Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
"I'm so sorry," Mariah whispers.
"Is…is he okay?"
"I don't…" She shakes her head, not finishing whatever she was going to say because we both know it'd be a lie. Cade isn't okay. He hasn't been okay in a long time. Neither of us has been. We've just been trying like hell to hang on and pretend we didn't lose ourselves when Titan and my mom were murdered.
But we did. Something inside both of us broke that night. It's been broken ever since.
"I need a doctor," I mumble.
"That's probably a good idea," she agrees. "I don't think you need stitches, but you might have a concussion."
"Not…" I stop and swallow. "Not that kind of doctor. I…I thought about killing myself," I whisper, my throat burning. "I tried to take a bottle of pills, but I couldn't…I couldn't do it."
"Oh, January," she gasps. Her hands tremble against my skin where she's holding the towel to the cut on my forehead. She doesn't sound disappointed, just…sad.
"I've thought about dying for a long time," I admit. Saying it out loud hurts like hell. Tears burn up my throat and pool in my eyes, but it's the truth.
For years, I've wondered what it would feel like to just close my eyes and never have to open them again. I used to hold my breath and wonder what it would feel like if I never took another one. I thought death would be so much easier than facing a life without my family and Cade, but I don't want to feel like that anymore.
"I don't want to die, Mariah. I don't…I can't…I need help."
I have to get help and face what happened. I have to find a way to live with the guilt and the pain and the shame because I don't want to die.
I want to live.
For myself. For Mariah. For my mom and Titan. For Cade. Because when I thought about taking those pills? I didn't stop because I couldn't get the lid off. He's the reason I didn't go through with it.
He's always been my reason.
I have to face this, because I can't let him carry it alone anymore.
Chapter Nineteen
Cade
Then (Age Twenty-One)
"Michael Kincaid?" an LAPD officer asks, flashing his badge as soon as I pull open the front door. He's dressed in black slacks and a blue button-down, with a radio and his gun clipped to his belt. I've seen a lot of cops lately. I have no clue if he's one that I've already spoken with. I'm guessing not.
"That's me," I mutter, staring at him through bleary eyes. It's been a week since Titan and Jana were murdered. I'm exhausted. I haven't slept because January isn't sleeping. She isn't eating. Or talking. Or doing much of anything other than lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling. I thought maybe the double funeral two days ago would get a response out of her, but it didn't.
She sat in the first pew beside me and didn't say a word. She stared blankly into space, not even acknowledging anyone who stopped by to offer their condolences. Mandy Wright cried on her shoulder, for fuck's sake, and she didn't even move.
She's broken, and I don't know how to help her. I don't even know how to help myself. I'm drowning in guilt and grief and fucking worry for my girl. I feel like I'm going to break in half under the weight of it all.
"I'm Detective Whitten," the officer—detective—says, shoving his badge back into his pocket. He gives me a smile, but it doesn't meet his brown eyes. Those are carefully blank. "Do you have a few minutes?"
I glance over my shoulder into the house, but January hasn't emerged from my bedroom. Not that I expected she would have. I think the world could end around her right now, and she'd still be right there, staring at the fucking ceiling.
"I got her," Quan says from his spot on the couch.
I jerk my chin in a nod and then step outside and close the door. "What do you want, Detective Whitten?"
"I have a couple of follow-up questions if you have a few minutes to answer them."
"Fine," I mumble and scrub a hand down my face before dropping down into Ma Lucia's favorite rocking chair. I tilt my head back and close my eyes for a second, trying to get my mind in working order.
LAPD has had a million questions, but I don't know how to answer them. Telling them the truth—that Titan was dealing for Kaleo to ensure his little sister got to attend UCLA and Kaleo left us the fuck alone—isn't an option. She's already devastated. I don't want her blaming herself. I don't want her blaming me. And I'm fucking terrified that's exactly what's going to happen. There's no denying that this is my fucking fault. There's no running away from it. Her family is dead, and I'm the reason.