He hesitates. “It’s how I found the tree. I would come here all the time and yell at the asshole until I needed to take a walk. One night, I climbed the fence and found the spot. It’s my favorite place to go.”
“Because you’re close to him?”
He doesn’t deny it.
Unbuckling and opening the door, he leaves me to walk through the packed snow. It crunches under his boots. I can hear as much from where I sit watching him.
Giving him a moment, I see him kneel in front of a stone in the middle of the lineup. He brushes his bare hand against the front, dusting off the snow sticking to it. After a few moments, I finally get out of the car, adjusting my hat over my ears and walking over to him.
I notice slightly filled in footprints from the other side of the stone, like someone else was here. Does Cam visit him too? It dawns on me when I notice the prints are identical to the fresh ones he made. There was no new snowfall since yesterday afternoon.
“You came here last night,” I whisper.
He stands, brushing off excess snow from his hands. “He grounds me in ways nobody else can. There’s no way he can judge me for anything.”
“He just listens,” I say for him.
He hums in agreement.
Like me with Lo, he talks to his father. I thought he ignored everything about the man, but he probably spends more time here than he does his own bedroom.
Especially since he sleeps in mine.
Rubbing my arms, I study the engraving under his name. It’s a generic loving husband and father, which Kaiden must know I’m staring at.
He laughs dryly. “Funny, right? Cam ordered the stone for him. They weren’t even married by then. The whole thing is a joke.”
I stare at him, wondering if he’s joking or not. He doesn’t look bemused though. He’s deflecting.
“Stop calling her that.”
“That’s her name,” he deadpans.
“She’s your mom.”
No reply.
I sigh. “You saw how me and my mother are, Kaiden. We don’t have a perfect relationship. We’ve been through a lot because of what happened to Logan and, yes, what’s happening to me. Because like it or not, I am sick. She hasn’t taken it well but that doesn’t mean I take it out on her.”
“Maybe you should.”
Shrugging, I tuck my hands in my pockets and watch my breath in front of me. “I don’t see the point. We can’t change what’s been said or done. If we spend all the time on the negative, we’ll be angry for the rest of our lives. Why let it consume us?”
His head turns to me. “How could you just let it go? Your mother hurt you.”
I close my eyes and inhale the burning air, letting it fill and sting my lungs. “I hurt her just as much. Don’t you understand by now?” I whisper, opening my eyes back up. “We get one life. One chance. One opportunity to live. Why should I spend that in more pain than I already do? Anybody can hurt me, but if I choose not to let them I can find some solace in what life has given me. It’s not much, but it’s something.”
For a split second, I see awe in his features. It disappears in a blink of an eye, but it was there. It gives me hope that I’m breaking through, like maybe he’s starting to get it.
“Why did you come here last night?” I ask before he can say anything.
His brows furrow.
I elaborate. “There must be a reason. You could have gone anywhere, right? To a friend’s house or something. You chose to come here.”
His eyes go back to his father’s grave, contemplating his answer. I think he trains his focus on the chipped edges from weathered wear, because they don’t move from that area once. “You find solace in the living. I find it in the dead. Like I said, he can’t judge me when I come here. It doesn’t matter how much of an asshole I am, it’s just me and my dad when I visit.”
Is that an apology? In his own freakish way, I think it is. Not that I’ll squander the moment by asking, because something tells me he’ll deny it.