It’s how he acted when he came clean about what his father did to him.
“Cade…” I take a step toward him and close the door behind me. “It’s me.”
He screams louder, all teeth and spit, and comes at me, picking up something from the floor on the way. I dodge sideways, barely. The tire iron takes out the doorframe with a thud and a cloud of splinters. He’s faster than I remember, butthe speed is jittery, uncoordinated. He swings again, and this time I catch his wrist and twist, the move automatic from years of dealing with kids twice my size.
The weapon clatters to the floor, but he pushes us to the ground. He’s on top of me, hands at my throat, knees digging into my stomach.
“Cade!” I spit the word, fear splitting through my chest as my vision blurs. “Cade, it’s me!” He doesn’t stop, not until my nails rake his cheek, not until the blood runs and his eyes focus, just a little.
“Cade,” I whisper, a tear slipping down my cheek. “It’s Jen.”
The fight goes out of him all at once. He goes slack, shoulders trembling. The hands leave my neck, and he drops onto the floor, knees drawn to his chest like a child.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His words are mumbled, and it’s barely coherent, but I’m trying to understand what the hell just happened.
I take a deep breath, my hand flying to my neck. It aches. Painfully. My eyes jump to my brother.
He’s crying. Not in the ugly, blubbering way, but in an equally disturbing way—shivering, breath hitching, teeth chattering. I sit up, my own chest burning where he pressed down. I rub the spot, my instincts screaming that my brother isnotwho he used to be.
But he is. Thisismy brother.
I scoot closer, slow, the way you approach a wounded dog. I brush the blonde hair out of his eyes. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.
“Hey,” I say, voice soft, “You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m here.”
He shakes his head, peering up at me with red eyes. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says, but it’s barely more than a whimper. “They’re after me. Everyone is after me. They’ve always been after me.”
“I know,” I whisper as I wrap an arm around his shoulder. I hold him, arms tight, rocking him like I did when we were small, and the only monsters were the ones our father created.
“There must have been a reason,” I say, and the words are salt on an open wound. “Tell me there was a reason, Cade. What happened in Lubbock…”
He cuts me off, voice flat, dead, as he pulls away. “I killed them because I wanted to, Jen. There’s something broken.” He taps the side of his head as he leans in toward me. “He broke me.”
I jerk, not just at the words, but at the way he says them. Like they’re a fact, like he’s reporting the weather.
“I killed them,” he says again, looking at me with the eyes of a man who’s already left his body behind. “Because they made me angry. Because I could. Because I wanted to. Because it felt good. Because he was fucking her too hard.”
There’s no freaking life in his eyes, and my heart stutters, as I search for the brother that pulled me from the fire. That went off to serve his country.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats himself.
I want to slap him. I want to hold him tighter. Instead, I just sit there, heartbeat gone to nothing, the cold leeching up my legs as I realize all my lies, all my money spent, was for this. For my brother to tell me he killed them because he wanted to.
“You were my hero,” I murmur, holding his gaze. “You killed Monty, but he deserved it.”
“I killed that prick boyfriend of yours, too,” Cade factually. “Just a quick cut in the vent line. No big deal. He was a dick.”
My heart squeezes. “It was an accident. You’re blaming yourself?—”
“No,” he laughs, tipping his head back. “Youare in denial, Jen.” His voice grows sharp. “That’s your whole fucking problem. You think that I’m this little brother that saw the hellwe went through and wanted to make it all okay for you. But you know what? That’s not true.”
I shake my head. “You’re a good kid. You just went through?—”
“Why? Because Daddy touched me?” He erupts in manic laughter. “He never did that to you, did he?” He angles his body toward me, and my skin jumps. “You were untouchable. Mom would’ve protected his little girl.”
“That’s not true, she wanted to protect you?—”
“Fuck you,” he screams at me, rising to his feet and reaching for the tire iron. “You were a part of the problem, Jen.You.Ifyouwouldn’t have run off to college, maybeyoucould’ve saved me. He never touched me until you left. Ifyouwouldn’t have gotten involved with thatdick,I wouldn’t have had to fuck up his boat. If you’d have justlovedme, I wouldn’t be like this.” He raises his arm, and I realize this it.
