Realization dawns on me all at once.
“You don’t…” I whip my head around to look at Silas, who genuinely looks like he’s about to cry, and then look back at Kyle. “You don’t even remember? I carry around all these shitty memories every day, and you don’t even fucking remember. You don’t even care.”
Kyle doesn’t quite wince, but almost. It’s something. Something that makes me think real, genuine words are about to come out of his mouth. I still don’t know what I want him to say, but I need him to say fucking something.
“Look, kid, that was a long time ago. It sounds like you need to let it go. None of it matters. You grew up good, got yourself a good job, and a Silas—” I have no idea if he sneers as he says it or if my anger is manifesting “—and no one here wants to hash all that shit out over and over. Being a kid sucks. It sucks for everybody. You know exactly what your mother’s childhood was like. And don’t forget, I spent Christmas on a fucking bus one year because my parents kept trying to pass me off on each other. It doesn’t mean anything. Grow up and forget about it, like the rest of us.”
I’m going to fucking hit him.
It’s only the pain in my splinted fist when I try to curl it that gives me the tiniest tether to reality, and makes me think of exactly how pissed Silas will be if I fight my dad again in less than 48 hours. I focus on taking a deep breath instead, and don’t look him in the eye.
“Cade?” My mom sounds wary, and I hear her stepping up behind me. The thought of her touching me right now makes me cringe, so I take a big step to the side, away from both of them, and then turn to face Silas.
“We’re leaving. Fuck this.”
Silas doesn’t move for a few seconds, then he nods and reaches for my hand. I don’t reach back, because I can’t right now.
I don’t look at my mom. I definitely don’t look at Kyle. All I have the capacity to do right now is march my ass out the door and hope Silas follows me.
No witty one-liners to close me out, just a storm of impotent anger leaving the house and folding myself into the truck. Into the passenger seat this time, because my pride is smarting too much to care about who fucking drives. I already feel stupid for caring about it before.
My face is hot, with a familiar pressure behind the eyes, but I refuse to give into it. I can’t look Silas in the eye or touch him when he gets into the cab. All I can do is hunch in on myself and stare out the window at nothing.
“He doesn’t even remember,” I say.
I didn’t mean to say it, it just slipped out, and my voice cracks in the process. That pressure builds, but I can’t give into it.
“Cade—” Silas starts to say, but I take a deep breath and cut him off.
“Let’s just go.”
I think I see him reach toward me out of the corner of my eye, but when I curl myself up tighter, he stops. A few seconds later,the engine rumbles and we start to pull away from the fucking trailer to go home.
Finally.
Chapter Fifteen
By the time we get home, Cade has returned to being perilously quiet. Our home has become a seething, brittle place. Every inch of his body is coiled tight, and I’m tense like I’m expecting him to snap.
Which doesn’t really make sense, because even though Cade has a terrible temper sometimes, he’s never, ever been that way with me.
Not once. Not even when we argue. He always has some kind of control, and I can see him being careful in how he holds himself towards me: his tone, his words, everything. For the first time, I think I realize how much effort that must take for him, when he’s normally on a hairtrigger with the rest of the world.
It always comes back to him changing himself to what? Placate me? Keep me calm?
The more I look at the picture of our relationship that’s suddenly appearing in my head, the more I realize how blind I’ve been. I don’t know what any of this means, but it can’t be good.
Cade kicks off his boots a little too loudly, and I flinch. I catch him looking at me out of the corner of my eye as he freezes, totally still as he watches me for a second, guilt curling into his expression like smoke.
“Sorry,” he says, sounding gruff and distant.
“It’s fine. You’re fine.”
I turn to face him. The urge to show him I’m here for him is so strong, but I don’t know how to get that across without saying it. And I’m pretty sure if I said it, he’d accuse me of babying him again, as if he hasn’t been babying me for our entire relationship. I’m the only one allowed to be weak, apparently.
“Do you wanna sit down and talk about it?”
The words sound awkward, even to my ears.
