"I know."
"I'm that obvious?"
She snorted. "Just a little."
Huffing, his eyes pinged around the room as he gathered his courage. "I'm sorry," he confessed, meeting her gaze.
"Why?" she asked, her voice scratchy.
"This is all my fault."
As she shook her head, she croaked out, "It's no one's fault but those people who took him."
"No, I should have... "
"Cade, don't, please. I know Tristan wouldn't blame you, and it's not going to help us find him."
He searched her eyes, now puffy and red, and knew she meant it, that she didn't fault him, and it lifted a weight he hadn't known he'd been carrying.
After a moment of indecision, of testing the words in his mind, of forcing himself to be vulnerable, Cade admitted hoarsely, "I wish I knew what to do."
"Me too," she whispered. "We'll figure it out, all of us." She squeezed his hand, and he felt an outpouring of affection for this girl, this young woman, who had lost so much yet still tried to comfort him.
The thought that she and Tris only had each other cut deep. She must feel so alone, so terrified of what life would be like if they didn't find her brother. Tristan had felt it too, had told Cade enough for him to grasp the earth-shattering fear of losing the only person you loved. Natalie didn't say it, but he could read it in her eyes.
At that moment, he swore he would take care of her no matter what, that he would do anything for her, just like he would do anything for Tristan. He would protect her, be there for her. He'd make sure she wasn't alone like he had been as a child, with no one to go to, to confide in, to trust. He'd do it for Tristan, even if — god forbid — they didn't find him in time.
Because that possibility was too horrifying to consider, Cade focused on Natalie, trying to figure out what he could do make her feel better. When he felt anxious and agitated, he liked to move his body, to do something physical. Maybe Natalie would too.
Lifting his head from the table, he asked, "Want to hit something?"
"What?"
"Want to hit something? In the gym? I can teach you how to punch. It feels good to let out your anger and frustration."
Her eyes lit up, and he could tell she was intrigued. "Okay, yeah. Teach me how to punch."
After teaching Natalie how to stand, how to balance her weight, and how to position her fists, Cade let her punch at his open palms, coaching her on her form.
Impressed that she picked up the basics so quickly, he asked if she wanted to move on to the heavy bag, and she agreed enthusiastically. It was a relief to focus on something besides Tristan, and he let himself get lost in the activity, freeing his mind for a short time as he wrapped her hands and reminded her to strike with the proper knuckles. He watched her tentatively try out the heavy bag, pleased that she approached it with caution instead of stupidly pummeling it with full force, as he had earlier.
Before long, Natalie was using proper technique and punching with decent power, looking far from the beginner that she was. He made sure she took breaks and got her a bottle of water to hydrate in between rounds, occasionally offering suggestions or stopping her to explain or demonstrate corrections.
Watching her, Cade felt a surge of pride that he had taught her, and she was doing well. The sensation was unfamiliar, but he decided he liked the feeling, the satisfaction. Maybe he could teach her how to cook too.
After about thirty minutes, Natalie stepped back from the bag and dropped her arms.
"That was fun, but I'm exhausted, and my arms hurt."
"Yeah, they will for a while. You did well," Cade said, handing her a small towel.
"Did I?" she asked sincerely.
"Yes, you did," he assured her as he unwrapped her hands.
Her mouth quirked up slightly. "You were right. It did feel good."
"It works for me. We can maybe do it again sometime."
