Page 180 of Under the Bed

“I haven’t forgotten a single thing about our time together.”

“I liked those.” A nod, and he’s back to working on our food. Alone.

Like hell. He’ll never be alone again. I won’t stay seated when I can be closer. When I can touch him.

“They were nothing special.” I bump my hip into his. “Anyone could’ve made those.”

“No.” He looks down at me, borderline murderous. I don’t flinch, soaking up his madness. “The ones at Berkshire sucked. Almost as much as their cake did.”

“You had cake?” My nose scrunches. “You hate it.”

His focus is on the sizzling butter. On placing bread in the pan and adding the cheese.

“Kaleb?”

Another slice of bread. He presses both of them down with the spatula. As hard as I used to. I was eleven the last time I fixed those for him. I had to put all my strength into it. Kaleb is far stronger than I’ll ever be.

He presses it hard anyway.

“Hey, you there?”

Silence.

Concern curls around my lungs. He senses my unease somehow, hooking an arm around my side andyanking me to him.

“You’re upset.” My forehead creases, my heart twisting. “Did I say something?”

“No.”

“Then talk to me.” I place a hand over the one he has on my shoulder, my touch soft. “Why’d you have cake? Someone forced you?”

“No.” A loaded silence. “It was the only way to celebrate your birthday, Shi.”

It should be impossible to have your heart crash and splinter on the floor while it’s still beating in your chest.

That’s what happens as I let his words sink in.

I’m devastated. Hurting. Hollow.

Again, he senses my pain, tightening his grip around me.

“You remembered?” I whisper. It’s hard to speak. Hard to breathe.

“Of course.”

Delicious aromas rise from the pan when he flips the sandwich. Kaleb smells better. Kaleb smells like home.

Kaleb is also deadly silent.

“They let you celebrate it? I—Damn it, I never asked. You told me your therapist let you keep the photos and mask, but other than that?” Fuck, could I be any more self-centered? Whyhaven’t I asked? “You could just go anywhere inside the facilities?”

“No.”

His fingers dig into my waist, his love language. His way of comforting me. I won’t be comforted. I won’t stop wishing I could magically go back in time and spare him every miserable second he’d spent locked up in there.

“Then?”

“I did what I had to.” He levels me with a dark gaze. “I pretended to be sick or started banging my head against the wall until I bled. Until one of the attendants or guards came for me.” Without turning away from me, he flips the sandwich in the pan. “Every year on your birthday, I made up some bullshit excuse to call them over there. Then I’d grab them by their throats, drag them out toward the kitchen. They let me have my way. Otherwise, they knew I’d murder their colleagues and wouldn’t lose sleep over it. They’d follow me all the way to the staff’s break room. They’d have cakes delivered each morning, and each year on your birthday, I’d stuff my face with a slice. Then I’d release my hostage. They’d jump on me, sedate me, and put me back in my cell where I slept through the day.”

---