He looks at me for another minute, but then nods. Reluctantly. I hustle past him, desperate to be out of this sweat box and back into the driver’s seat with some semblance of control.
“We’re not done talking about this, though,” he mutters as I walk past.
Great.
Chapter Seven
Iknow exactly the moment that Cade gets home, because he slams the door so hard the house shudders and rattles, like a bone-chattering skeleton in an episode of Scooby-Doo.
Interesting. He’s never been great at restraining his emotions, but this is probably a first for us.
“Cade?”
Silence. I can feel him, though. I know he’s standing in the entryway, his shoes still on as he clutches whatever anger or misery is fueling him, trying to let it go before he gets any closer to me. Again, I feel a twinge of guilt, because even his worst days still seem to revolve around managing me.
Instead of waiting, I go to him. He’s standing exactly where I expected; one hand on the worn bannister, his shoulders slumped but every muscle in his body tense. Even the air around him feels tense. It’s the kind of sensation my brain is hard-wired to avoid—either by leaving the room or desperately appeasing the source of the tension—but forcing myself to stare at Cade’s features rolls back that initial instinct.
I never want to avoid him. I want to help; even if I feel too useless to, most of the time. Asking him what’s wrong is not my next step. I’ve learned at least that much after spending the better part of a year living together.
“Hey.”
The word slips out of my mouth before I can think of something meaningful to say. It’s a start, at least.
When Cade’s eyes flick up to mine, I expect to see anger there. Rage or frustration because of whatever happened to set him off into this mood. Instead, I see grief. It’s a hollow expression, like a dark, empty room with waves crashing against the outer walls, trying to get in. I know it well.
But it’s not an expression I’ve seen Cade wear before. I’m briefly grateful that Cade agreed to have the girls stay with their aunt for the weekend, so he doesn’t feel the need to put on a brave face for them more than he already does for me.
“Did something happen?” I ask.
Cade shrugs, before letting out a deep sigh. I see his eyes flick from side to side—like he’s trying to reset himself—but it doesn’t really work.
“No,” he shrugs, affecting nonchalance. “I’m just tired.”
I nod. I don’t believe him for a second. “Okay.”
There’s no point in pushing him.
“Do you want me to make you something to eat?” I ask, prompting Cade to rub both hands over his face, looking paler than usual.
“Like what?”
He doesn’t say it in a bitchy way, but it stings nonetheless. The food thing is still a sticking point between us, even if neither of us is willing to explicitly acknowledge it out loud.
When I don’t respond, Cade does a weird, aborted sort of flinch before casting his gaze to the floor.
“I’m sorry, I’m…” he trails off, still not looking me in the eye and not seeming to really know what he’s trying to say. “I’m gonna go for a ride.”
My heart thumps too hard when the words drop into the space between us. This time he does look up, catching my eye and holding me pinned there.
Yet another thing we’ve stopped fighting about, without really getting to the bottom of. Jesus, maybe our relationship is a lot more precarious than I realized. Maybe we’re just getting really good at avoiding acknowledging anything that causes conflict between us.
Or maybe Cade just keeps changing himself to appease me. The thought makes my pulse race from guilt and shame more than the anxiety that normally comes from anything to do with motocross.
I never asked him to stop riding. I never would. It’s not his fault that as soon as I was able to free myself from something I’d come to fundamentally hate, all the anxieties I’d suppressed about it suddenly spiraled out of control. I’d always had shuddering flashes of getting injured during a race. I think a part of me thought about it so much because I secretly wanted it. I wanted to be crushed and broken so badly I wouldn’t be able to perform as my father’s prize cash cow anymore, and we’d both be forced to find out whether he’d even tolerate me if I didn’t bring anything productive into his life.
If the only thing that tied him to me was the fact that he was supposed to love me anyway.
But when Cade and I got together, those images were suddenly replaced with him. Cade hurt; Cade broken; Cade taken away from me. And the more he rode, the worse it got. I tried to hide it, but he’s always been able to read me better than anyone else.
