Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
india
Cage shows up at my cabin every morning for a week straight.
The first day, he brings groceries. Healthy food, prenatal vitamins. Ginger tea for the nausea I mentioned once while we were talking about food.
The second day, he fixes the leaking pipe under my kitchen sink that I'd been meaning to deal with for months.
The third day, he chops enough firewood to last me through winter and stacks it neatly on the porch.
By the fourth day, I'm starting to feel like a project.
"You don't have to do this," I tell him as he replaces the worn weather stripping around my door.
"It needs doing."
"I can do it myself."
"I know. But I'm here."
He's always here. Morning, noon, sometimes evening. Fixing things, and checking on me. Making sure I'm eating enough and resting enough and taking my vitamins.
It should feel nice and caring. Instead it feels suffocating.
"Cage," I say as he finishes with the door. "Can we talk?"
"We are talking."
"I mean really talk. About this, about us."
He wipes his hands on a rag. "What about us?"
"Why are you doing all of this?"
"You're pregnant, you need help."
"That's not an answer."
He looks at me, his expression carefully neutral. "What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to tell me why you're really here. Is it because you want to be, or because you feel like you have to be?"
Something flickers in his eyes. "Does it matter?"
"Yes. It matters."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then, "You're carrying my child, that makes you my responsibility."
There's that word again, responsibility.
Not want, not care, not anything that resembles actual feeling.
Just an obligation.
"I don't want to be your responsibility," I say.
"Too bad, you are."
"That's not fair."
"Life's not fair."
I want to scream, want to shake him, want him to give me something, anything, that isn't wrapped in duty and guilt.
But he just stands there, tool bag in hand, looking at me like I'm a problem he needs to solve.
"I have to go into town," I say. "I need to pick up some things at the store and go to the library."
"I'll drive you."
"I can drive myself."
"Your truck's barely running, let me take you."
He's right. My truck has been making noises since Rosie fixed the battery. But that's not the point.
"Fine," I say anyway, because arguing with Cage is exhausting, and I'm already tired.
The drive into town is quiet. Cage keeps his eyes on the road, his jaw tight. I stare out the window and try not to think about how wrong this all feels.
We should be excited, nervous, maybe, but excited. Instead it feels like we're fulfilling some kind of contract, he provides, I accept, and neither of us talks about what we actually want.
He parks outside the library, and I get out without waiting for him to open my door. He does it anyway, following me inside.
June is at the front desk. Her face lights up when she sees me.
"India! I was just about to text you." Then she sees Cage behind me, and her expression shifts to surprise. "Cage. Hi."
"June," he says with a nod.
"I need those seed catalogues for the spring garden planning," I tell her, trying to sound normal.
"Right. They came in yesterday." She disappears into the back room.
Cage and I stand in awkward silence, he's scanning the library like he's looking for threats. Always alert, always checking exits. It's exhausting to watch.
June returns with the catalogues. "Here you go. Oh, and India? There's a package for you at the post office. Elsie mentioned it this morning."
Of course she did, Elsie mentions everything.
"Thanks, June."
She hesitates. "Are you okay? You look tired."
"I'm fine."
"Have you been sleeping?"
"June," I say gently. "I'm fine."
She doesn't look convinced, but she lets it go. Her eyes flick to Cage, then back to me, questions clearly forming.
"I'll see you at girls' night?" she asks.
"Maybe. I've been busy."
"Too busy for your friends?"
The gentle reproach stings because she's right, I've been avoiding them, avoiding everyone.
"I'll try," I say.
Outside, Cage is already heading toward the post office. I follow, clutching the catalogues.
"You don't have to come with me everywhere," I tell him.
"I know."
"Then why are you?"
"Because you need help."
"I'm picking up a package, not climbing a mountain."
He doesn't respond, just holds the door to the post office open and waits for me to go inside.
Elsie is behind the counter, sorting mail. She looks up when we enter, and her eyes go wide.
"India. Cage." She says our names like she's announcing royalty. "What brings you both in?"
"I have a package," I say.
"Oh yes. Let me get that for you." She disappears into the back, but I can hear her moving slowly, taking her time.
When she returns, she's smiling. "Here you go. Seeds, looks like."
"Thanks, Elsie."
She doesn't hand them over immediately. "How are you feeling, dear? You look a bit pale."
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure? Because Ma was saying you haven't been to the diner in over a week, and Rosie mentioned you canceled on girls' night again, and well." She glances at Cage. "People are starting to wonder."
My face heats. "Wonder about what?"
"Oh, you know. This and that." Her smile is all innocence, but her eyes are sharp. "Small towns, people talk."
Cage steps forward. "The package, Elsie."
She hands it over quickly, her smile never wavering. "Of course, you two take care now."
We leave, and I can feel her eyes on us through the window.
"Everyone knows," I say once we're outside.
"So?"
"So? Cage, this is my life, my reputation, my business."
"You're pregnant, you’re not committing a crime."
"In a town like this, it might as well be the same thing."
He stops walking and turns to face me. "Do you care what they think?"
"Yes. I have to live here."
"Then let them talk, it doesn't change anything."
Easy for him to say, he doesn't live in town, he doesn't have to face the whispers and the questions and the judgment.
We're walking back to his truck when I see her.
Sarah Mitchell. Standing outside the general store with a bag of groceries, staring at us, at Cage.
The look on her face is pure pain mixed with something darker, anger, and resentment.
Cage sees her too, his entire body goes rigid.
"Mrs. Mitchell," he says quietly.
She doesn't respond, just looks at him, then at me, then back at him, her eyes drop to my stomach even though there's nothing to see yet.
"You get to have this," she says, her voice shaking. "A life, a family, my husband doesn't."
"Sarah," I start, but she cuts me off.
"Do you know what it's like?" She's looking at Cage now. "Watching you move on while my daughter asks me every night why her daddy isn't coming home?"
Cage's face is stone. "I'm sorry."
"Everyone's sorry. Sorry doesn't change anything." She picks up her groceries. "He trusted you, they all did, and now you get to be happy while they're in the ground."
She walks away, leaving us standing there.
I look at Cage. His jaw is clenched so tight I'm surprised his teeth don't crack.
"Cage," I say softly.
"Not here."
He walks to the truck, and I follow. We drive back to my cabin in complete silence, the tension so thick I can barely breathe.
Inside, he heads straight for the door like he's planning to leave.
"Don't," I say.
He stops, his hand on the doorknob.
"We need to talk about that."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"She's in pain and she blames you."
"I know."
"Is she right?"
He turns around slowly. "What?"
"Is she right? Was it your fault?"
His eyes go dark and dangerous. "You want the truth?"
"Yes."
"I was the team leader. I made the call. They followed orders, and they died." His voice is flat. Emotionless. "So yes. It was my fault."
"That's not the same as being responsible."
"It's close enough."
I cross to him, forcing him to look at me. "What happened?"
"IED. I called the wrong position, I should have seen it, but I didn't."
"You couldn't have known."
"I should have." His hands clench into fists. "That's my job, to know, to protect them. I failed."
"And now you're trying to protect me. To make up for it."
He doesn't deny it.
"Cage." My voice breaks. "I'm not a mission. I'm not something you can fix or save or protect to make yourself feel better about what happened."
"I know that."
"Do you? Because it feels like you're here out of guilt. Like I'm some kind of penance."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" I step closer. "Tell me honestly. Are you here because you want to be? Or because you feel like you owe me something?"
He's quiet for too long.
"That's what I thought," I say.
"India."
"No. I need to know, I need to know if this is real or if I'm just another responsibility you're checking off your list."
"It's not like that."
"Then what is it like? Tell me."
He runs a hand through his hair, frustration radiating off him. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be what you need."
"I need you to want to be here. Not because you have to, not because you feel guilty. But because you actually want to."
"I do want to be here."
"Then show me."
The words hang between us, charged with everything we're not saying.
He crosses to me in two strides, his hands cupping my face. "You want me to show you?"
"Yes."
His mouth crashes down on mine. It's not gentle, not sweet, it's desperate and raw and full of all the things he can't say out loud.
I kiss him back just as hard, my hands fisting in his shirt.
This is what I've wanted, this, not the careful distance, not the polite help, but this intensity and this connection.
He walks me backward until I hit the wall. His body presses against mine, solid and warm, and I can feel how much he wants this, wants me.
His hands slide down to my waist, then lower, gripping my hips. I make a sound in the back of my throat, and he swallows it. This is dangerous, this is exactly what got us here in the first place.
But I don't care.
I need this, need him to be present, to be real, to be something other than the controlled, careful man who treats me like I might break.
His mouth moves to my neck, and I tilt my head back, giving him access. His hands slide under my shirt, rough palms against soft skin.
"Cage," I breathe.
He freezes, then pulls back, his breathing ragged.
"We can't," he says.
"Why not?"
"Because this doesn't solve anything."
"I don't care."
"You should." He steps back, putting distance between us. "This is just sex. It's not what you need."
"You don't know what I need."
"I know you need more than I can give you."
The words hit like a slap.
"Then why are you here?" I ask, my voice shaking. "If you can't give me what I need, why are you here at all?"
"Because I have to be."
"Have to, not want to."
"India."
"No." I push past him, needing space. "You keep saying you're here, you keep showing up and fixing things and taking care of me. But you won't let me in, you won't tell me what you're feeling or what you want or anything real."
"I'm trying."
"Trying isn't enough." I turn to face him. "I'm pregnant with your baby. And I have no idea if you're here because you want to be a father or because you feel guilty about your team or because you think I'm another person you failed to protect."
"It's not that simple."
"Then make it simple. Tell me what you want, not what you think you should do. Not what's right or responsible. What do you actually want?"
He stares at me, his jaw working. I can see the war happening behind his eyes.
"I don't know," he says finally.
The honesty of it breaks something in my chest.
"Then figure it out," I tell him. "Because I can't do this. I can't be with someone who's only here out of obligation."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I need space. I need you to step back and figure out what you actually want, not what you think you owe me, not what you think you should do. What you want."
"India."
"Please, Cage. Just go."
He looks like he wants to argue, to push back, but he doesn't.
He picks up his jacket and walks to the door, but pauses with his hand on the knob.
"I'm not giving up on this," he says without turning around.
"I'm not asking you to give up, I'm asking you to be honest, with yourself and with me."
He nods once and leaves.
I sink onto the couch and wrap my arms around myself.
This was supposed to be simple, just one night, no complications. But nothing about Cage Brody is simple. And now I'm carrying his baby, and I have no idea if he's here because he wants to be or because he thinks it's his duty.
And I can't live like that, I can't raise a child with someone who sees us as an obligation.
I need more than that, I deserve more than that.
Even if it means doing this alone.
My phone buzzes. A text from Rosie.
Rosie: Heard Cage has been at your place every day. Want to tell me what's going on?
I stare at the message, I should tell her, I should tell both her and June everything.
But I'm not ready yet, not ready to hear their advice or their concern or their judgment, I'm barely holding myself together as it is.
Me: It's complicated. I'll explain soon. Promise.
Rosie: You better. And if he's causing problems, I have a tire iron with his name on it.
I almost smile, that's Rosie, loyal to the bone.
Me: No tire irons necessary. Yet.
Rosie: I'm here when you're ready to talk.
Me: I know. Thank you.
I set the phone down and stare at the fire.
The cabin feels empty without Cage here, it feels too quiet and too big.
I hate that I already miss him, hate that even though I sent him away, part of me wants to call him back. But I meant what I said, I can't do this halfway, I can't be with someone who's only here out of guilt.
I need more than that, the baby needs more than that.
And if Cage can't give it to us, then I need to figure out how to do this alone.
Even if the thought terrifies me.