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“Cassie—”
“See what kind of person you got messed up with, Michael?”
“Cassie—”
“I can’t even take care of my brother… without resenting him.”
“Sweetheart. Listen to me?”
Her face colors at my question.
“Yeah,” she mumbles, clearly embarrassed—which was not my intention. Cassie is going to have to learn me better. Then again, I guess I am her too, because I thought the fact that she was so quiet and withdrawn had to do with me. It is to be expected I suppose, if you go by the fact that we met and got together so quickly. That’s fine by me though. I’ll take my time getting to know all the facets of her. I want to know her completely. She’s the first person I could ever say that I want to know me—all of me.
“You’re going all the way to Boise to help your brother—”
“Well, yeah. But, I don’t want to do it and—”
“You said you’d let me talk, so do that and listen to me, Cassie,” I respond, my reprimand a little sharper than normal, but only because I can’t stand to hear her put herself down again.
“Okay,” she answers, and her gaze is filled with annoyance.
It’s clear my Cassie has a temper hidden just underneath. It’s going to be fun uncovering that and more.
“Most people get burned, Cassie. They don’t keep coming back. Your brother should get down on his knees and thank his lucky stars that he has a woman—a good woman—willing to show up at a moment’s notice and try to save him.”
“Addiction is a sickness, Michael. It’s a disease that you have to fight. I shouldn’t resent him because of his illness,” she says, her face contorted with a mixture of pain, sorrow and shame.
I don’t give Cassie time to think about things. Instead, I haul her over the seat and onto my lap. I cradle her there and kiss the top of her head, brushing my fingers through her locks, trying to soothe her. In truth, I’m almost afraid to see what happens when I meet her brother. It’s clear he’s taken advantage of Cassie, and obviously he weighs on her mind and in her heart enough that she feels guilt. I can’t say until I see him around Cassie, but I venture to say he uses that to his advantage and those kind of games are over now.
No one is going to hurt my Cassie.
Not even her own brother.
Chapter Thirteen
Cassie
We pull to a stop in front of the county jail, my heart racing as I stare at a place I’ve seen far too many times. Michael stays quiet, the interior of the truck filling with this thickness that starts to feel suffocating.
It’s long moments before I turn my attention and look at Michael. He has his hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, his jaw set tight, the muscle ticking under the scruff-covered skin.
I wonder what he’s thinking about. I can tell by the way he spoke about my brother, his tone, the way his body became tense, that he isn’t a fan. Hell, I can’t blame him. Brandon has really let his life go to shit, I know that, but I refuse to accept it.
Being back in Boise has my stomach tightening with memories of bailing Brandon out more times than not That’s what I think about when I come back here. But the thought of leaving him high and dry, not trying, not working to get him better, is this heavy guilt that weighs on me.
But I have to start thinking about me.
“I’ll be back,” I say, before getting out of the truck and shutting the door. I don’t wait to see if he’ll say anything, but I feel this unhappiness coming from him. I know he is probably biting his tongue in this moment.
I head inside the jail and don’t say anything as I sign in. I know the drill, know what to do when I come here, sad as it is.
I take a seat on one of the hard plastic and aged chairs. I look out the window at Michael’s truck, can see him in the driver seat staring at the jail. What is he thinking? Does he think I am stupid, foolish for helping Brandon out once more?
Although I barely know Michael, I feel this deep connection, this bond, with him. I feel like he knows me better than anyone else ever has, even in the short time we’ve been in each other’s presence.
I don’t know how long I sit there, but it feels like an eternity. And then I hear the doors open, stand, and look to the side to see Brandon stepping out. He’s wearing a white sweatshirt with matching sweatpants, his slip-on shoes the same color, scuffed up with dirt marks on top.
He holds a paper bag and smiles at me, but he looks sad, tired. The bags under his eyes attest to that. I have no doubt he has been sleeping like shit while in here. Good. He needs a wakeup call, and hopefully he thought about all the crap he put himself through, as well as me.
