I sank to the floor and grabbed one of the closest balloons, turning it over in my hands when I caught sight of black writing on others, and desperately tried to see through my tears.
It took a month and a half to read my first sentence . . .
Took a couple more before I wrote my first.
I held the balloon close to my chest, savoring this gift and the strength it must have taken to tell me all that he had earlier. To tell me whatever else was on the balloons.
And then I was moving on to the next and the next and the next.
Soggy laughs tumbling free with some, others breaking me more and more until I was a tear-soaked mess, clutching precious party decorations.
I used to count how many times you walked past my door the nights you stayed, wishing you would stop in front of it.
I hate broccoli. Don’t tell my mom.
I was 10 and running from Beau. Ran into a low tree branch and knocked myself out.
Still better than getting beaten up. Did Saw already tell you that one?
Asshole.
I’ve loved you for longer than I could ever explain.
I’m here.
I forced myself to my feet, looking around at the beautiful messages as I carefully stepped through them. My body moving on autopilot as I somehow found my way back to the living room.
Grabbing my phone, I unlocked it and numbly tapped out a message before dropping onto the couch.
Cradling my balloon, bleary gaze drifting between the places Cayson had loved me . . . had bared his soul to me . . . had reluctantly left me . . .
I stared at the large house that probably should’ve evoked comfort and nostalgia but only summoned a bitter taste in my mouth.
Blossom Bed and Breakfast was breathtaking, no doubt. Beau and Savannah—with the help of Sawyer—had restored the old plantation house so that it probably stood prouder than when it had first been built.
But the first time I’d set foot in there, it’d been my last fight—my last conversation—with my dad. My last night in Amber.
The second time, I hadn’t even lasted a minute before Beau had dragged me out, nearly a decade’s worth of resentment dripping from him as he did.
But when I’d gotten in my truck and started the agonizing drive away from Emberly, I’d reached for my phone to call Sawyer, only to find him calling me.
Warning me.
He and Rae were at Blossom helping bake for Amber Fest, and Savannah was calling Emberly to see if she was coming to help out this year. You know, since she was family and all.
And Beau was still pissed. Wasn’t ready.
I’d put the rest together easy enough: Don’t come if Emberly does.
I hadn’t responded.
Just ended the call and changed the direction I’d been headed as my anguish had slowly shifted, morphed.
Until I’d found myself parked outside and feeling like I finally understood Emberly—wanting to grab my chest because all the shit going on inside me felt like too much. Felt like my shattered heart was going to burst before the next beat.
But that pain continued, same as my beating heart.
Through getting out of my truck.
Walking up to the house.
Staring at the imposing door like whether or not I went inside might just change my immediate future . . . and reaching for the handle the way Sawyer had done on Sunday night. Not giving anyone the opportunity to keep me outside when the door opened.
Music was playing, coming from the direction of the one room in the house I knew. Their laughs were louder.
Something about it made the anger simmering in my veins burn a little hotter. Made the sadness tugging at my chest pull a little harder.
No sooner had I entered the massive kitchen than Sawyer saw me. Then Savannah and my mom and Rae.
Then Beau and the kids.
Each one of them going silent at the sight of me.
And with their silence, worry and hostility and unknowns slammed into me.
I held my ground and held each of their stares for a few moments before meeting Beau’s where he stood beside Sawyer, holding the baby.
Wasn’t sure if he was more shocked that I’d come back after getting kicked out or more furious that he was seeing me in his house at all.
The women and kids were gathered around one of the large islands. Flour, sugar, and other baking ingredients littered the granite top along with bowls, measuring spoons and cups.
The other island was already full of cooling baked goods.
Maybe one day I would actually see more of this place than the kitchen. Today wasn’t gonna be that day.
“Told you—”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, stopping Beau from continuing. I didn’t have the strength to hear it after what I’d already been through. “I’m leaving, but I have something to say first.”
“Quinn,” Savannah hissed, snapping my attention to her and then over to where a miniature Savannah was coming my way.
Chin up.
Eyes curious.
Expression unwavering.
Worry and grief wove through her soft demand when Savannah said, “Quinn, come back here.”
But the girl just stopped in front of me and adorably pointed to the floor in silent request.
When my knees hit the hardwood, she leaned closer, those curious eyes taking in everything. “Are you my Hunter, or are you my Cayson?”
Damn.
With all the bullshit since coming back, I’d forgotten Hunter and Beau hadn’t spoken in just as long.
“I’m Cayson,” I answered thickly.
She simply nodded and pretended to study me some more. Then with a heavy sigh, she continued on matter-of-factly. “They talk about you, you know.”
“Yeah?”
“They say you’re bad. That you do mean things.”
My jaw tightened. I swallowed past the knot her words had formed. My gaze shifted around the room to where everyone was watching with rapt attention.
Rae had a hand over her mouth.
Mom and Savannah were silently crying and holding hands.
Beau had passed the baby off to Sawyer and was glaring at me. Arms hanging loosely at his sides, silent rage dripping from him.
“I don’t think you look bad,” Quinn said softly, pulling my focus back to her. “I think you look real sad, my Cayson. And bad people don’t get real sad.”
A miserable-sounding laugh left me, but I managed to say, “I’m about to say some things. Things I don’t want you to hear because then you might think I’m mean too.”
Her eyes squinted until they were nearly shut, as if she weren’t sure that were possible.
I gave her a conspiratorial look and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Really, I don’t want your brother to hear.” I sent her a wink, earning a little giggle. “Think you could help me out? Take him to your room and play there for a while so I can talk to your parents?”
“I can do that. I’m a real good big sister, you’ll see!” She was off and grabbing her brother to rush out of the kitchen before I ever stood.
“No wonder you didn’t want me to meet them.” The words were all grit and steel when I faced my family, gesturing to the archway the kids had left through. “Because then they’d tell me what y’all say about me when I’m not here.”
“You’re never here,” Beau unnecessarily reminded me. “Say what you need to and get out.”
Another one of those miserable-sounding laughs crept up my throat at his harshness.
At his hostility.
I rubbed at my jaw and tried to recall the way it had felt when I’d listened to Sawyer’s veiled warning. The words that had rushed to the surface, screaming and threatening to burst free before being silenced by Quinn’s revelation, leaving only one resounding truth.
Letting my hand fall, I shrugged and said, “You’re all assholes.”
“Get out,” Beau said, the words low and threatening.
“You’re asshol
es for never seeing,”—I lifted a hand to my head before flinging it to the side—“for never wanting to see what was happening right in front of you. For never caring to find out what and who pushed me away from here and made me never want to come back. But no,” I sneered, holding the same hand up in front of me, waving all of them off, “it was always something I had done. Something I deserved. Someone whose death I caused. Which, you know, it’s fitting to blame me because he never let an opportunity pass to tell me that I was killing him.”
“Because you were always starting shit and getting into trouble,” Sawyer said, a hard edge to his voice. The same one that had been there the night we’d come to blows.
“At nine years old?” I asked pointedly, meeting his doubting stare before looking at where our mom was trying to stand tall and strong even though she was a wreck.
I let my gaze fall to the floor and asked, “Beau, did Dad ever tell you that you were killing him?” When no response came, I searched him out, but he was as silent and furious as ever. “Did he?”
“Never gave him a reason to.”
A harsh laugh burst from me. “Saw’s talking about me getting into trouble . . . are you forgetting your life?” Before he could answer, I continued. “But that was different. It was okay because you still made Dad proud—you weren’t an embarrassment to him.”
“Christ,” Sawyer said on a groan. “Fuck off with this self-pity, Cayson. It’s getting old.”
“Stop,” Rae snapped, horrified gaze set on my younger brother. “He has been waiting for someone to ask why he left and why he came back, and you haven’t done that. Now he’s trying to tell you. Listen.”
“It’s bullshit,” he shot back as he passed the baby off to Savannah. Automatically triggering a rush of adrenaline as I prepared for whatever reason he needed his hands free.
My hands curled into fists instinctively.
I set my feet a little wider, bracing myself.
“He never wanted to take responsibility for any of the shit he did back then, and he doesn’t want to now,” he continued.
“What, like the shit that happened to Emberly?” I ground out, the pain in my words evident. “The red-dye water balloons? The baseball guys cornering her in the gym and at parties? Because I just found out about those about thirty fucking minutes ago, and I had nothing to do with any of that.”
Sawyer scoffed as he looked to Rae, holding a hand out to me as if to say see? “He wants to blame everyone else for everything he did.”
“Think about it,” I continued darkly. “None of that shit sounds like me. Hiding . . . switching out things—that’s what I did. All I ever did was hide Emberly’s stuff or prank her with little things that I would’ve done to anyone.”
“That’s the least of what you did,” he argued.
“The worst I ever did was swapping the mayor’s car, and I got arrested for it.” When Sawyer rolled his eyes, I said, “You’re out of your damn mind if you think I would’ve ever told anyone to humiliate her or assault her.”
“That’s all you ever did,” he yelled.
“I was in love with her, why the hell would I—”
“Love,” he choked out, partially laughing, partially sneering. “Jesus, that’s a new level of desperate pretense for you, Cays.”
My brows drew together as I stared at him, as that old anger burned hot in my chest. “I’ve always loved her.”
“Right.” Doubt wove through the word and pooled from him. “I don’t know how you expect us to believe any of this bullshit when, like I said, all you ever did was humiliate her. But,” he added quickly, “even if you could explain away some of the Emberly situations—which, I can’t imagine how seeing as you always accepted the punches I threw afterward—there are others that you can’t. Like when you dropped your crown on the stage and embarrassed that girl at prom.”
I jerked back at the casual mention of Caroline in the middle of Emberly because the two couldn’t be more different.
Their situations.
Their personalities.
Everything about them.
“And if you’re gonna embarrass her in front of everyone,” Sawyer continued, “why the hell wouldn’t I think you would do all that shit to Em?”
A stunned breath left me. “First, whenever you threw a punch, I figured I deserved it because I was constantly pranking someone. Second, Caroline Bowman deserved that shit and more.”
“Caroline,” Sawyer murmured as if he’d been trying to remember who had won queen that year.
“She’s psychotic and was blackmailing me leading up to prom—”
“Here we go,” Sawyer grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and releasing a long sigh.
I paused and studied his irritated expression before taking in Beau’s outrage.
A soft laugh laced with pain escaped me as I rocked back a step. And then another.
Because I realized it didn’t matter.
It didn’t matter what I told them then or what I told them in another ten years. They wouldn’t believe it.
And it surprised me how much that stung.
My throat tightened around phantom shards of glass. My body was aching to turn, to leave. But I stood there, swallowing again and again until I was sure I could speak one last time.
“I left because it was the only way to become the person I wanted to be.” I met each of their hardened and sad stares. “I stayed away because, buried deep, I think I hated all of you for never seeing the truth. To be honest, I have no fucking clue why I came back.”
No one said anything when I turned to leave.
But I could feel their relief.
Fuck if it didn’t hurt.
Why had I ever rolled back into this town?
I was nearly to my truck when she came after me, calling my name and begging me not to leave.
When I glanced over my shoulder, her eyes were brimmed with tears, and it felt like a punch to the gut because it was just like looking at Emberly all over again.
I dropped my stare to the ground and gripped the back of my neck. “Once again, Rae, it says something that you’re the only one asking me to stay when that house is full of my family.”
“You can’t leave.”
A ragged breath escaped me, and I risked a glance at her. “I can’t stay.” I clenched my jaw when it shook. “Take care of Emberly for me.”
Her body seemed to cave. Worry and aching splashed across her face. “Cayson, please. Don’t do this to you or her . . . don’t do—”
“Rae, she told me to leave.”
All emotion drained from her face. When she spoke, it was nothing more than a breath. “What?”
I tried to speak, but nothing came out. Then I realized I was pressing against my chest. Against the searing pain there.
I lifted my heavy shoulders in a weak shrug when it was all I seemed to be able to do and reached for my door.
Needing to get away.
Needing to leave.
“Cayson, what happened?” Rae asked almost frantically when I climbed into the truck. “Why did you leave Amber?”
I settled into the seat and stared at the house for a while before saying, “It doesn’t matter.”
“You said if I asked, you would tell me. I’m asking.”
A sigh ripped from me as I faced her. “They don’t care, Rae. They don’t want to know—they won’t hear it.”
“I want to know.”
“I left because I was an embarrassment. I was worthless. I wasn’t my brothers. Because I was tired of doing anything to keep the wrong kind of attention off me, terrified that someone else would find out and think what he did.” I lifted my hands, but they fell heavily to my lap. “I left because I wanted to be Cayson and not the fuck-up.”
She took a step closer when I cranked the engine, expression creased with sorrow and understanding. “Find out what?”
I studied her for a second before grabbing the door. “Ask Emberly.”
“Cayson—�
�
“Rae, please. Make sure she’s okay.”
She hesitated for a moment before nodding and stepping back.
Once she was far enough away, I closed the door and pulled out of the long driveway.
The hole in my chest grew with every minute. With every drawer emptied into my bags.
By the time I was in my truck again, I felt hollow.
Leaving was so much easier the first time.
It didn’t take long for her to answer my plea.
She opened my front door without knocking, her worried stare finding me as the door clicked shut behind her.
Her shoulders sagged and she studied me with an expression so eerily similar to one I frequently wore. Brows pinched and bottom lip being tortured by her teeth.
And then she spoke. Voice soft but sure, as though she already knew the reasoning behind what I’d done. “You told him to leave.”
That’s all it took for the heavy tears to spill over again.
Only a few seconds passed before the couch dipped next to me. Then Rae was pulling me closer and resting my head on her lap so she could play with my hair. She never said a word until only a few tears were left staining my cheeks.
“Should’ve tried to talk you down from this moment,” she said softly. A little laugh left her and ended on a sigh. “Then again, maybe there was no preventing this. God knows there was no preventing us.”
A crease formed between my brows at the unexpected turn in her words. “Us, who?”
“Sawyer and me.” She let that hang in the air for a moment, confusing me and making me wonder if I’d asked the wrong person to help me, before saying, “Don’t you see it?”
“I think I texted the wrong person . . .”
“Brat,” she murmured, adoration filling the word as she flicked the back of my head. When she continued, her voice was that same sure softness. “You and Sawyer. When I first met the two of you, I kept worrying there was something between you.”
Cayson’s admission filled my head, making the pain flare.
Making all the what-ifs I’d thought of the past days swirl around again before I had the chance to push them away.
Whiskey (Brewed Book 2) Page 30