Chapter 30 The Cage
THE CAGE
KAIDEN
Day five in this hospital room and I'm losing my mind.
The concussion is officially cleared. Dr. Reyes delivered the news this morning like she expected me to throw a parade. No more wake-up checks every two hours. No more penlight in my eyes. No more questions about what year it is or who's the president.
Small victories.
The ankle is another story. Six weeks in a cast, minimum. Physiotherapy after that. The ribs will heal on their own, she says, as long as I don't do anything stupid. The way she looked at me when she said it made clear she expects me to do something stupid.
She's probably right.
I've graduated from the bed to crutches, which sounds like progress until you actually try to use them. Arms shake. Good leg aches from compensating. Every step sends a jolt through my ribs that makes me want to throw the damn things through the window.
The nurses are relentlessly cheerful. The food is beige and tasteless. The television offers nothing but talk shows and reruns. I've counted the ceiling tiles fourteen times. There are two hundred and thirty-seven.
I asked Logan for my laptop yesterday.
“No.”
“I just need to check a few things.”
“Kai, you're supposed to be resting.”
“I've been resting for five days. I'm rested. I'm so rested I could stay awake for a year and still be rested.”
“No laptop.”
Ethan was worse. He didn't even pretend to consider it. Just looked at me with that calm, immovable expression and said, “You'll get it back when the doctor clears you for work.”
“I'm not asking to run a marathon. I want to read emails.”
“No.”
Traitors. Both of them.
Maddox, at least, understands.
He shows up mid-afternoon with a leather bag over his shoulder. No greeting. No small talk. He just walks in, pulls out my laptop, sets it on the bedside table.
“Two hours,” he says. “Then I'm shutting it off.”
“You're a good man, Hex.”
“You're more annoying disconnected than informed.” He pulls up a chair, settles into it with the coiled stillness that's always unnerved lesser men. “Besides, we need to talk.”
I push myself up against the pillows, ignoring the protest from my ribs. “The bike.”
He nods. “Brake line was cut. Clean work. Someone who knew what they were doing.”
I'd suspected as much. Jaw tightens. “Where?”
“Your bike was parked on the street outside Hammond Industries while you were meeting with Victor.” His eyes hold mine. “Security cameras in that area malfunctioned during the window. Convenient timing.”
“Paid off?”
“Working on confirming, but yes. That's my assessment.”
I think about the street. Busy during the day, but not impossible for someone to slip in unnoticed if they knew what they were doing.
“How did they know I'd be there?”
Maddox reaches into his bag, pulls out a small device, sets it on the bed. It's no bigger than a coin. Black plastic, innocuous.
“GPS tracker. Found it under your seat.”
I stare at it. Someone's been tracking my movements. Watching where I go. Waiting for the right moment.
“Not my phone?”
“Your phone is clean. This was attached to the bike itself. Professional placement. Not easy to spot unless you're looking.”
I pick up the tracker, turn it over in my fingers. Such a small thing to nearly end my life.
“Can you trace it?”
“Working on it. These units are sold in bulk, but there's a serial number. It'll take time.”
Time. Everything takes time. And I'm stuck in this bed counting ceiling tiles while someone who tried to kill me walks free.
My mind goes where I don't want it to go. Victor. He had access. He had opportunity.
Why? He said he wanted me back in the family. Said a Hammond needed to run Hammond Industries. What does he gain from hurting me?
Unless it was a warning. A reminder of what he's capable of.
The thought makes me sick. I've spent my whole life knowing my father is ruthless. This? Trying to kill his own son?
Even for Victor, that feels like a line.
Doesn't it?
The kid inside me, the one who spent years trying to earn approval that never came, wonders if I ever really knew him at all. If the man who looked at me and saw only disappointment is capable of looking at me and seeing a problem to be eliminated.
“What are you thinking?” Maddox asks.
“Nothing good.”
He doesn't push. That's one of the things I've always appreciated about him. He delivers information and lets me process it on my own terms.
“What about Emma?” I ask. “Any movement from her ex?”
Maddox shakes his head. “Tank's been on her since the night at the hospital. Regular updates. She goes to work, comes here, goes home. James hasn't been within a mile of her.”
Some of the tension in my shoulders eases. “She knows he's watching?”
“No. You said to keep it quiet.”
I nod. Emma would hate knowing she has a shadow. She'd see it as another way I'm trying to control her life, fix her problems. After what happened with James at her apartment, after what happened to me, I'm not taking chances.
Maddox stands, tucks the tracker back into his bag. “I'll update you when I have more. Two hours on the laptop. Don't make me regret it.”
He's gone before I can respond.
I spend the next hour catching up on emails I'm not supposed to be reading. Most of it is routine. Logan and Ethan have kept things running smoothly, which shouldn't surprise me, but still stings. ELK doesn't fall apart without me. The world keeps turning.
One email catches my attention. The Ravenwood Community School.
The principal has written to thank me for securing them temporary facilities while the fire damage is repaired.
Attached is a scanned copy of the students' handwritten notes.
Crayon drawings. Wobbly letters spelling out “Thank you, Mr. Rhodes” and “You're our hero.”
I stare at the drawings longer than I should. A kid named Marcus drew me as a stick figure with a cape. Another one, Sofia, drew the new building with a rainbow over it.
I hit reply, start drafting a message about setting up a scholarship fund. Something for kids who want to go to college. It's not much, just money. But it's something I can do from this bed. Something useful.
Logan arrives around four with coffee that doesn't taste like it was filtered through a dirty sock. Small mercies.
“Maddox told me he brought you the laptop,” he says, settles into the chair by the window.
“He understands me.”
“He enables you. There's a difference.”
“I'll take it.”
We talk business for a while. The Vance acquisition is moving forward. The Team Blaze deal is in final negotiations. Everything is fine. Everything is handled. I'm not needed.
I should be grateful. Instead, I feel useless.
Logan checks his watch, then glances at the door. Something in his expression shifts. A tightness around his eyes that wasn't there before.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just work stuff.”
“You're a terrible liar. Always have been.”
He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. The gesture exposes the birthmark at his temple, the one he usually keeps hidden. Too tired to remember to be self-conscious.
“It's nothing you need to worry about.”
“Logan.”
“Kai.”
We stare at each other. He looks away first.
“Is it about Emma?”
The silence is answer enough.
Jealousy twists in my chest, sharp and unexpected. Emma told Logan something she won't tell me. My best friend knows something about the woman I... care about. Something I don't.
“She asked me not to say anything,” Logan says quietly. “I'm respecting that.”
“Since when do you keep secrets from me?”
“Since someone I respect asked me to.” His eyes meet mine, steady. “She trusts me, Kai. I'm not going to betray that. Not even for you.”
I want to push. Demand answers. But I stop myself.
If Emma trusts Logan, that's good. She's letting people in. Becoming part of my world. She and Logan are building a friendship that exists separate from me. That's what I wanted, isn't it? For her to feel like she belongs?
It still stings.
“Is she okay?”
Logan considers the question carefully. “She's handling it.”
“Handling what?”
“Talk to her, Kai. Don't let her shut you out.”
“I'm trying. She won't let me in.”
“Then try harder.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “She's stronger than you give her credit for.”
“I know she's strong. That's not what worries me.”
“Then what does?”
I stare at the ceiling. Two hundred and thirty-seven tiles. I've had a lot of time to think in this room. About Emma. About us. About the secrets I'm keeping.
“I haven't told her about my father. About Hammond Industries. About any of it.”
Logan is quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I figured.”
“When they admitted me, it was as Alexander Hammond.” I close my eyes. “Maddox scrubbed the records, but it took him an hour. Emma could have seen the chart. One of the nurses could have called me by the wrong name. I've been lucky.”
“So tell her.”
“It's not that simple.”
“It is, actually. You open your mouth and words come out.”
I shoot him a look. “She opened up to me. About her family. Her ex. Everything. And I've been sitting here with a secret that could blow up everything between us.”
“So stop sitting on it.”
“What if she doesn't understand? What if she looks at me differently?”
Logan shakes his head. “You're scared. I get it. But the longer you wait, the worse it gets. If she finds out from someone else, from the press, or a Google search, you're done. She'll never trust you again.”
I know he's right. I've known it for weeks. Knowing and doing are different things.
“I'll tell her,” I say. “Soon.”
“Don't wait too long.” He stands, grabs his coat. “I'll check in tomorrow. Get some rest.”
“Logan.”
He pauses at the door.
“Thanks. For looking out for her.”
His expression softens. “You would do the same for me and any woman I was serious about.”
“You know it. Hurry up and meet her.”
He snorts. “Working on it.”
He leaves. I'm alone with my thoughts again.”
The nurse comes at six to help me practice with the crutches. Young, patient, unfailingly positive in a way that makes me want to scream.
“You're doing great, Mr. Rhodes!”
I'm not doing great. I'm shuffling across the room like an old man, arms trembling, sweat beading on my forehead from the effort of staying upright.
“Let's try to make it to the window today,” she says brightly.
The window is fifteen feet away. Might as well be a marathon.
I grit my teeth, keep moving. One step. Another. Crutches dig into my armpits. Ankle throbs inside the cast. Ribs scream at me to stop.
I don't stop.
When I finally reach the window, I'm breathing hard, gripping the crutch handles so tight my knuckles go white.
“Excellent progress! Tomorrow we'll try the hallway.”
She leaves me there, staring out at the city.
The sun is setting, painting the skyline orange and gold. Lights flicker on across the buildings, one by one,. The city is waking up for the night.
“Kai?”
I turn too fast. The crutch slips. For one horrible second, I'm falling, arms pinwheeling, the floor rushing up to meet me.
Hands catch my arm. Steady me.
Emma.
She's still in her work clothes, slightly rumpled, shadows under her eyes. Exhausted. Beautiful.
Easy,” she says, grip firm on my elbow. “I've got you.”
“I had it under control.”
“You were about to eat linoleum.”
“Controlled fall.”
She laughs. The tension in my chest eases. She helps me back toward the bed, one slow step at a time, shoulder tucked under my arm.
“You're getting better with those,” she says.
“Liar.”
“Okay, you're getting slightly less terrible.”
I lower myself onto the edge of the bed, wincing as my ribs protest. Emma doesn't let go right away. Her hand lingers on my arm, warm through the thin hospital gown.
“How was work?” I ask.
Her smile falters. There and gone.
“Fine,” she says. “Boring.”
That voice thing again. The upturn at the end.
I catch her hand before she can pull away. “Emma.”
She meets my eyes. I see the exhaustion. The worry. The weight she's carrying.
“Talk to me,” I say. “Please.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it.
“It's nothing,” she says finally. “Just work stuff. I'm handling it.”
The same words Logan used.
I want to push. I want to demand she tell me everything. I want to fix whatever's hurting her.
Instead, I squeeze her hand. “You know you don't have to handle everything alone, right?”
She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. “So I heard.”
She settles into the chair beside my bed, hand still in mine. We sit in silence as the last of the daylight fades.
I should tell her. About my father. About Hammond. About the name on my chart that she almost saw.
The words stick in my throat.
Tomorrow, I tell myself. I'll tell her tomorrow.
It's the same thing I told myself yesterday. And the day before.
Outside, the city glitters in the darkness. In this room, I hold onto her hand like it's the only thing keeping me from drowning.