At first, I think he’s going to leave me. He pulls his keys from his pockets and starts walking back up toward the car parked in the distance without a word.
Then he slows, and without another glance back at me says, “Are you coming or not? I don’t have all day.”
Kaiden can pretend he doesn’t care.
That he doesn’t want anyone.
But I’ll change his mind.
Chapter Eight
I dream of Logan. I can’t see her, but I can sense her presence and hear her laughter. At one point, I think I can feel her. Like when she’d grab my hand and lead us into the woods.
Then it all changes. My sister is nowhere to be seen, but Mama is. Her eyes are golden as she reaches out to me, but she doesn’t call me Emery. She tries holding my hand, but there’s nothing to latch onto. It makes her cry harder when she realizes Logan is untouchable.
I wake up with tears streaming down my cheeks. Furiously, I wipe them away and feel the heaviness settle in my chest. Glancing at the clock, I frown and realize I have time before I need to be up for school.
I think about what Kaiden said to me regarding Mama. I know how sad she is over Lo, so I thought leaving was for the best. Seeing me made her worse, and I wanted her to feel better and figure out her life without me burdening it more. Maybe I should have stayed, endured the torture that seeing me brought her like Grandma suggested.
Then again, Kaiden is no expert. He can’t deal with his own problems, so what makes him entitled to judge me and mine? He deflected his own issues with his father on me, and like always, I let him.
I’ll always feel bad for seeing Mama cry, but I shouldn’t have to carry the weight of burdening her with my absence or I’m damned either way. Plus, Kaiden doesn’t know the whole story. He never asked how Logan died and I never offered the information. He doesn’t know I’m sick or how Mama reacted when I got the official diagnosis.
Kaiden Monroe can pretend he knows everything about people, but he’s the biggest fool of us all. Unlike his blind fo
llowers at school, I won’t be so easily convinced he’s who I want influencing my choices. Too many other things already do, so I need what little control I do have to stay in my own hands.
Slipping out of bed, I stretch my stiff muscles and go to the bay window that I have yet to make into a reading nook. I used to tell Mama that I always wanted one, so I could put pillows and blankets on it and read while enjoying the view. Unfortunately, the view is nothing more than a paved driveway, stone pathway, and a few perfectly trimmed flower bushes between the street and sidewalk. The only time sitting here is worthwhile is when I see Kaiden sneaking in and out.
Sometimes he’ll come back looking angry, sometimes looking happier than when he stormed away. Does he go to the tree? Or does he go somewhere else? Does he meet up with Rachel or another girl? He hasn’t come back with any more shiners, and the one on his face is nothing more than a faded yellow bruise. Soon it’ll be like it never existed.
Pushing off the wall, I crack open my bedroom door. It’s quiet, since it’s not even five in the morning. There’s no light except for the tiny one illuminating over the sink in the kitchen. I gravitate toward it, wanting a glass of water to quench my dry throat.
When I turn around, I’m startled by Dad standing in the doorway in a pair of dark pajamas bottoms and a t-shirt. He looks tired, but more surprised than anything.
“I thought I heard someone up.”
I just nod.
He clears his throat. “Figured it’d be Kaiden, to be honest.” Walking over to the cupboard, he grabs a glass and fills it with water just like me. “Can’t sleep?”
It feels weird to be having a conversation with him like the restaurant never happened. I can avoid bringing it up, pretend it doesn’t matter, but it does.
“I had a dream about Logan and Mama.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then, “Do you want to talk about it?”
It’s a painful question, like he’s silently begging me to say no. I take pity on him. “It isn’t anything I can’t handle. I’ve been doing that for a while—dealing with things on my own.”
I feel no guilt when he winces slightly at the statement. “I deserve that. We should probably talk about what happened.”
I want to ask him when. When I was little? At the restaurant? All of it? Instead, I stay quiet and follow him toward the table.
He pulls out a seat and sits, so I do the same at my usual spot. We’re surrounded by silence for a moment, nothing but the soft hum of the refrigerator filling the open space.
“Cam knows,” is what he begins with. “I have always been upfront about you girls and your mother with her.”
How relieving. Not. “Did you leave us for her? Or were you too afraid of us falling apart and ruining your reputation?”