Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
SEBA
The stone lodged in my throat won’t go away. It cuts through tissue, muscle and bone, bleeding me out from the inside. The distance I put between us for months to protect myself from free-falling into him has been eviscerated. I'm disgusted with myself in an entirely different way.
Cade needed someone. Not just anyone, either.
He needed me.
His stream of consciousness flows from his cracked lips like vomit. It's disjointed and sporadic. Nothing he says makes sense. He's having some kind of episode, like the night I called him a demon, but so much worse.
One thing is clear: he’s scared.
Absolutely fucking terrified.
Even though we’re out of the shower, he’s still twitchy and skittish.
I’ve wrapped a towel around his hips while I use another to dry his hair.
It took every ounce of self-control not to give in with him naked and whispering, “Please touch me. I’m yours.
” He almost broke me. I had my hands all over him, but couldn’t touch him the way both of us wanted. Not when he’s like this…
He stands in the center of the bathroom, vacantly staring at the mirror. He’s done that a few times now for minutes on end before blurting something out like he’s mid-conversation. I hand him a pair of clean boxers and one of my hoodies. He takes them without blinking.
“Cade?”
He’s unresponsive. I wipe the corner of my eye on the back of my hand and bend to help him dress.
He looks even thinner in my clothes. I’m not sure he’s aware I’m still here; it’s ripping me to shreds.
I know I should text Declan— he’s out of town with Mom for an exhibition— but I don’t even know what to say. Should I call 911?
“She’s gonna be mad.”
I freeze. He’s referred to this ominous person over and over, but won't answer when I ask her name. I rise and brush the damp strands from his forehead.
“About what?”
His unfocused eyes shift back and forth. “You stopped me.”
I take one of his hands in both of mine and gently knead his palm.
“Stopped you?”
He licks his lips, glancing at the tub again.
“You’ll be upset.”
He’s all over the place. It’s making me nervous. I squeeze his hand. “Why?”
“She wants me to join her.”
All the heat sucks out of the room. I’m suffocating and frozen to the bone. “Where?”
He’s trembling again.
“Belleview Cemetery."
An avalanche of rage and sorrow descends over me. I pull him in, cradling the back of his head and burying my nose in his hair. It smells like citrus. Like me. It does something to the muscles in my chest.
“I’m not upset with you,” I whisper. My fingers rhythmically massage his scalp as I fight the agony cracking my ribs. “You have to promise me something, though.”
A muffled whimper.
“If you ever—” I can't say it. I swallow a sob that scrapes all the way down. “You find me first.”
His wet cheek rubs against my cross pendant as he nods. I grip the hair at the base of his skull and tug his head back. Bloodshot, ice and honey eyes leak tears. The urge to kiss them away surges. It doesn’t feel wrong… but I hold back.
“I want to hear you say it.”
His bottom lip quivers. “I’ll find you first.”
My forehead drops to his. “Good.”
He sniffles. Then his stomach grumbles.
I grin, eyes burning. “Let’s get you some food.”
A watery smile. It’s overridden by apprehension as I lace our fingers. I really shouldn’t feed into this delusion, but he’s starving and I’m desperate.
“She hides when I’m around, right?”
He stares at me for a moment. Then slowly nods.
“So you don’t have to worry. You can eat as much as you want.”
I don’t wait for him to think it over as I drag him downstairs. He doesn’t resist— if anything, he’s reluctant to let go when we reach the kitchen. I flick on the under-cabinet lights and back him against the island, grasping his waist and lifting him to sit on the counter.
“Stay put.”
Pink spreads across his cheeks; fuck me, it makes me want to do obscene things to him. That urge is almost scarier than him admitting he was about to hurt himself. If I hadn’t been in the bathroom…
No. I refuse to go there. Shoving the intrusive thoughts aside, I fixate on preparing him one of my go-to comfort meals. He quietly observes me as I gather what I need: bread, butter, cheese, and a skillet. Once the butter is sizzling, I place the cheese sandwiches in the pan.
“My mom never cooked for me.”
Every time he speaks, I’m thrown outside my body. He’s only mentioned his mom one other time. Declan never brings her up— not in front of me and never in front of Cade, from what I’ve witnessed.
I flip the sandwiches.
“Mine didn’t until recently.”
“Really?”
I shrug. “Yeah, my dad taught me… before he decided to drink his life away.”
He grimaces. “Yikes.”
“Yikes is right,” I sigh, carefully plucking the grilled cheese from the skillet and placing it on a plate.
His gaze flicks up as I set it on the counter beside him.
He seems more lucid. Dusting my hands off on my shorts, I brace myself before potentially derailing all our progress.
“You know how it goes, losing a parent. Your mom… she died, right?”
He pulls the hoodie’s sleeves over his hands. “She killed herself.”
Well fuck.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Hugging himself, he frowns. “She was sick.”
Dad had been sick in a way, too. We were both abandoned by a parent in the most permanent way. My hands land on either side of him, the marble countertop cool under my palms.
“How long ago?”
He puffs out a breath. “Three years.”
“I was fifteen too when my dad drove headfirst into a pole. It feels like yesterday and ages ago at the same time.” I inch my fingers toward him. “And you know what’s really fucked? I was relieved when he went. Fucking furious, but so damn relieved.”
He’s looking through me— into my soul— and baring his. I know he feels the same. Glassy eyes shift between mine.
“I loved her.” His voice cracks. “So much. I shouldn’t be happy she’s gone.”
My molars grind. “She hurt you.”
He picks at the side of his thumb. “She didn’t mean to.”
I want to hold him. More than that. I want to wrap his soul in mine.
“That doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
“No,” he murmurs. “It doesn’t.”
We both go quiet. It’s heavy— the sad reality of our circumstances. My thumb brushes his thigh. He’s so damn soft.
Cade’s stomach groans.
I chuckle. He blushes again. I’m gonna lose it.
“Your food is getting cold.”
He rubs his nose with his sleeve, the tiny diamond stud in his nostril catching the light as he stares at the sandwich. Finally, he gingerly tears off a piece and brings it to his mouth.
I hold my breath.
His eyes widen. Then he snatches the rest and begins eating in earnest. His eyes close with a hum. Warmth swells my chest.
“That good?”
His head bobs. “So fucking good.” He sucks grease from his fingers. “Like sex.”
My hand rolls into a fist. I can’t stand the idea of someone else having him. Especially this side of him. It’s mine.
Goddammit, I’m so fucked.
“You’re still mad about Marcus.”
Just hearing that fucker’s name throws me into a pit of hellfire.
“He’s a piece of shit.”
Cade shrugs. “So am I.”
I recoil as if he slapped me. “No, you’re not.”
He picks at the remaining crust, crumbs sprinkling his lap. “You’re only saying that because I scared you.”
It’s like he's grinding sand into a raw blister. I grasp his chin, tilting his face up. “Yeah, you scared the hell out of me, and yeah, I’ve been a dick, but not because I think you’re a piece of shit.”
“Why then?” he rasps.
My thumb presses into the center of his bottom lip. Unlike before, I let myself openly admire him. He’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.
“Because I know I can’t have you the way I want.”
Those eyes shatter. “You can, though.”
A million reasons sit on my tongue. You’re my stepbrother. My religion forbids me from being with a man. I’m a coward. If I make you mine in that way, I’ll never let you go… and I can’t keep you.
I sigh. “Not tonight.”
He shrinks into the oversized hoodie. If only he knew that pushing him away is killing me by a thousand cuts. My palm finds his cheek. He leans into my touch.
“Don’t leave me yet,” he whispers.
As if I could.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I say, skimming his cheekbone with the pad of my thumb. He peers up at me with those stained-glass eyes. I’m going to regret this. “You eat the rest, you can sleep in my bed tonight… with me.”
A second later, he’s inhaling the grilled cheese while I stifle a laugh. Once he’s finished, I help him off the counter and lead him upstairs, telling myself lie after lie.
It’s not a big deal. Stretched on my side, I lift the quilt and pat the mattress. He crawls into the space beside me. I’m just comforting him. My hand slides across the sheets to cover his. It’s what anyone would do. Our fingers tangle. It’s nothing.
He drifts off within minutes.
I watch him for hours.