I raise both eyebrows.
“You don’t drink. Alcohol, I mean,” he explains.
I lock my jaw tight for a moment and then speak slowly. “Sure, I do, just not out in public.”
“Why?”
A brittle laugh escapes me. “Why do you think, Cade?”
His gaze snags on mine. “Maybe because you made a mistake once when you were drunk?”
I shoot him a glare brimming with disgust. “Is that what you think?”
He rubs his temple and shakes his head. “I didn’t come here to talk aboutthat.”
I curl my palms into fists. “Since I don’t want to talk to you aboutanything, maybe you should get gone, cowboy.”
His expression folds in on itself. “There are things that need to be said. My daughter…Evie has taken a liking to you. And…you live here now. We can’t keep?—”
“Wecankeep out of each other’s way,” I snap. “You think you hate me? Hate doesn’t even touch what I feel for you. What I feel is bigger, uglier—revulsion so deep there aren’t words strong enough to name it.”
Cade flinches.“How dare you?” he hisses, his voice hot as a branding iron against flesh.
I ease back into the chair, not letting him see how much he affects me. I won’t give him that satisfaction. “You’re the one who came looking for me. You don’t like what I say, you can fuck off.”
“You ruined us,” he snarls. “And you find me repulsive? When you left, I broke. I’ve never been the same since.”
The sanctimonious, self-righteous son of a bitch.
“Youbroke?” My voice cracks; anger and grief tangle together. “Youdestroyed me. I begged you to believe me, and you looked at me like I was filth. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”And to all the other women your brother hurt?
Oh, Cade, how am I supposed to ever forgive you?How do I forgive myself for not being stronger? For letting Landon keep hurting women?
God.
Does he hurt young girls? Is that his pattern? His sickness?
Landon is a serial rapist. And I could’ve stopped him. If only I’d had more fight in me.
“You think you’ve been through hell?” I spit the words, sharp as shards of glass. “Try walking two steps in my boots. Compared to my life, yours has been a ride on fresh spring grass.”
His jaw tightens, anger shadowing his face. The moment of softness between us is gone.
So I push harder.
“I almost killed myself.” The scalding confession rips out of me. I rise. Stand. Stiff as a board. “Twice. That’s what it cost me—for you to take his word over mine.”
Cade looks like I struck him. His breath is ragged, broken.
He rises slowly, like the weight of ten years is crushing him.
We study each other. Haunted by who we were. And ghosts crowd the air between us.
Then his hand lifts. He’s hesitant, like he wants to bridge the impossible gap in one motion.
“No,” he whispers, ragged.
“Oh yes.” I step closer, thrusting out my wrists. “You want proof, cowboy? Look.”
