Page 144 of Family Affair

“Why do you still hate your brother so much, Cade? He’s dead.”

“He can die all over again for all I care.” Cade ran his hands through his hair. His dark eyes were still wild, and he visibly struggled for control. Coco sensed that he was perilously close to falling apart, and it frightened her.

He sucked in a deep breath and said, “Because he was gifted in one area that’s important to you, you want him to be this great guy whom life had treated unjustly. A victim of circumstances. Well, he wasn’t. He made choices that sucked, and he paid for it. That’s all there is to it.” He rotated his head, his impressive shoulders flexing in the low light. He wouldn't look at Coco. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”

He left her standing in the bedroom, clutching the pink top at her chest. Tears burned her eyelids, tears of anger and anguish.

Coco picked up Frank’s portrait Cade had so angrily thrown aside. Her fingers flexed, ready to tear it up, but she didn’t go through with it. She had this stubborn conviction that if she held on to it, if she treasured the memory of him in some small way, he would be at peace.

Sliding the portrait back into the envelope, Coco tucked it in her drawer and went to check on Cade.

“Cade?” Her voice and a soft knock on the bathroom door that followed jerked Cade out of a nearly complete meltdown that had come from nowhere and swallowed him whole.

He sucked in a painful breath, water dripping from his wet face. Dressed only in his boxers, he hunched over the sink, shaking, cold and hot at the same time. He’d splashed water on his face fighting desperately for control, letting it drip onto his chest and floor, making a mess out of Coco’s frilly, lavender scented bathroom.

It didn’t help, and he was losing it. His insides got too tight, shivers ran up and down his entire body, and his arm, tattooed in the area of Frank’s scar, was burning.

“Cade? Are you alright?”

He wanted to say yes, but couldn't get the word out. He hurt all over. The shock of seeing her draw Frank in such precise detail proved to be paralyzing. It was eerie, how right she got him. The facial expression, the tiny insignificant features that made up the whole of him - they were all there. Coco had never met Frank in her life. He remembered how Frank used to draw people to him, with his unnamed ethereal talent that had often been unwelcome to his introverted nature. And now, years after he died, he managed to attract Coco.

He hated Frank.

Another tremor rocked him, and he had to grip the edge of the sink tighter to stop himself from crashing on the floor. Red mist swam in front of his eyes.

“Cade, please. Let me in.” Her gentle voice had an edge to it. She was worried about him. She cared.

He struggled to evaluate the significance of her attention with any degree of logic. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was a poor subject for nurturing and a lost cause for saving. She shouldn't even bother.

He flipped the lock open with one hand without changing his position at the sink. The door opened, and she stood there, the worried frown on her face smoothing as the expression of utter shock blanked her beautiful face.

“Cade,” she said his name in a strangled whisper. “No. Stop. Let me get you out of here. Come, please.”

She yanked a towel from the nearest bar and started wiping his wet face and chest in soothing strokes. “It’s alright. Everything will be alright. Don’t think about it. I’m here, you're not alone. You’ll never be alone, I promise.”

He couldn't respond. His eyes cut to her, sideways. He’d gotten her in a fine mess. She should be telling him to take a high road and not look back, not promise him the ever-after. He didn’t do ever-afters. And she was walking into this deal blind, having no idea what he was like on the inside.

Or was she? His Coco saw entirely too much.

Feeling marginally soothed, Cade let go of the sink and straightened up. Coincidentally, his eyes collided with his own reflection in the mirror above the sink. A face that stared back at him was a painfully familiar sight. His father’s image, only more angular, with tightly compressed lips, longer than usual hair falling in tangled chunks across his forehead, sharp eyebrows, and his eyes. His dark, wild, haunted eyes, with the heavy stare from the head half-bent, and the shadows that always lurked there. He looked like he used to look a long time ago, and like he never wanted to look again. Feral.

Without tracking his actions, he smashed the mirror with his fist. The glass shattered, sharp pieces raining down. Coco gasped and jumped back.

Was she hurt? “Christ,” he suddenly found his ability to speak. “Coco.”

“I’m okay, I’m fine.” She swallowed, he saw her throat work. She was holding on to the towel like it was a lifeline.

Horrified at having possibly hurt her, he quickly scanned her body for injuries, but she appeared to be unharmed save for a terrified look on her face. He sure knew how to frighten women.

She suddenly gave an exclamation of distress. “You’re bleeding! No, stay still. Oh, Cade. Hush, be still.” She carefully pried out a small sliver of glass where it had embedded itself into his pec and applied the towel to staunch the blood. Strange, he hadn’t even noticed the pain, and only after she took the glass out, the spot started stinging.

“Does it hurt?” She was crying.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. The pain pulled him back. The tremors were still running through his body, but the red haze ebbed. He was coming back. “I snapped.”

“Here, is this better?”

“Better. I’m okay.”