Page 34 of The Fight For Survival

"No! No, I didn't mean to make you feel bad, Damon. I'm not mad at you about Cade. It just feels a little awkward."

I can understand that. "I'll just get a taxi. It's fine," I tell her sincerely. She looks at me, shaking her head, and laughs, "don't be silly, come on, I'm sure Cade will be thrilled to see your mou- I mean face," she sends me a cheeky smile over her shoulder as I gape at her. This woman is a vixen.

Huh, I think I just found my pet name for her. I smile and follow Mia.

Cade

Whydoeseverybodylosetheir damn brains at airports?

"Hey, this isn't a fucking parking bay! Pick up only. Move along!" I shout at the guy who has decided to leave his car to walk into the airport. He turns around, glaring but when he sees the stern look on my face quickly gets back into his car and moves. "Thank you," I mutter. I put the heater on in the truck because the temperature in Seattle in December was cold.

Movement catches my attention, and I see Mia chatting enthusiastically to someone beside her, and hopefulness causes my heart to soar. Did she get through to Kane? Has he come home? I get out of the truck, and my smile dims a little when I see Damon. Not that I'm not pleased to see him, but as I look around and don't see Kane with them, I can't help but let the disappointment show on my face. Mia looked sad, as if she knew what I was thinking.

I take her suitcase from her and pull her in for a long kiss. I've missed my woman, and my lousy mood lifts once I get a taste of her. "Fuck," I hear Damon say under his breath, and I pull away, smirking at him. "You bringing strays home now?" I ask Mia, only slightly joking. I am curious why he is here. Damon shuffles awkwardly, and I throw him a wink to let him know I'm kidding. Mia laughs, hitting me in the chest.

We get into the truck, and Damon tells me how Braylon asked him to manage him. Bray kept that tight-lipped, the prick. "So does that mean you no longer manage Kane or what?" I ask, shocked he would just abandon his friend like that.

"I wanted to talk to you about Kane, but first, I need to see Braylon. Can we talk tomorrow?"

"Sure, just come by the shop. I might even be able to squeeze you in for a tattoo while you're there," I wink at him in the rearview mirror, causing him to fidget in his seat. I laugh as Mia hits me in the arm, telling me to behave. I can't help myself. I love watching Damon squirm.

Once we have dropped Damon off at Braylon's, we go home. Mia leaves her luggage at the entrance and flops heavily onto the couch, rubbing her eyes. Sitting beside her and pulling her into my arms, she rests her head on my chest and tells me how this morning went with Kane.

"He gave me a letter for each of us that he wrote five years ago and never gave them to us."

"So why has he decided to give them to us now?" I ask my fingers itch to find the said letter and read it.

"He told me that he was too broken, and when we read the letters, we will see that and leave him alone."

What are in those letters? I can't think of anything in our past to give me a clue.

"Are we going to read them now?" I ask Mia. She stands up and pulls them out of her pocket. She hands mine to me and hugs hers to her chest, shaking her head. "You can read yours. I think I'm going to read mine tomorrow. I don't think I am emotionally stable enough today." I hold her hand and tell her, "I can wait until tomorrow, baby. Why don't I make us some dinner and have an early night?" She smiles gratefully and heads off into the bedroom.

Tossing and turning for hours, with an impatient huff, I quietly get out of bed, trying not to disturb Mia. The letter from Kane is like a siren, calling me to the kitchen where it sits on the dining table. Sitting down and holding it in both hands, I stare at it. I hope to suddenly develop x-ray vision to have a peak of what lies inside. I know I told Mia I would read it tomorrow when she reads hers, but I won't be able to sleep until I have read it. There's a nervousness in the air as I rub at my jaw with a trembling hand.

I turn the envelope over and put my finger along the seam, hesitating mid-action, before ripping it open and pulling out the letter. It's two pages long. I look over Kane's familiar handwriting though this particular writing is slightly messier as if Kane had shaky hands while writing it.

Dear Cade

My heart is hurting as I write this, knowing that this letter will be the last piece of me you will ever have. It's not the piece of me I ever wanted to show you. I wanted you to remember me as the smiling happy kid I always was when I was around you. Not the messed up, tainted and broken one you are about to get a glimpse of. You see, it all started when I was really young.

My Father started beating me.

I suck in a breath and have to stop reading for a minute. I grip the letter in my hands so tight I think I might rip it. I want to. I don't think I can read anymore. The pieces of the past are starting to come together in my mind. Things made sense that I was too naive or oblivious to pick up on before. The constant bruises. Nights he would come through my window, bleeding and sad, asking just to sleep next to me. We thought it was from fighting. He let us believe that.

Dropping the letter and tugging on my hair, I close my eyes and breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth several times before picking the letter back up and continuing to read.

The first time I remember him hitting me, I was about five years old. My Mom was cooking dinner when he got in from work, and I was sitting at the table drawing. When he got home, dinner was ready for him as always, but I was too slow to get my coloring pens put away. My Father liked things in order, you see. Dinner had to be on the table for him when he got home, and my Mother and I sat there patiently waiting for him to join us.

He had just walked into the dining room, and the look on his face when he saw me with my pens out was like he was delighted that I had finally messed up. He was smiling, this cruel smile that had my heart beating out of my chest. I got all my pens to take them to my room as quickly and quietly as I could, but as I walked past him, he whipped his arm out and punched me in the head. The impact sent me flying into the door frame, and it must have knocked me out because the next thing I remembered was waking up in my bed. I was confused, and my head was hurting me.

My Mom was lying beside me, stroking my face and repeatedly telling me she was sorry. That was the start of my regular beatings. I made sure to never fuck up again, but it didn't matter. It was like after the first time he hit me. It was a green light for him.

My Mother never protected me. Why would she when he was leaving her alone because I was taking her beatings? There must have been some guilt there, though, because she committed suicide.

What. The. Fuck?

He told me that she had gotten sick. The ache in my heart intensifies for him and his fucked up childhood. How did he ever smile? How did we ever think he was the cheerful one out of us? His mask was solid. I wish his Father were still alive so I could kill him myself.