Fourteen

Nic

"W here the fuck have you been?" I cut Baby off the literal split second Cade walks through the front door. Cade at least has the decency to blush, look a touch embarrassed at whatever the hell it was he was doing following me to Corby's earlier. And then leaving with some random guy without even talking to me. "Where have you been?" I try again in a tone that has his blush disappearing, a sneer taking its place.

"I was at Liam's. Not that it's any of your business."

It's instant, the need to correct him. "Right. And me being at my friend's house, that is your business?"

"What friend?" He looks appalled that I might have one, that I would be at anyone else's place.

It genuinely baffles me how someone can show all their cards like that at all times. There are no instances when I don't have a pretty good idea of what he's feeling. He has the emotional maturity of a three-year-old. This? This obsessive jealousy, like he has any fucking right, really just points out how full of himself he is. Like he has any sort of claim on me.

He doesn't. I can't deny that he feels like mine at times, but I am not and will never be something he can own. I'm not even something he wants, not really. I wouldn't give myself to someone as careless as him. I'm not that stupid. And as far as my jealousy goes, at least I hide it. I'm not humiliating myself by…

I scoff, getting flustered at my own reasoning. It feels like I'm lying to myself. I'm just as bad as him. Maybe even worse.

"Why were you following me?" I'm not giving him an answer to his question. He doesn't need to know things like that. Things about me. Cade is the last person I can see myself opening up to—about anything.

"I'm not doing this." He stalks off down the hall, and a few seconds later, I can hear our door being slammed. That's what he says when he can't think of anything to say to explain his shitty logic away.

I don't want to follow him, but as soon as I can't see him anymore, my knee starts bouncing because fuck, I want to follow him. I want to demand he tell me what he thought he was doing earlier. Why he disappeared like that. Who he was with, and if he left without talking to me because he was embarrassed by me.

That's—I get it if he was. Between the scars, the vitiligo, the general vibe of me—empty at the best times and sad and angry and broken at the worst. I get being ashamed of wanting that. I do. But why even go after me in the first place?

"You should…" Baby's hand lands on my knee, willing it to stop shaking and not continuing until it does just that. "Cade is a lot. We all know that. He likes to… argue. And complain. So, I can understand it if you don't follow him, but I mean, it's your room too." He shrugs, pulling his slim hand off my leg to turn his attention back to the TV. "And I think he wants you to. Follow him, I mean. But maybe be quieter this time? I want to go to bed soon."

"You—" I relax in my seat, taking a breath when my muscles ease. He heard us then, heard Cade being fucked. By me. I don't know why that settles me so much, but it's oddly relieving to have it acknowledged like this. That someone knows that Cade wants those things.

Someone else can see that he's mine, even if Cade can't.

And he's right. It is my room.

∞∞∞

H e's in the shower, forcing me to wait for him. It feels very telling that I am actually waiting for him. Like a dog. Shits embarrassing. Sitting here motionless while he goes on like usual. I try to reason with it by telling myself that all I'd be doing is this anyway.

It's late, I have work in the morning, and my life is otherwise boring. This is what I do most of the time: sit here looking at Cade's bed.

That's where I took him, slammed into his ass until he was nearly crying beneath me. And I didn't even get to come.

My eyes trail to my sock drawer, where my meds are. I shouldn't have quit them like that. The Zoloft mainly. It makes it impossible to finish, but then the lack of arousal makes that a nonissue anyway.

Until I moved in with Cade, and suddenly it was an issue. A big problem. It's not right being my age and not able to hit a climax. Not normal. And I'm okay, mentally. I think. I feel okay. Not any more anxious or sad than I already was. Maybe the pills weren't even working. If I'm going to feel all those things anyway, I might as well be able to shoot a load into my stepbrother's guts.

I lay down and roll over to stare at the wall to try and convince myself that I'm not getting turned on at the sight of his messy bed. But a second later I have to adjust myself, pull at my boxers where they've tightened. It's his fault. Nobody could live through that experience and not get all hot thinking about it.

I want a redo. It's sort of why I went cold turkey on my meds—a need to empty my balls in his hole, leave him leaking. It's made me reckless, it seems. My old therapist would be very disappointed in me.

We're not doing this again . I said that to him. For reals. What a joke.

I used to question what it is about Cade that has people so willing to accept him, like him. It's always been hard for me to see past the bullshit. The smug aura surrounding him, the… I'm not a hundred percent sure what it is about Cadence Howard. He just aggravates me.

Now look at me. Obsessing over thoughts of him wrapped around my dick.

The bathroom door opening has me sitting up to face him immediately, my impatience worn too thin as is.

"Who was that guy in your car?"

I can feel a subtle throbbing in my temple, regret for the question and the way I asked it making it hard to sit still. I sound like him—childish and incapable of handling my emotions.

"Why do you care?" He's less flustered after his shower—he had some time to calm down, whereas I've done the opposite.

He makes me want to pull my hair out. Yank it right off my scalp. Guarantee I'd enjoy that feeling a lot more than this . Even better, I could pull on his hair. If I wasn't so sure he'd love it, I just might.

"I just want to know who was following me, Cade. And why. I don't go around chasing you like a lost puppy, do I?"

"Isn't that what you were doing last night?" he snarks. He's always gotta fight. Dealing with him is never easy—he makes sure of that. "I walked away from you then, and you were the one who followed— chased —me, Nic."

That's… he's got me there. But I think I won that round. He's the one who ended up on his knees, and when I cock a self-assured brow at him, I know he's realized the same thing. I don't want to give him time to reflect. "Just tell me."

"I—no."

"No?"

"That's what I said.." He drags his towel over his head, leaving me to stare at his mostly naked form. His briefs are black, form-fitting but dark enough that I can't see much of anything. Not behind those anyway. I can definitely see the rest of him—which I guarantee is what his conceited ass wants.

"Cade..." I have to force myself to take a breath, to calm down. It's ridiculous that such a small thing has me so worked up. Maybe I should be on a pill for that .

"I don't get why it's a big deal. You don't care what I'm doing or who I'm doing it with any other time."

He's wrong. I think about those very things pretty much anytime he's not around. I shouldn't. The smart thing to do would be to drop it. I harp about the way Cade can't hide any of his thoughts all the time, but I'm awfully close to behaving the exact same way on a regular basis.

"Yeah," I say, my stomach tightening in discomfort as I settle on making the right choice. "You're right—I don't care." I lay down again, and go back to looking at the wall. I can feel him behind me, still standing in the same spot. Still shirtless with his nipples peaked. Hair a little damp and dripping on shoulders. I can picture it all so well, just lying here with my eyes screwed shut. An image engrained behind my eyelids, right there next to all the other ones I have stored away of him. At this current moment, it feels like I'll never be rid of them. Of Cade.

I need to figure this life shit out. Move. Go back to pretending Cade doesn't exist. I've done fairly well letting go of most of the hate and disgust I had for his mom and my dad, but I'll never forgive them for the shit they pulled. For breaking my mom and forcing a brother who I didn't want on me.

"It was—his name is Jax. We're not, like, friends or anything. He was at Liam's when I went. I barely know him."

I let the silence following his words fill the space between us for a moment. It's a relief. I don't know if it's because he actually told me, and now I know, or if it's his compliance that has me feeling so much better all of a sudden.

"Whose house was that?"

I ignore that, smiling at the way he huffs when he realizes I'm not telling him. "Why were you following me?" I stay where I am, unmoving as I ask him again. As awful as picturing him is—his pecs and six pack, that thin happy trail, all of it—seeing it is worse.

"I… have no fucking clue." He sighs loudly, drawing it out dramatically as he flops on his mattress. "I genuinely do not know."

I mostly believe him. He can be impulsive. That's not anything new, but he has to have some idea. But the tension in the room has noticeably eased, and the last thing I want to do is crank it back up by pressing the small shit. "Well, why didn't you say hi or something?"

"Why didn't I—Nic." He huffs an exasperated laugh, prompting me to finally face him. "You get irrationally angry at pretty much anything I do. I chose life."

"It's not irrational to be pissed that you followed me to my friend's house with some fucking guy I don't know." I mimic him and fall onto my back so I don't have to look at him when familiar feelings start to bubble up again.

"You sound jealous."

I scoff, but I don't know what to say to negate that fact. It's not something I can believably deny, and saying less is probably the safest option.

"Wait. Are you?"

"You're delusional."

"Holy shit." He sounds awed, so pleased with himself that I have to flip him off. He laughs, and I'm too tired to deal with him. But when I face the wall again, he stops. "You don't—Jax is nobody. I barely tolerate him. He's more annoying than you. Well, maybe not more annoying, but… you don't have to be jealous of Jax."

It's tough being around Cade. So many contradictions, so much confusion. I hate that he's trying to reassure me, and I hate even more that it's working. I should have said no when Anton suggested this little setup. Me moving here, I knew it was a bad idea—a horrible, life-altering idea, and here I am anyway.

But in a weird way, even knowing all of the things I do now, I'm kind of glad that I said yes.

"Nic?"

His voice sounds different. Almost like when I had him pinned against his dresser. It has me turning around so that I can see the face paired with such a quiet and soft sound.

"Whose house was that?" He's picking at his fingers, refusing to look at me.

I watch in real-time as the insecurity grows, seeps onto his face. My chest tightens along with my hands that kind of want to reach for him. I'm more willing to share now that he's told me what I wanted to know first. "I was at Corby's." If he'd paid attention and looked instead of hiding like the world's worst spy, he would have seen Corby walk out with me. I expect the news to make him feel better, but if anything, I think it's only made things worse.

I knew he was jealous. Maybe hoped is a better word for it, but I didn't think it was of Corby specifically. He's just a friend. In the same way that Jax is Cade's friend. Corby is the kind of guy who leaves a vague sense of dislike simmering under your skin when he's around, but all in all, he's okay. Not at all someone I want to fuck, though.

"Oh."

I know that he wants me to tell him why I was there—tell him that we're just friends, but I can't do that. I won't give him that. That would put us on the same level, and that's not a good idea. Not safe.

I can give him something we both want, though.

"On your knees, little brother."