Chapter Four

 

 

Kaiden

When the momentary shock of seeing Emerson subsided, my blood boiled angrily to the surface as a wash of memories pummeled into me with enough force, I was left stumbling for what to say.

“How are you doing, Kai?” There was worry pressed into his forehead and indecision swimming behind his chocolate brown eyes. Eyes that were a perfect reflection of my own.

“What are you doing here?” There was a tremble in my simple question, and I ground my teeth, cursing my weakness when he’d sounded solid and confident.

“Mom called. She said you weren’t doing well.”

I flinched and laughed with a dry chuckle at his statement. “How the fuck would she know?”

Emerson shrugged, rolling his eyes in agreeance. His gaze found the scar over my right eye and a hint of sympathy washed over his face. I knew from having studied it in the mirror daily that it was pink and raised. The bruising around my eyes and across my nose was gone, but that single mark would be there forever. So much for “minimal scarring.”

“She said you were in an accident.”

My insides vibrated at the reminder. The fear of being hit so suddenly. Spinning across the ice, unable to control the car any longer. The sickening vision of the pole I was headed toward. Then nothing.

Overwhelming anxiety when I’d woke up in a hospital. Alone. Terrified. Confused. In pain. “We’ve contacted your mother,” they’d told me. Pointless. My sole thought was how badly I’d wished Emerson was there. The only person in my entire life who’d ever cared.

But that was weakness talking. Utter bullshit thinking. When understanding had returned, so had the deeply rooted anger I’d carried around with me ever since that damn boat party four years before.

“What do you care?” I snapped. “It was a fucking month ago. I’m fine. Why are you here?”

My heart beat faster as I tried to piece it together. It couldn’t be the accident. Had Mom actually called him? Was it the Day of Reconciliation I’d been dreading? Had he come to talk about it once and for all?

The lights in the room felt suddenly too bright, and a dull pain announced itself behind my right eye. Fucking persistent headaches.

Emerson shifted uncomfortably and took in the state of my room. Clothes hung from every surface and grew in piles on the floor. Garbage and dishes littered the dresser and end table. The closet sat open, and not a single hanger held a shirt or pair of pants any longer. Clusters of posters hung on the walls and among them were gashes and holes, burn marks and my own personal graffiti drawn with markers and pens—each more vulgar than the last. It was a disaster. A testament to my life.

His gaze seemed to hang on the multiple street signs I’d stolen and plastered to the walls as decorations as well. When his lips pinched in a tight line, I knew he disapproved. In one corner hung a massive street light. They’d been doing construction in town the previous summer, and a buddy and I had snagged it in the middle of the night. It had been left laying on the ground. They were installing new ones, so it wasn’t like it was going to be put back up. The likelihood was it would have been tossed out anyhow. I liked it. It gave my room flair. Emerson’s nose curled.

When his eyes found mine again they were hard and bore into that part of me I didn’t want him anywhere near. It was that look that had the power to strip me raw and expose my soul. The same look that always brought me to my knees when I was in trouble, evoking a sense of remorse and often had me stumbling to fix what I’d wronged. The only person in the entire world who had that power over me was Emerson. And I hated him for it.

“If you’re a mess enough she notices, then it must be bad, and you know it. I can’t ignore that, Kai. No matter what you might think of me right now, I can’t ignore it if you’re fucking up your life.”

I hated that look. He tore me open with eyes alone, and I squirmed under its intensity. Emerson knew exactly the effect he was having on me, too. With anyone else, I could scream at the top of my lungs and go unnoticed, but not with my brother. He saw me.

“Stop fucking looking at me like that,” I spat, shaking off the tremble resonating in my core. “You have no right to come back here and reinsert yourself in my life. Not after… not when you… fuck you, Emerson!” I ground my teeth, unable to give it voice.

Emerson flew forward abruptly, closing our gap. He fisted my T-shirt and dragged me off the bed until I stood in front of him. The venom of his stare and snarl in his lip made me choke on my next breath as I tried to swallow my sudden loss of stomach at his ferocity.

When he spoke, his words were laced with ice, and they shivered down my spine—not unpleasantly, much to my dismay. “Swallow those words and don’t ever let me hear them. It’s in the past. From this point on, we never fucking talk about it again. Do you hear me?”

His nostrils flared, and the tension in his jaw was rigid. That was exactly what I wanted, too. I nodded, knees weak and trembling, my voice still stuck in my throat. I’d never seen him more serious in my life, and the fire behind his eyes burned into my core.

“Say it.” He spoke through a clenched jaw and shook me once. “Tell me you fucking understand me, Kaiden. It’s done. It’s over. It. Was. A. Mistake.”

“We drop it here and now,” I said, again cursing the weakness that had entered my voice.

His hands released my shirt, and he steadied me before stepping back. The wave of relief that passed between us was more mutual than I expected. I’d never considered that Emerson was upset about that night. Had I been wrong this whole time? Did… did he regret it?

The last thing I wanted to do was ponder that notion. Like he’d just said, we needed to drop it and never, ever talk about it again.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Emerson continued to scan my room, and I wondered if he wasn’t sure how to proceed as well.

“It stinks in here,” he announced, kicking at an unruly stack of inside-out sweaters. “Did you forget how to do laundry?”

Heat snaked up my neck and warmed my cheeks at his insinuation. I fisted my hands and turned from him, flopping back on my unmade bed and snagging my abandoned phone. Another message awaited me. I ignored Emerson and typed out a reply.

Emma: Can we please talk on the phone?

Me: No. I have nothing else to say.

Emma: You’re being a dick. I told you we could tone it down and make it work.

Me: There isn’t enough toning down that will work for me. Trust me. I’m so fucking done.

Emma: This isn’t fair, and you know it. I’m getting all the blame here, and all I tried to do was help.

Me: This isn’t me. I can’t become something I’m not. I can’t fake it anymore.

Emma: You want to see what a broken heart looks like, asshole?

The attached picture made me grit my teeth. It was a lowball move and made me want to pound a fucking wall.

“Did you hear me?” Emerson growled.

“Fuck you.” I tossed my phone aside again. Nothing like being attacked from two separate angles. My resentment, anger, and hurt flared bright red and hot, pumping through my veins with a fury I couldn’t contain.

“No, fuck you, Kaiden. I taught you to take care of yourself. I taught you to be a better man than this.” He waved his hand over the mess that encompassed not only my room but my life. “I’m going to get my shit from the truck, then I’m making coffee. Do something about this and meet me at the table so I can get some facts about this accident and the bullshit going on in your life before mom gets home and rapes my ear again over how you destroyed her car.”

Without looking, I knew he was piercing me with a stern glare. It burned into the top of my head. Its intensity sank into my core and festered inside my gut where it flip-flopped around uncomfortably. In less than a beat, he was gone, taking the oppressing weight in the room with him.

But his words and their earnestness hung all around.

I breathed deeply for the first time since he’d walked in out of nowhere. A tremble had begun under my skin, and I couldn’t shake it. Why was he back? I wasn’t that big of a mess, was I? Mom called him?

Forcing my gaze around my room, I saw it through Emerson’s eyes. I’d been living like that for months. Years. No one had noticed or cared. It’d gone on for so long, I’d stopped noticing. A wash of shame tingled through me, and the room suddenly felt too small. Was it spinning or was my head acting up again? Of course, Emerson would see it all, he always did.

With another wobbly breath, I stood and braced myself on my dresser.

The side door slammed, and I knew Emerson had returned from the truck.

“Do something about this and meet me at the table.”

Ugly shame and embarrassment encompassed me. I had always hated disappointing Emerson. In the past, I’d worked hard to please him, bring a smile to his face, and waited anxiously to hear the joy in his tone when he told me he was proud. Those long forgotten emotions oozed from deep within the hidden vault where I’d thought they were secured. They coated my skin and seeped into my core.

Fuck you, Emerson. Four years clearly isn’t long enough.

Robotically, I filled my arms with random pieces of clothing from around the room until I couldn’t carry anymore. It barely made a dent in the surface mess. As I dragged my feet down the hallway to the laundry room, my head buzzed with renewed fear. I was foggy and lightheaded. Part of me wondered if my concussion symptoms were returning or if it was all Emerson-induced. Every movement was dream-like and surreal.

Emerson was home. The exact same Emerson who’d left. Nothing had changed between us. And yet, everything had changed.

Once I found my way to the small oak kitchen table—one that had seen better days—the rich smell of brewing coffee hung in the air. Emerson was busy at the counter, pouring creamer into a matching pair of mugs.

He hadn’t changed much in four years. Same square shoulders, trim waist, and long legs. The asshole got the best of all the genes. He had more muscle definition than before, and his hair was a bit shorter. The biggest difference were the mysteries he held at bay behind his dark eyes. My brother had always been transparent and open. Over the years he’d clearly learned to vault away his secrets.

Sensing my presence, he tipped his head to the side, peering over his shoulder. “I assume you take your coffee the same?”

“Yeah.” My voice scratched and cracked. Clearing my throat, I added, “Cream and two sugars.”

As I waited for him to finish making coffee, I ran my fingers over the marred wooden surface of the table. There were dings and markings that had been there since Emerson and I were kids. Some we’d put there by accident when we’d been goofing around during meal time and others—like the long line where I pressed my finger—had been made on purpose out of defiance.

Emerson carried over the two full mugs and set one at my spot before joining me.

“Are you moving home?” I asked before his ass hit the chair.

I didn’t know what answer I hoped for, but when he shook his head and sipped his coffee, I knew it was the one I was expecting. Mom had mentioned in passing once that Emerson was teaching at a high school in Port Raven. It was his dream job, and it would have been stupid to assume he’d have given it up because I couldn’t cope with life.

“We’re on reading week. I have to go home next weekend.” He set his mug down carefully and met my gaze. If I peered too deeply, I feared what I might find at the bottom of their chocolate brown wells. “Tell me what happened to Mom’s car.”

Whatever hypnotic wave had temporarily rendered me weak in Emerson’s presence vanished, and I squared my shoulders and crossed my arms over my chest.

“It wasn’t my fault if that’s what she told you.”

“She’s told me next to nothing. Had I not asked directly about your health, I wouldn’t have even known you’d spent a night in the hospital.”

“Three nights.”

Shock crossed his face, and his mouth opened to say more, but no words followed. He closed his eyes briefly and waved for me to continue.

“I was coming home from John’s in the middle of the night, and the weather was shit. Some dickwad didn’t stop at the lights and smashed into me at full speed. T-boned me. Between his speed and mine, I was sent spinning into a pole. Cracked my head pretty good, I guess. Knocked me unconscious.” I rubbed the scar over my eye as he listened. “Woke up in the hospital. They kept me for monitoring because I had some swelling around my brain or whatever and… I don’t know, bad concussion.”

“Were you drinking?”

I rolled my eyes and firmed my lips. “No. God, you’re just like her, always assuming the worst.”

He snapped up his coffee and took a long drink. “It was a reasonable question based on the stories Mom’s been telling me. But if you say you weren’t, then I believe you.”

“I wasn’t.”

Any time I hung out with John or P.J I ended up the designated driver. It wasn’t that I automatically volunteered myself into the position, but they were too dumb not to drink and drive. So, because I’d seen first hand what drunk driving could do to a person, I sucked it up and became DD every time. It was bullshit and unfair, but I never expressed my irritation. I knew they used me, but I saw through the pretense that we were all close friends.

Emerson nodded to my head. “Stitches?”

“Six. The windshield shattered, and the glass cut me… I think. Had a nasty pair of black eyes for over a week and a half, too. Multiple other bruises, but no broken bones.”

“You better?” There was an underlying edge of concern to his question, and I couldn’t hold his gaze. He was my brother, of course, he’d be concerned. That was completely natural. Of all the people in my life, he was probably the only person who’d ever given a shit. It didn’t mean anything else.

I shrugged. “I still have headaches and some dizziness. But the doctor said that’s normal, and it will pass.”

He hadn’t taken his eyes off the remaining scar, and his lips twisted in what I recognized as Emerson-anger. “So, was she there for you?”

I snorted unintentionally as I reached for my coffee. “What do you think?”

The grip on his mug tightened until his knuckles turned white, but he remained silent.

“That’s why I had to stay three nights. They asked if I had anyone who could take care of me because I guess with a concussion someone needs to be there and alert for symptoms in case anything changes. Like wake me at night and stuff.”

“She wouldn’t do it?” he growled.

I glared above my mug as I sipped. It wasn’t a question that required answering, and he knew it.

“She graced me with her presence once. The morning after they brought me in, but she didn’t stay because she had to get to work. Mostly, I listened to her complain over what she was going to do without a car temporarily and did I realize she’d need to take the bus to come and see me.”

His eyes darkened and narrowed as I spoke. I didn’t understand why he was getting progressively more upset. Had four years made him forget what it was like at home? Did he expect that everything had miraculously changed?

He swallowed his anger and finished his coffee before pushing his mug aside. Shuffling in his seat, he struggled to meet my eyes. “Are you smoking?”

I flinched. “What the fuck?”

“Answer the question.”

“Fuck you. It’s none of your fucking business. You don’t get to come home and play parent after four years away. I’m not a kid anymore, Emerson, in case you failed to notice.”

He tightened his jaw and skewered me with a glare. “Are you working?”

“No,” I mumbled.

“Going to school?”

That was enough. I slammed down my mug, splashing hot coffee over the lip, and pushed back from the table.

“Why are you home? Did you seriously just drive all the way here to get a rundown of my fucking failures? Thanks.” I stormed back toward my room. “Call next time, we can do this over the phone.” Just before slamming my door, I added, “On second thought, don’t. Four years of silence was bliss, why fuck with a good thing.”

The rattling of the wood in the frame rang through the empty house. My muscles twitched and jumped as I flopped down on my bed. I rested an arm across my eyes to block the light where it perpetuated my ever-lingering headache to grow.

When he pounded on my door, I ignored him and pulled my phone off my bedside table.

“Kaiden, can I come in?”

“No.”

There were three more ignorable texts from my most recent mistake. I flipped through my contacts, needing somewhere to escape or someone to break me out of this cluster-fucked reunion. I messaged three people—John, Marissa, and Scott—asking what was up and begging for any reason possible to meet up.

“Kai, Mom called me with a list of problems longer than my arm. I’m just trying to establish facts, so I know what’s been going on. You know I’ve always taken your side. I’m worried about you. Some of the stuff she was saying… Kai, it’s not good.”

When I still refused him a response, he pushed the door open and came in regardless of my wishes. He stopped a foot inside the room and crossed his arms over his broad chest. He’d always been bigger than me, but not just because he was older. He was taller by an inch, and his bone structure was just slightly more solid. We looked alike in many ways—both sporting dark hair and eyes—but we could be so different in the same breath. He had a ruggedness I couldn’t match. His face was more angular, and his jaw more square.

“Always crossing lines,” I snapped giving him a death glare. “Some things never change, huh, Emerson?” He caught my double entendre, and a scowl darkened his face.

“I’m not having a discussion through a door.”

“And I’m not having a discussion period.”

“Look, Kaiden, Mom is going to be home any minute. I didn’t come all this way to fight with you. You know as well as I do, the moment she walks in that door, I’m going to be attacked. I’ll try and help you smooth things out. I’ll try and calm her down and help her see reason.”

I fiddled on my phone, begging someone to respond, as I tried to look occupied.

“You’re wasting your time. She’s worse, not better. She slips further and further every year.”

A long, drawn-out sigh passed Emerson’s lips, and I snuck a glance. He toed a shirt aside and stared at the floor, deep in thought.

“I don’t understand why you haven’t left.” His voice had softened. When he looked up, I jetted my gaze away, refusing to meet his eyes.

What a fucking joke. Where was I supposed to go?

My phone defied my wishes and remained annoyingly quiet. I texted two more random people, asking if they wanted to head to the valley and go boarding. Anything. I still hadn’t been cleared for sports, but I didn’t give a fuck at that point.

“Kai?” he urged.

A ping sounded immediately after he spoke, and I opened the message with urgency.

John: Sorry, man, not in town.

Fuck.

My mind raced. Emerson walking back into my life out of the blue was not something I’d been prepared for. I jumped up and snagged a hoodie from where it hung over a chair, then made my way to the door.

Emerson grabbed me as I went to shove past him, his fingers digging into my arm almost painfully. He didn’t allow me to move. The contact sizzled and sparked over my skin uncomfortably, and I froze.

“Kai?”

The tenderness in his voice contradicted his biting grip, and the combination sent a wave of heat to my cheeks. I hated being a constant failure in his eyes. And that was all I’d been my entire life. I could never compare to Emerson. Not in smarts, and definitely not in looks. I couldn’t even contend for the same type of cold affection he got from our mother.

“I don’t smoke all the time. Mostly only if I’m drinking. Yeah, I mess around with weed, but who doesn’t? I don’t have a job, and I’m not in school. Once a train wreck, always a train wreck, Emerson. You should know that by now. I don’t know why it’s such a surprise to you. Let go of me.”

He didn’t, and when too many minutes passed without anything happening, I chanced looking at him. There it was; sadness looming behind his deep brown eyes. Sadness and disappointment. Why did I care? Why did he?

“Where are you going?” he asked.

I waved my phone. “The valley. Some guys wanna go boarding. I told them I was on my way.”

Hopefully, four years had dampened his ability to see through my lies. My heart slammed as I waited to see how he’d respond.

He released my arm, and I shoved him aside for show before heading down the hall. Before I made it to the kitchen, he called, “Flip your laundry.” That edge was back, and his commanding tone sent a shiver to crawl up my neck and over my scalp.

“Asshole,” I mumbled under my breath.

I had every intention of ignoring him and finding my ski pants and coat so I could leave, but the heat of his gaze on my back was too much, and I relented and tossed my clothes in the dryer instead before leaving, ignoring the slight tremble in my hands.

I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing, I just needed a breather. I took my snowboard for good measure and took off toward the valley on foot.