Chapter 18 Search #3
There were murmurs of assent, and some of the guys started talking amongst themselves.
Annabeth tapped on her keyboard while Hamm peered over her shoulder.
Cade watched sullenly as the table eventually emptied, except for Natalie.
When the room cleared, he remained standing, frozen in place, having no idea what he should do next.
His eyes followed Annabeth as she stepped away from her computer and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. Walking to Natalie, she offered her one bottle and said, "If you want, you can rest on the couch. I'm going to work right over there if you need anything."
Accepting the drink, Natalie moved to the sofa, pulled a blanket from the back to cover herself, and stared vacantly at the black screen of the TV.
Cade clocked her defeated expression and the dark circles under her eyes.
Jesus, she was only a kid and had already been through so much.
It was unbelievable that this was happening.
The universe had a fucking sick sense of humor.
Hamm approached, drawing Cade's attention from Tristan's sister. "You should go home too, get some sleep."
"I'm not leaving the house. We have to find him, and I need to stay here with Natalie."
"We're working on it, she'll be fine here, and you need to sleep."
There was no way he could sleep in this condition, with his mind whirring and his heart in his throat. He needed to do something; he just didn't know what.
Finally pushing himself off the wall, Cade mumbled about using the bathroom and crossed the room. Once safely behind the closed door, he splashed cold water over his face and hung his head. For a moment, he couldn't find the will to move, to act.
Gazing up into the mirror, his reflection stared back at him, mocking him. He looked drawn, haggard. He bitterly thought it was fitting that he looked like shit, because he felt like it too.
And he deserved it too, deserved to suffer for his mistakes.
As his anger swelled again, Cade stalked out of the bathroom and over to Hamm.
"I need to burn off some energy. Can I use the gym?"
Hamm raised an appraising eyebrow. "Suit yourself. Close the door so you don't disturb the kid."
Cade strode into the room that held Hamm's gym, tugged off his jacket and dropped it over a bench. Scanning the equipment, his eyes landed on the heavy punching bag suspended from the ceiling. Perfect. He really needed to hit something, and Tag had already left.
He didn't bother wrapping his hands, just started punching, at first slow and steady, warming up his muscles. Cade tried to focus on his form, the positioning of his hands, but couldn't concentrate with this fear for Tristan consumed him, cramming his mind with unthinkable scenarios.
Was Tristan bound and gagged? Bleeding and injured? Already dead?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Losing any sense of time, Cade let the rage and bitterness pour out of him.
He pounded more forcefully, more ferally as his thoughts about Tristan's condition became more horrific.
He channeled as much power as possible into each blow as sweat blanketed his skin and dripped from his forehead and nose, as his knuckles burned and the skin split and bled.
T-shirt clinging to his back and chest, arm muscles cramping and burning with pain, Cade kept going as if some invisible energy drove him forward, as if some part of him was afraid that if he stopped, he would be forced to face reality and admit he fucked up so badly it had maybe cost Tristan his life.
The idea of Tristan suffering some horrible fate was unbearable. Tristan was supposed to be alive and well, vibrant and spirited. Grinning, teasing.
Cade continued to pummel the bag as familiar images of Tristan danced through his brain: Tristan's eyes sparkling with humor as he teased over the backgammon board; his earnest gaze when he asked a baseball question; his soft, stunning profile in the sunlight under the trees; and then, Tristan riding him, wearing his marks, staring at him like he hung the moon.
Fucking fuck.
Cade wanted more time with Tristan, more of those smiles and teasing remarks, more nights watching baseball, more days with him in the kitchen and in the woods, and yes, in bed.
In that instant, he knew.
He wanted a life with Tristan. To hell with his lofty self-sacrificing thoughts that the other man would be better off without him, to hell with his ignorance about relationships.
He'd figure it out, he had to, because he could never choose to live like this, like a piece of him had been hacked from his body.
Cade thrashed the bag some more and promised that if he got Tristan back, he would never let him go, would never leave him unprotected, would never let anything like this happen again.
He would give Tristan whatever he wanted, make him happy; however the fuck that worked, Cade would figure it out and do it.
He was lost in grief and guilt, oblivious to everything around him until fatigue finally caught up with him.
With leg muscles burning, he lost his balance and grasped for the bag to prevent himself from crashing to the floor.
Once steadied, he hung his head and gasped for air, breaths shallow and labored, feeling dizzy from lack of oxygen.
When he dropped his hands to his side, his arms stabbed with pain and felt so heavy he didn’t know how he lifted them a second ago.
Stumbling a few steps to the nearby weight bench, he sat and let his head hang limply, so exhausted he wasn't sure he could hold it up much longer. Big drops of sweat trickled over his brows and stung his eyes before falling to the floor one by one.
Or maybe those were tears.
It could have been one minute or ten when he saw black shoes edge into his circle of vision, just beyond the splatter of drops between his own feet.
"Here," Hamm said as he handed Cade a small white towel. Without looking up, Cade accepted the cloth and numbly wiped moisture from his face and blood from his hands.
"You okay?" Hamm asked.
No, not by a long shot, Cade thought. Unable to bring himself to speak, he only shook his head.
Hamm hesitated before sitting next to Cade and venturing, "Rodriguez mentioned something... about you and Tristan?"
Interpreting that as a question, Cade whispered, "Yeah."
Hamm didn't respond right away, and Cade imagined he had that disappointed look on his face, the one he'd frequently worn when Cade was a teen.
"I'm sorry... " Cade croaked out without looking up. "I know it was wrong, unprofessional. I just... couldn't help it."
"That's not like you."
"I know," Cade rasped, feeling the burn of shame, knowing he'd let Hamm down with this misstep.
"Do you want to talk about it? About the safe house? Or the extraction?"
Feeling unprepared to discuss the subject of his feelings about Tristan or their time at the safe house, Cade focused on his guilt.
He'd never been one to talk about his feelings, fearing it made him seem weak or like he was complaining, but he desperately needed to confess his mistake.
And Hamm, who'd been a sort of father-figure to him, was one of the people he trusted the most.
Staring at the bloodied towel in his hands, he whispered, "It's my fault."
"What is?"
"That Tristan's missing. He wanted to go with us, to hide in the car while we went into the house so he could see his sister as soon as possible.
He should have stayed with Annabeth at the rendezvous point, but he wanted it so much and looked at me with this look.
.. and I gave in because I wanted to make him happy. "
Hamm didn't respond at first, but then asked, "What did the others say?"
"Tag said it was a bad idea, but Rodriguez said as long as he stayed hidden in the car, it shouldn't be a problem. No one else said it was too risky, I mean, they didn't argue. So I thought... "
"You thought it would be okay? You agreed to let him ride with you to the house?"
"Yes. I know I shouldn't have. I fucked up," Cade admitted, the words like glass shards in his mouth.
"Cade, this isn't your fault."
"It is."
"If it makes you feel any better, I probably would have allowed it myself. What happened was just too coincidental to predict."
"I should have known. I told Tristan I'd protect him. I promised him, and I didn't," Cade insisted as tears pooled in his eyes. He was pretty sure Hamm had never seen him cry.
He felt the weight of Hamm's stare but dared not look up. Finally, the older man asked, "I've never seen you like this over a case. It seems like you care about Tristan."
"Yeah, I do. A lot." Cade managed to force the words past the lump in his throat as their weight settled over him.
Another pause while Hamm considered. "I can't imagine how you're feeling right now."
Since Cade couldn't articulate it himself, he just nodded.
Hamm laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let Annabeth do her thing. I think there'll be chatter from dissatisfied customers about the canceled auction and broken contracts. With any luck, we'll get a lead soon."
Cade remained unconvinced and didn't react. His muscles hurt now, and so did his brain.
And his heart.
"Why don't you rest in the spare bedroom upstairs? You look like shit."
"Yeah, I feel like it too."
"Try to sleep. We'll see what we have in the morning. Natalie can sleep on the sofa. Annabeth and I will be up for a while, and we won't leave her alone."
Agreeing because exhaustion overwhelmed him, Cade forced himself to his feet and cataloged his pain, perversely grateful for the suffering that felt like a penance for his colossal mistake.
He passed by Natalie dozing on the sofa and trudged up the stairs as the events of the day washed over him like some montage from a movie.
Was it really only hours ago that Tristan was making love to him and telling him he was falling for him?
How did everything go so wrong so quickly?
He collapsed on the bed, not bothering to get under the covers, and lay there for a long while, recalling every minute of the last six days and praying he hadn't lost the man who had suddenly and unexpectedly become the most important person in his life.