Underneath the Sycamore Tree(14)

The next time I come to, we’re passing street lights. The yellow color casts shadows on Kaiden’s tight expression, which I get a perfect view of from where he put me in the back seat. His jaw is hard, but the way it moves is like he’s grinding his teeth.

My head feels too weak to pick up, so I lay there and watch him. The radio is playing a rap song I’m unfamiliar with, but I listen to the lyrics and try to stop staring at Kaiden like a weirdo.

He glances back when the car slows for a stop sign, seeing my tired eyes on his. “Would have been nice if you’d woken up before I had to carry you.”

How did he get over the fence at the cemetery? I ask him as much and he grumbles and starts driving again.

“Had to walk the long way around.”

“Oh.” My voice is tiny.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. We just sit there until the song ends and a new one begins. “We’re almost home.”

I force myself to sit up, yearning to cry over how my body reacts to the movement. Dizziness sweeps over my vision and everything around me blurs until I almost fall down.

Kaiden, unfortunately, notices. “Have you eaten anything today?”

Thinking back, I realize the last thing I ate was a sandwich late this morning. It’s going on nine o’clock now. “Not since you saw me making something earlier.”

He curses and pulls into the driveway. I frown when he turns to me with an irritated expression on his face. “You have to eat, Mouse. You’re too skinny as it is.”

My jaw ticks at the comment. “What has my father told you about me?”

Silence.

I scoff. “Let’s just go inside.”

He sighs and gets out, surprising me by opening the back door. “What? Do you have an eating disorder or some shit? You could be prettier if you just gained some fucking weight.”

Not wanting him to see me cry, I slide out of the car and storm to the front door. Maybe the Riley conversation triggered something beyond my knowledge, but it’s no reason for him to treat me like trash.

There aren’t any lights on, but the front door is unlocked. As soon as we’re inside, Kaiden stops me from going anywhere.

Biting my lip to contain the yelp of his grip on my wrist, I glare at him. “Let go of me, Kaiden.”

He does. “Go to the kitchen.”

“Don’t tell me—”

“Christ, Emery. I’ll make you dinner.”

I’m speechless at his words. This is only the second time he’s used my name. And the sound of it rolling off his tongue…

I swallow. “I’m sure they brought back the food they ordered. I’ll eat that.”

He crosses his arms on his chest, causing his shirt sleeves to hug the biceps I shouldn’t be staring at. “You don’t even like Mexican food.”

“I ordered a salad.”

“You need protein.”

“I’m sure there are beans on it.”

He scoffs. “Just get your ass into the kitchen. I’ll make you eggs or something.”

My brows rise.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he informs me coolly. “I want an omelet, so I’ll make you something too. I won’t be your bitch boy again.”

For some reason, I follow him into the kitchen and sit at the island. The stools are cushioned, so I’m not uncomfortable as I watch him pull things out of the fridge.

“What do you want?”

“Scrambled is fine.”

He gapes. “You need more than scrambled eggs. Will you eat bacon if I make it? Toast? Cheese, for the little Mouse?”

“Stop calling me that.”

He waits for an answer.

“Fine. Yes, I’ll eat those too.”

He smiles victoriously.

While he gets to work, I peer around the empty kitchen. The fridge is littered with pictures and random magnets, there’s a calendar with dates circled and bill payments in sharpie on it, and the dishtowels are all the same shade of blue that match the placemats on the table.

There’s no noise, but I know Dad and Cam are here. Their cars are in the driveway indicating as much.

“Where are our parents?”

“They know to leave me alone when I leave for a while,” is his terse reply.

I play with an orange from the fruit bowl placed strategically in the center of the counter. Everything about how Cam decorated the home is with a plan—the exact opposite of Mama’s house. There, nothing matched. It was organized chaos.

“They don’t know that about me.”

He shrugs. “You were with me.”

“How could they know that?”

“Because I told them I’d get you.”

Nothing but the butter sizzling in the pan fills the silence. He cooks effortlessly, like he cooks his own meals all the time. He’s rarely at dinner, but almost always eats breakfast with us.

By the time he’s finished, he sets a steaming plate full of eggs sprinkled with cheese, bacon, and a slice of buttered toast down in front of me. My mouth waters at the sight and smell as he passes me silverware.

He cleans up his mess, hands me a bottle of water from the fridge, and leaves the room.

He never made himself an omelet.





Chapter Five