When I walk past Caden's room, his door’s ajar. So I pause.
He doesn't see me.
He's in the bed, hunched over. One hand gripping something tightly, paper, I realize. One of my letters. His shoulders shake. Not violently. Just enough to break my heart.
He's crying. Not loud. Not messy. Silent, like he's trying to keep it all inside but failing.
His face is turned just enough for me to see it. Eyes clenched. Lips pressed into a line. The paper in his hand crumpled with the force of his grip.
I press my fingers to my lips, holding back the sob that rises in my chest.
With everything in me, I want to go to him. I want to wrap my arms around him and say it's okay to fall apart.
But I don't.
Not yet.
Instead, I take one step back. Then another.
Because sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is let someone break in peace.
And promise to be there when they're ready to be put back together.
Chapter 6
Caden
Everything hurts.
My leg, or what's left of it, feels like it's on fire. Phantom pain, they call it. Feels pretty damn real to me. Like someone's driving a nail into the part of me that's not even there anymore.
Gritting my teeth, I slam my palm into the side of the bed, trying to breathe through it. My prosthetic sits in the corner, cold and untouched. I haven't worn it today. Might not tomorrow either. Some days, it's too much. Some days, I don't see the point.
I'm angry. At everything. My body. The silence in this damn room. The pity in everyone's eyes. But mostly, I'm angry at myself.
For surviving.
For not being the man I promised her I'd be.
For letting her carry this baby alone while I wallow in misery.
I pick up my sketchbook, the one I filled with dreams—the homestead, the wraparound porch, the workshop out back, a nursery with a rocking chair. All of it. Page after page of a future I thought I could have. I flip through it one more time, then throw it across the room into the fireplace.
The pages catch instantly. Flames devour dreams as if they were never real at all.
"What are you doing?" Jake's voice is sharp as he walks in like he owns the place, tossing a Gatorade on my bedside table without looking at me. Today he has got that older brother energy dialed all the way up, shoulders squared, jaw tight, like he's bracing for a fight.
"Cleaning house."
Jake watches me like he's trying to figure out if I'm past saving.
He drags a chair over and flops into it, cracking open a protein bar. "You know you're not winning any awards for stubbornness, right?"
I don't answer.
Jake takes a bite and chews slowly, giving me time to reply. When I don't, he keeps going.
"You've got people lining up to care about you. Lucy. Mom. Brentley. North. Me. And you're shutting everyone out like you're doing us a favor."
