Page 89 of Beautifully Broken Control

“Cain.” Kennedy’s voice was so incredibly gentle. There was no anger, not even any hurt, just concern. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t.” I turned on my heel and fled.

37

Kennedy

What the hellhad just happened? I looked down at the cake I’d worked so hard on. I’d read the instructions half a dozen times, just to make sure I got it right. But this wasn’t about me. There’d been pain in Cain’s eyes. So raw, it seemed to claw at my chest, tearing at the flesh there.

How did so much pain come from me making him a cake? Cain hadn’t trusted me with his pain. Would every step I took forever mean guessing where the landmines lay? Hoping I didn’t step wrong and get blown to bits? Because as much as I knew his reaction wasn’t about me, it still hurt. No, it killed.

I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to withstand a lifetime of that. Of rejection for no discernible reason. Of thinking I was helping, only to hurt instead and then be punished for that pain.

I gripped the granite counter, the edge of the stone cutting into my hands. I welcomed the bite of pain and pressed down harder. I’d spent most of my life walking on eggshells, attempting to avoid my mother’s disapproving judgment, making sure I didn’t disappoint my father with dreams that differed from his.

The life I’d built in Sutter Lake was my first taste of freedom. I didn’t want to lose that, couldn’t. But I didn’t want to lose Cain either. I took a slow, steadying breath and released my death grip on the granite. He had to talk to me. Let me in. At least, tell me why a damn cake had sent him running, and my heart breaking.

My heart hammered in my chest as I headed for the bedroom. Walking inside, I could hear the shower running. Good. Maybe that would cool Cain off, calm him down, help him to see reason. He couldn’t lock some huge part of himself away from me and expect us to build a life together. It would be impossible.

I lowered myself to the bed, facing the bathroom door. I could wait. I twisted the hem of Cain’s t-shirt I wore, rubbing the soft cotton between my thumb and finger. The shower continued to run. I released my hold on the tee and studied the room around me.

Cain’s house was beautiful, but it had a coldness to it. There were no personal touches. No photos, keepsakes, or art that seemed to mean anything to him. If you walked through this house, you’d learn nothing about the man who lived in it. But that’s exactly how he liked it. He kept everyone at arm’s length, including me.

My gaze swept over his nightstand, catching on the drawer that was slightly ajar. A pop of color had caught my attention. Snagged it because the rest of the house was all muted tones. Grays and blues, greens, and shades of white.

I pulled the drawer open an inch. Glossy paper. A photo. My fingers moved without my mind agreeing to it. It was one of the most beautiful young women I’d ever seen. Glossy, dark hair, flawless, tanned skin, a smile that you knew would light up a room, and eyes that I knew almost as well as my own. Irises so dark blue, you’d practically think them brown.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I jolted at Cain’s voice. I’d never heard it sound fiercer, holding tightly to rage beneath the surface. “I’m sorry. I-I-I just. The drawer was open, and I saw a photo. I grabbed it before I really thought it through. I’m so sorry.”

Cain’s bare chest heaved. He wore only low-slung sweats, ones that had been my favorites until this moment. The way he studied me, analyzed every micro-expression my face made, said he didn’t trust me one bit. It was another slice to my already shredded chest. “You were fucking snooping. I open up my home to you, and you betray that?”

I pushed to my feet, my hands trembling as I laid the photo on the bed. Cain did not get to pull this on me. I was not going to let him twist this into something it wasn’t. Twist me into something I wasn’t. For the last two and a half years, I’d let the world paint me into a monster. I’d never defended myself. I’d allowed my own brother to twist my motives, my soul, into something ugly. I hadn’t wanted to let anyone close enough to feel that betrayal again, but I had. And I wasn’t going to allow Cain to get away with doing what Preston had. I was done letting the world decide who I was.

“You don’t get to pull that card, Cain. I wasn’t tearing apart your room, trying to uncover your secrets. But maybe I should because you won’t tell me anything. I never know what’s okay to ask you about. I made you a fucking cake that I was so proud of, and you looked like I handed you a live grenade. Why?” My heart hammered against my ribs as I waited. Cain said nothing. Silence had never hurt so much. Tears stung the backs of my eyes, but I forced them down. “I’ve laid myself bare for you, and you won’t tell me a single personal thing about your past. Do you know how that feels?”

Cain’s eyes blazed now. A deadly, blue heat. “What do you want to know?” He growled the words low, just as dangerous as the fire in his eyes. “That my mom was always drunk? That I took care of my sister from the time I was five?” My heart seized as I pictured tiny Cain trying to care for a miniature version of the girl in that photo.

“That I left her because I had this great opportunity to go to college, and while I was gone, my mom got hooked on oxy. That her dealer broke into our house when my mom wasn’t home and decided to take his payment by raping my sister? Or maybe that when she wouldn’t stop screaming, he strangled her? Is that what you want to know?” He spun around, reaching for the decorative ceramic bowl on the dresser, a piece in those same muted tones as the rest of the house, and hurled it at the wall, shattering it into a million pieces. “Fuck!”

I didn’t even flinch when the bowl hit. Didn’t twitch at Cain’s shouted curse. I was numb. His sister. Oh, God. His sister. Cain. My gaze met his, and it was ravaged. I thought I’d known what guilt felt like. I knew nothing. “Cain.” His name was a cross between a whisper and a prayer, maybe it was a plea.

“Get out.” His body trembled as he released the words. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

That had me jerking. “What?”

“I’m getting some air. When I get back, I want you gone.” He strode right out the door. Didn’t glance at the destruction he’d created, didn’t look at the wreckage in his wake. Just left.

My body shook as I tried to get it to move. It took a couple of tries. Finally, my limbs obeyed my brain. I pulled out my phone.

Me:Can you come pick me up at Cain’s?

I had a response within seconds.

Jensen:Sure thing. Now?

Jensen:Wait, is everything okay?

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