Caden chuckled softly. “I already bared my soul to Emory, but I’ll tell you, too.”
“You’ll tell me why you smoke Flax?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“I started smoking when I was fourteen, because a buddy at school offered it to me. We’d just started at secondary, and it was overwhelming being in a new school, with a bunch of new students who were up my ass about the twin thing, and I hated it. My buddy said Flax would relax me, make things seem less stressful, and it worked. So I kept smoking it. For the last six years.”
Branson closed his eyes. His chest ached.
Six years. How had he only noticed it in the last few months, if it had been happening for six years? Right under his nose. Maybe they weren’t as close as Branson always assumed they were? It wasn’t as if either of them had initiated any real heart-to-hearts recently, and that was on Branson, too.
“But you’re done now, right?” Branson asked. “You swear to me?”
“I swear. I don’t know what happened today, brother. I lost five hours of my life, because I smoked some bad shit, and I could have done something a lot worse than break a table. I could have killed myself or someone else, and I don’t ever want to lose control like that again.”
“Good. You’re a pain in the ass sometimes, but I love you, Caden. I need you safe, just like I need Emory safe. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost either of you guys.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know. But quitting a drug problem cold turkey isn’t easy. You have got to lean on your family, okay? Let us love you.”
“I will, I promise.”
“Okay.” They would definitely be talking more about this in the coming days and weeks, but Branson couldn’t hog his brother’s attention. “You’d better call Dad before his signing starts. He’ll want to hear your voice.”
“I’m calling him next. I love you, big brother.”
“Love you, too, little brother.”
Branson put his phone down and rubbed his eyes, overwhelmed and frustrated and scared, and also insanely relieved. The drug problem was out in the open, and they were finally going to deal with it as a family—something they should have done years ago.
But nothing in the Cross family was ever easy, and neither was Caden’s journey to sobriety. When Uncle Braun called Branson the next day to say he and Eriq had driven Caden to Emergency because Caden was exhibiting bizarre withdrawal symptoms, he hadn’t panicked. Not until Uncle Braun began describing those symptoms. Branson had seen a university friend get clean after a ten-month Flax addiction, and his was nothing like Caden’s reactions. So, he’d quit what he was doing and driven straight to the hospital to be with his brother.
Four days dragged by. Branson only went back to his apartment twice, and both times were to get clean clothes and take a shower. Between sitting with his family at the hospital and helping with the triplets, he was an exhausted, stretched-thin, walking ball of anxiety. His job was being incredibly understanding—your brother screaming obscenities and trying to slam his own head into the wall from drug toxicity wasn’t something he’d wish on anyone—and he missed three full days of work.
He called out today, too, and he didn’t care he was using up all his paid leave. Caden had nearly died, damn it!
Frey and Khory were at the house, along with Khory’s son Asher, the pair of mated omegas helping Branson with the triplets. All the children were awake and engaged in a game of their own making, corralled in the den by a wall of couch cushions, which gave the adults a bit more freedom to clean. Branson didn’t want Caden coming home to a hot mess.
Because hewascoming home. He just had to wake up. Now that his doctor had found the right treatment to fight the drug toxicity, Caden could heal and wake up. And come home.
Tarius had been a lifeline these last few days, accepting Branson’s hysterical phone calls when Caden was first hospitalized, listening to his rants about drugs and the criminals who’d poisoned his brother. Tarius had even taken Branson out for dinner last night, just to get away, and they’d hugged in the front seat of Tarius’s car for a long time.
He loved Tarius’s hugs. He adored how supportive his friend—his very best friend, really—was during all this.
Emory surprised him by returning home around noon, wrung out and pale, and he came to Branson for a hug. “Dad made me come home to take a nap,” Emory said. “And to get some cuddle time with my boys.”
“Good. You won’t help Caden by ending up in a bed beside him, suffering from exhaustion. You’ve had one heart attack already.”
“I know. I hate being apart from him, but he’s…peaceful now. I really think he’s going to be okay. We just have to be patient and let him wake up.”
Branson’s lips twitched. “Because goddess knows Caden likes to do things at his own pace.”
“Yup.”
At ten months old, the triplets were getting good at holding onto surfaces to stand and move around. Shylo was attempting to climb over the cushion wall while calling out for Dada. Emory strode over, scooped his baby alpha up, and hugged him tight. Sometimes Branson still marveled at the sight of Emory holding his own child—never mind that he had three.
