but before I’d let myself acknowledge I never wanted to ride again.
I’d gotten a beater dirt bike on the cheap, just to have, and fixed it up as part of my training at the shop. It’s nothing fancy, but it runs.
And when I gradually stopped using it altogether, the idea of getting rid of it felt too much like a final admission of weakness.
So I held on to it, sitting next to Cade’s bike he’s had for years, both of them now gathering dust I have to shake off every time I do routine maintenance.
I know how much Cade’s bike means to him, which keeps me doing the bare minimum to make sure the engine doesn’t seize up from disuse, even if I secretly hope he never rides it again.
Until this moment, at least. This moment where it feels like he needs it.
Cade and I are still looking at each other. I’m wondering how much needs to be said right now, and if I had to guess, I’d say he’s wondering the same thing. Maybe he’ll tell me no. Maybe he wants to be alone.
I don’t know if I can really help him. But I know that watching him suffer like this hurts too much not to try.
“Okay,” he says, finally, his voice oddly flat. “Let’s go.”
It’s getting into the early grip of winter, before the earth gets hard-packed and semi-frozen, instead being wet enough that it’s more like riding on sludge.
The mud out by Cade’s family’s trailer is so bad we had to let some air out of the tires before we left.
We keep the bikes there because there’s plenty of space, and all the trails he used to practice on are snaking around his neighbor’s property.
No one was home when we parked, thankfully, so we didn’t have to have any awkward conversation.
We just pulled out the bikes and our gear and got ready to go.
It all happened in a silence that was a mixture of companionable and tense.
I love the quiet, but when it’s coming from Cade, I find it unsettling.
He fills my life in a lot of ways, but one of them is definitely a constant stream of conversational chatter.
As much as I would never have expected to enjoy it, I do when it’s coming from him.
I love how animated he gets when he tells me about something cool that his sisters did, or some new medical thing he just learned that I won’t even pretend to understand.
This stillness from him is so out of character, it has me more worried than the door slamming. I’d almost prefer it if he picked something random to fight with me about, just so he could get this dark energy out of him.
Hopefully, this will help.
I focus on that to get myself out of my head once we head out on the trail.
On one hand, every sensation is familiar in this bone-deep way, which is kind of soothing.
Even if I immediately start feeling aches and pains in the riding-specific muscles I haven’t used in so long.
It’s easy to let myself think about that, and keep my eyes trained on Cade a dozen or so feet in front of me.
Once we pick up speed, I see him whip away a tear off from his goggles to clear his vision, the plastic already spattered in mud, and throw a look back over his shoulder as he shoves it in a pocket.
I can’t see his expression, but it’s like I can feel it.
It’s written in every line of his body, and the way he’s so alert, body ready to respond to every single bump or twist in the trail.
It’s joyful.
He looks so happy. Don’t ask me how I know that from staring at his back, I just do.
I struggle to read people a lot of the time, but I’ve dedicated the last year of my life to learning every expression and gesture Cade produces and interpreting what they mean, and the Cade in front of me is happier than a Golden Retriever launching itself into a lake over and over.
Cade speeds up, and I match his pace. I try to lose myself in the jolting movement, the vibration of the bike underneath me, and the satisfying constant micro-adjustments of my body. It starts to feel like I’m in sync with the bike, and we’re both in sync with the earth underneath us.
We wind through the trees, me following Cade’s lead until we’re so deep it barely feels like we’re on a trail anymore.
It’s more like a deer trail, weeds whipping at my legs as we blow past. My abs and thighs ache, and my wrists are already exhausted, but it doesn’t matter.
My eye is on my love, and I’m going to chase him down.