“We’re not fighting,” I say lamely.
Nobody speaks. Silas blows out a long breath before beckoning to Sky.
“Come on, let’s sit down,” he says. “You too, Cade.”
Begrudgingly, I move over to the couch and sit down next to Maddi. She doesn’t respond, but when I put my hand on her back I can feel her soften a little.
She’s so tough. She wants to be so tough. I hate it, but I’m not doing a good enough job of making her feel safe that she’s going to stop. Things like this probably don’t help, I realize way, way too late to do anything about it.
Sky follows me and climbs into my lap instead of sitting next to me, even though she’s getting too big to fit. The pressure of her makes it even harder to breathe, but also eases some of the tension in me. I look at Silas over her shoulder, trying to convey my gratitude to him through my eyes when it’s not something I could ever put into words.
He looks calm now, watching over us, but he doesn’t sit down. When he’s about to turn away I reach for his hand.
“Sit with us,” I say, but he doesn’t look at me.
“You should eat something, you’ve been sleeping all day.”
The sensation of his hand slipping out of mind echoes through me like an omen. My head throbs, my ribs ache with every breath, and the room seems like it’s closing in on me for no reason.
Silas disappears into the kitchen, and I feel an ache where he’s supposed to be. I tell myself I’m being dramatic, but it doesn’t quite stick.
“Why do you let him get to you like this?” Maddi finally asks in a quiet voice. She pulls her legs up on the couch to rest her headon her knees, and it makes her look younger, even while her expression is the kind of weariness no child should have to feel. “He’s never going to change. You’re the one that told us that. So what’s the point in fighting him?”
“Sometimes you have to stand up for yourself.”
It sounds true. It sounds like something that should be impossible to argue against, but Maddi just huffs.
“Sure. Standing up for yourself against a drunk drug addict who probably won’t even remember what you were fighting about tomorrow. Totally meaningful. Definitely worth getting fucked up over. I can’t wait until you hurt yourself so bad you can’t work anymore or ride your bike or do anything else, and all you’ll be able to do is lie around taking oxy and telling everyone about how you’re a real man because you ‘stand up for yourself’.”
I’m not shocked that Maddi managed to see into a situation with that kind of insight, because she’s always been like that, even for her age. I am shocked that this is the situation she’s drawing the line at in terms of supporting me.
She thinks I’m an asshole, obviously. Silas hasn’t made it a secret how pissed he is at me. And Tristan and Micah both are just waiting to read me the riot act, I can feel it.
How the fuck is no one on my side?
Chapter Thirteen
The house is unnaturally still and quiet, and for once, it’s making me anxious. Normally, this would be a brief window of peace, followed by Cade coming home and filling the house with noise, which brings me an entirely different kind of peace.
Both of them are things I crave, and normally they’re both things I get to have. But not right now.
Because Cade is home, and he’s the source of all this silence. He’s off work completely for at least the next five days, and then he’ll be on limited duties at best. It makes sense that he’d want to rest while he’s hurting, but I’ve never seen him like this before. Normally, when he’s sick or injured, he’s still a little ball of sunshine, trying to make me laugh with non-stop jokes and creative bitching about being bored.
I’ve never seen him quiet like this. I got him to eat and drink a little before we all went back to bed last night. I know the conversation with his sisters was… fraught. He still doesn’t seem to fully grasp why he was so out of line, and we’re not all falling over ourselves to praise him.
I wasn’t worried when he slept through me getting the girls up and out the door for school, but when I came back in the bedroom to find him awake and just lying there, it was disconcerting.
He eats if I make him. He won’t really talk to me, and says he’s too tired.
And my house—my home—is starting to feel like a tomb all over again.
By the afternoon, I’m beginning to wonder if it’s making it worse by my being here, and I shouldn’t have taken the day off work after all. Is it me that he’s upset about? Because I wasn’t on his side?
When I wander back into the dark bedroom, I regret installing the black-out blinds. The darkness is making everything about this situation seem ominous, when it should be easy. If there’s anything Cade and I have always been able to do, it’s talk to each other.
Although, the more I think about the past year, the more I wonder if that’s really true. We never seem to talk about anything real lately.
Without allowing myself the chance to hesitate, I pull off my t-shirt and toss it in the direction of the hamper, lift up the comforter and slide underneath. Cade’s on his side, facing the middle of the bed, and I shift until I’m mirroring his position, our knees touching and our faces on the same pillow, inches away from each other. Cade’s eyes are open, watching me closely as I get situated, but he stays silent. The bruising on his face is barely visible in the darkness, but it’s almost as if I can feel it. Like his hurt is radiating from him in some way that’s beyond sight.
