Page 68 of Unwritten Rules

My shoulders drop.

The woman who can never know.

“Cade is upstairs. We need to…we need to do something, brother.”

My forehead puckers in confusion as I’m forcibly pulled back to the here and now as Henry smacks his hand off his forehead in consternation.

“For fuck’s sake, man, where have you been? The man’s life is hanging by a fucking thread.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, DeMarco?”

Henry, entirely at odds with the doting father I’ve seen – that we’ve seen – since Sebastian’s arrival yesterday morning, slams his tumbler down onto the mantle, the glass creaking and threatening to smash under his barely restrained anger.

“Wake the fuck up, Nate. Where’s your head at?”

I scrub my hands up and down my face, in no way inclined to tell him my head – and my heart – lies with his sister.

Fuck, never!

Henry throws his hands up in exasperation, his Scotch flying everywhere as he begins to pace with a vengeance.

“You know her habit has never bothered Cade in the past, yeah?”

I nod sharply, knowing he’s referring to Layla’s drug and sex addiction, her firm friends since the death of Caden’s twin brother, Archer. She and Caden had taken his accident the hardest, considering they’d witnessed it alongside Summer St James, who had been a ward of Sutton North’s at the time.

Layla had spiralled, using sex and drugs to numb the loss of Archer, and Caden had made it his personal mission to save her – as he’d not been able to save his brother.

He has claimed for years that he loves her, but I think it’s more to do with what she represents. A chance at redemption.

After all, he was the one who’d gone swimming that day. He was the one who’d been drinking and couldn’t fight the current.

It was Archer who’d jumped in to save him – and ultimately, Archer who’d paid the price when he’d gotten Caden to safety, to be carried further downriver, drowning that day in Cade’s place.

“And you know this is, what? Trip number two—”

“Three,” I interject, as Henry waves me away impatiently.

“Whatever fucking number it is. Who gives a shit – it’s three too fucking many, brother.”

He stops pacing, bracing his arms against the mantle, his back to me as he heaves a heavy sigh.

“When you ran out of here yesterday, most likely to go get your dick wet at Valentine’s, knowing you and your love of that place—”

I snort, knowing my trips to that fine establishment have nothing to do with the type of blowing off steam he’s referring to.

“See?” he continues, taking my snort as confirmation. “Knew it! Anyway, yesterday he laid it all out on the table. Came clean about everything he’s been hiding, and Christ, Nate. It’s…fuck, I can’t believe it’s come to this.”

I stride alongside him, palming his shoulder to make him face me, and my forehead crumples when I pin him with my gaze.

“Out with it, DeMarco. You look far too affected for this to be anything good.”

He swallows roughly. “It started out small. Layla would use Caden’s membership at Valentine’s to get off her face and fuck whoever she wanted. In his own words, no harm, no foul – though I just can’t imagine sharing the woman I love with anyone, let alone every-fucking-one.”

I shake my head in silent acknowledgement. It’s been a fact of their relationship from the very beginning. The only time Layla’s been “off the cock” as Beau Maxwell, the drummer for Caden’s band, Misdirection, so eloquently referred to it was when she was pregnant with Bella.

We’d have doubted Bella’s parentage only for the fact Misdirection’s manager, Noah Spellman, the owner of Spellman Sounds and the craftiest businessman I’ve ever met, had demanded a paternity test when Layla was seven weeks pregnant. According to Henry, Noah was forward-thinking to avoid any hint of a scandal associated with Caden and the band.

“Well, she started using at home, and that was when Caden checked her into rehab the first time. Bella was what? Six months old, maybe. She did a 30-day stint and stayed off for a good amount of time. The best part of a year, I think. But this is where things start to get strange, Nate.”