Of all the selfish, childish, foolish things to be focused on. Pointless to feel overlooked. As if she would have wanted to be taken away from Shaw, from Dad.
“Maybe she thought she’d give her a better life.”
Every once in a while—though less and less as the years went on—she wondered if Caleb knew more than he let on. She hadn’t had that sneaking suspicion in years, too buried under everything bigger than that one betrayal all those years ago.
But in those words, she swore, she swore Caleb knew something he’d never told her. “Then why not take us?”
Caleb shrugged, still not meeting her desperate gaze. His eyes were on the house, and the demons and shadows were all over his face.
The thing she missed, the thing she ignored. She wanted to sink into the earth until this all went away, possibly longer, but that was no more an option than it had been five years ago when the doctors had told her Dad was paralyzed.
“Caleb.”
His blue eyes met hers then, a million troubles she’d never be able to name haunting that look. He held it only a second before he looked away again. “I think we have to tell Dad.”
“How?”
He laughed brittlely. “Hell if I know.”
That laugh had nothing on the hollowness she felt. The absolute lack of conviction or knowing what step to take. Which, really, was Dan’s fault. He’d hollowed her out, made her all vulnerable. Scraped away her coping with all his being-there crap, which then made her incapable of being her.
Because all she wanted to be right now was far away. Well, not that far, just across town, in a dilapidated cabin much like this one. Surrounded by damn llamas. And one ridiculously painful mistake.
“I’m sorry.”
Caleb’s words were so unexpected, she couldn’t make sense of them. Sorry. Sorry. All pained expression, all sincerity.
What on earth?
He cleared his throat. “I know I dropped the ball. I know I’m not what you need. I know it, and I’m sorry. I really am. Please stop punishing me for it.”
“How am I punishing you?”
“Leaving? You don’t think that’s punishment? You’re the only thing that keeps this place going, together. You’re the only one with any drive, with any hope it can get better. And more…”
There was a part of her that wanted to stop this. To walk away before he gathered whatever words he wanted to use against her, but she also saw this for what it was. An attempt at bridging the gap that had dug deep between them, and she loved him too much to walk away from that.
Even if it hurt.
That scared her more than anything, because if she loved Dan, and she didn’t want to walk away when it hurt, good God, what would she have left of herself?
“Mel, you made it seem…maybe not easy, but possible. All the things you did, all the sacrifices you made. You made it look like it was this thing people can do, and then I had to step in your shoes, and I was not prepared. That’s on me, I get it, but I was not prepared for the weight you held on your shoulders. I had no fucking clue.”
She wanted to blame him. To say he was at fault, but in those words, the lost way he spoke them, the disgust with himself and bafflement with her, she knew this was actually mostly her fault. For taking it all on, for keeping the severity of what they were dealing with and the lack of hope she felt on a daily basis hidden so deep even she didn’t always see it.
“Come home.” Caleb stepped toward her. He even jerked the hat off his head, grasping it hard between his fingers. “Please, Mel.”
“We need the money,” she choked out.
“That’s not why you’re there.” He took another step toward her. “Keep doing the work he needs from you, but the rest of the time, we need you here. I need you to show me how you do it. Really. Without the we’ve got it covered act. Maybe then…”
“I’m so tired of working so damn hard, Caleb.” She wasn’t sure she managed to say it out loud, wasn’t sure she managed to say it emphatic enough for him to hear. It was such a scary admission when you had no other choice.
But then his arms wound around her—the hug she was always hoping for and never getting—and, oh, damn it, she couldn’t hold back the tears.
She had not cried in front of her brother since he’d sat in that hospital room, promising her he would change. She’d believed him then; it felt foolish to believe him now.
“I need you to step up when shit isn’t hitting the fan, too, Caleb. You can’t just wait until it’s all falling apart.”
“It’s not falling apart,” he said quietly, chin on the top of her head, offering a comfort she’d been wishing for and afraid to ask for for years. “We have a sister. Hell, if she can cook, we just hit the jackpot.”
She couldn’t believe he was making a joke, couldn’t believe she was laughing through her tears, but, really, if Summer could cook… “We can’t afford her.”
“We don’t have much of a choice, I’m thinking.”
“No. We don’t.”