“I thought Jax would realize his gun was missing, but then he didn’t, and I didn’t want him to get mad at her. But I didn’t think… I didn’t think she would actually do it. I thought I could put it back after dinner. I didn’t know she was really going to do it.” A sob wracks him.
I quickly stand and sit down beside him, wrapping an arm around him while wishing I could strangle Nix.
“He wasn’t going to make me do what Jax does. He wasn’t. He really wasn’t, ” he cries, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than me.
“Even if he was, she shouldn’t have done that,” I admit.
“And I… I don’t want to be mad at her. I really don’t. But she… why would she… He’s dead. He’s dead, and I don’t know how…”
“I know.” I pull him closer. “I know.”
And I do know. My dad may still be alive, but I told myself he was dead at about the same age as Caleb. That year leading up to my own graduation, desperately trying to get him sober so I could go to college, and him falling off the wagon the night before, I had to tell myself he died. I had to make myself believeit, otherwise I had a dad that cared so little about his daughter he would rather drink and sleep on the streets. It hurt less for him to be dead. So that’s what he was. It may not be the same as having your girlfriend shoot your dad, but I know what it feels like to lose a parent all the same.
Holding him as tightly as I can, I let him cry until there’s a soft tap on the door. Turning, I find Nix hesitating in the entryway. Her eyes go wide when she notices Caleb crying.
“I, uh…” she fumbles, a complete contrast to who she normally is, and my heart aches for both of them.
Clearing her throat, she swallows and looks away. “Jax says we should change into something that makes it look like we were asleep,” she says before quickly ducking away.
Sighing, I push to my feet and look around helplessly, wondering what Caleb normally wears to bed and where I can find it.
“He’s burning the house down, isn’t he?” Caleb croaks as I timidly pull open a drawer.
Wincing, I grimace and root around some socks. “Yeah.”
Out of my peripheral, he nods and stands. Wiping his eyes, he shakes out his arms and sucks in a breath, seemingly trying to compose himself.
“Sorry.” He sniffles. “I’m not… I’m not as cool as Jax.”
I stifle a snort and close the drawer. Stepping toward him, I catch his wrists before he can scrub at his eyes any further. “Jax isn’t cool,” I say, “he’s numb. Be glad life hasn’t done that to you.”
He swallows hard, gaze flicking away. “It would be better than whatever this is.”
The way he’s being so hard on himself gives me pause, but I force myself to tilt my head and smile. “Are you calling me not cool? Because I’m pretty sure I bawled my eyes out when I realized my house was gone. And it was nothing comparedto this place.” I give a pointed look at the foosball table in the corner.
He gives a quiet, broken laugh, but it’s a pulse of life, and relief floods me. He rolls his shoulders back with shaky resolve. “Okay. I can do this.” He psyches himself up. “The last thing I want is for you to have to dress me.”
I laugh. “You and me both.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Kira
It feels kind of pointless to change into pajamas for cover, considering the only pajamas I have are brand new and definitely feel suspicious. Rubbing the material between my fingers, they feel like something I would wear to a ball instead of to bed, like I’ve picked out the nicest thing knowing that the house was going to burn down.
“I’ll buy you more.”
I turn to find Jax leaning against the door frame, as if he’s been watching me toil over the silk set.
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” I say and set it down.
“Then tell me what you’re worried about, and I’ll fix it.”
“You fixing it is what worries me.” I raise a brow. It all seems very obvious to me, hanging by a thread of corruption in the system. Regardless how many times Jax and Caleb say,it’s what they can prove, not what it looks like, I still have my sister’s life hanging in the balance.
“You doubt my abilities?” He grabs his chest in mock hurt, bowing over as he stumbles into the room.
I don’t know how he’s able to joke right now, or smile in a way that makes my skin flush. God, he’s radiant for being about to commit a crime, or maybe it’s the crime that makes him radiant. His dark hair lands perfectly over his forehead,disheveled just so, and his eyes actually shine. And I’m awful for wanting him when a body lays one floor beneath us.
