Chapter Fifty-Seven
Kira
Once back in the dining room, my heart sinks.
Caleb hasn’t moved, he’s practically despondent, sitting with his hands in his lap.
His stare is fixed on nothing, refusing to lift even when Jax says his name.
It’s a sight that hollows the space behind my ribs.
I may not have been the one to pull the trigger, but I carry my sister’s grievances all the same.
I don’t know how she couldn’t see what this would do to him.
“Fuck,” Jax whispers under his breath, casting me a torn look and raking his hands down his face.
For all that Jax is—a killer, a cleaner, a cocky bastard—he loves his brother. He may not care that his father is dead, but he cares that Caleb cares.
He glances at James’ body before moving toward Caleb, and then freezes, clearly not sure which problem to handle first. I’m aware there’s a ticking clock on us, and as capable as Jax is in the most difficult of situations, this is one thing I can help him with.
“Hey.” I place a hand on his chest, feeling how hard his heart is thumping. “I’ll handle this.”
Jax searches my eyes before casting another look at Caleb, the muscles in his lips pulling down.
“I got him,” I repeat softly. “You do what you need to do.”
Something like gratitude flashes in his eyes, and he finally nods. Breaking away, I kneel beside Caleb and lace a hand through his.
“Let’s not sit in here, yeah?” I try to warm his hand with mine, realizing how cold he is.
Surprisingly, he nods, though weakly, and I keep his hand in mine as he stands without prompting.
I pull him closer to me, trying to shield him from seeing any more of his pale father.
When we turn, Nix is standing under the archway, her face finally full of the remorse she should have had an hour ago.
“Caleb.” She tries reaching out, but he jerks away, refusing to look at her.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “Please, I did it for you.”
The softness in her voice is a rarity, a tone she uses only when she’s about to cry, and her pain radiates through me.
I have no doubt that she really was just trying to protect him, but I don’t see how they’ll overcome this, no matter how badly I want them to.
I’m tempted to let her plead like she should, but now isn’t the time, and I shake my head at her.
Guiding Caleb past my sister, I take a deep breath and lead us toward the stairs. The house feels like a morgue as we wind the halls, and once we’re finally in his room, I sit him on the bed and wrap a blanket around his shoulders.
I feel like I should say something, but everything feels hollow, and instead, I take a seat on the floor by his feet, crossing my legs. I don’t know how long we have until Jax sets the house on fire, but I’m sure he’ll come and tell us.
We sit in silence for a few minutes when he suddenly whispers, “It wasn’t that bad.”
My brows come together. “What?” I lean in closer.
“It’s not like it was every day,” he says. “Maybe, maybe like once or twice a month.”
I blink, not sure what he’s referring to, and he eventually looks up. Motioning to the yellowing around his eye, he says, “It wasn’t all the time.”
Realizing that he means the abuse, I suck in my lips and refrain from telling him it should have been none of the time.
“And I was going to be leaving soon,” he continues. “For college. We both were, me and Nix. She didn’t…” his throat bobs, “she didn’t need to do that.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, even though I know this isn’t the kind of thing an apology can make better, no matter how much I mean it.
“I told her not to. But I didn’t think she would actually do it.”
“She told you?” I ask.
“I thought Jax would realize his gun was missing, but then he didn’t, and I didn’t want him to get mad at her. But I didn’t think… I didn’t think she would actually do it. I thought I could put it back after dinner. I didn’t know she was really going to do it.” A sob wracks him.
I quickly stand and sit down beside him, wrapping an arm around him while wishing I could strangle Nix.
“He wasn’t going to make me do what Jax does. He wasn’t. He really wasn’t, ” he cries, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than me.
“Even if he was, she shouldn’t have done that,” I admit.
“And I… I don’t want to be mad at her. I really don’t. But she… why would she… He’s dead. He’s dead, and I don’t know how…”
“I know.” I pull him closer. “I know.”
And I do know. My dad may still be alive, but I told myself he was dead at about the same age as Caleb.
That year leading up to my own graduation, desperately trying to get him sober so I could go to college, and him falling off the wagon the night before, I had to tell myself he died.
I had to make myself believe it, otherwise I had a dad that cared so little about his daughter he would rather drink and sleep on the streets.
It hurt less for him to be dead. So that’s what he was.
It may not be the same as having your girlfriend shoot your dad, but I know what it feels like to lose a parent all the same.
Holding him as tightly as I can, I let him cry until there’s a soft tap on the door. Turning, I find Nix hesitating in the entryway. Her eyes go wide when she notices Caleb crying.
“I, uh…” she fumbles, a complete contrast to who she normally is, and my heart aches for both of them.
Clearing her throat, she swallows and looks away. “Jax says we should change into something that makes it look like we were asleep,” she says before quickly ducking away.
Sighing, I push to my feet and look around helplessly, wondering what Caleb normally wears to bed and where I can find it.
“He’s burning the house down, isn’t he?” Caleb croaks as I timidly pull open a drawer.
Wincing, I grimace and root around some socks. “Yeah.”
Out of my peripheral, he nods and stands. Wiping his eyes, he shakes out his arms and sucks in a breath, seemingly trying to compose himself.
“Sorry.” He sniffles. “I’m not… I’m not as cool as Jax.”
I stifle a snort and close the drawer. Stepping toward him, I catch his wrists before he can scrub at his eyes any further. “Jax isn’t cool,” I say, “he’s numb. Be glad life hasn’t done that to you.”
He swallows hard, gaze flicking away. “It would be better than whatever this is.”
The way he’s being so hard on himself gives me pause, but I force myself to tilt my head and smile.
“Are you calling me not cool? Because I’m pretty sure I bawled my eyes out when I realized my house was gone.
And it was nothing compared to this place.
” I give a pointed look at the foosball table in the corner.
He gives a quiet, broken laugh, but it’s a pulse of life, and relief floods me. He rolls his shoulders back with shaky resolve. “Okay. I can do this.” He psyches himself up. “The last thing I want is for you to have to dress me.”
I laugh. “You and me both.”