“The nurse said it was family only. She was watching.”
“Oh.” He jerked up a shoulder. “Whatever. I still think it’s bullshit. Caden could’ve at least told you.”
And yet, he wasn’t telling me either.
He doesn’t want to. The reason he wasn’t telling me was probably the same reason he hadn’t ventured past the front lobby.
I ignored his gruff exterior and said, “Caden was going to talk to the doctor, then fill out some paperwork. He thought he’d be able to leave after that. I came out here to wait for him.”
Marcus had gone back to looking out the window, but now he regarded me again. I saw fear buried deep in his eyes, past the annoyance and anger.
I spoke to that emotion when I added, “You should go now, if you want to go. I won’t say anything.”
“What?” he sputtered, the annoyed and angry Marcus flaring up before he quieted himself. The scared Marcus then hung his head. “Thank you, Summer.”
I nodded.
He stood, and I reached for his hand, giving it a small squeeze before letting go. He paused. I didn’t look up, but I felt his surprise at that small gesture, and a second later, he left without a word.
Twenty minutes later, Caden came over and touched my shoulder. “You ready?”
I stood, trying to look bright and bushy-tailed for him, but as his own grin slipped, I knew my act wasn’t convincing.
“Sorry,” I murmured. “I’ve been told recently that I’ll never win an Oscar.”
“I don’t care.” He rested an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side. “Thank you for coming, and staying.”
My throat tightened, and I nodded again. “Of course.”
I expected us to leave, but when he didn’t move, I glanced up.
He was looking at the coffee cup on the windowsill. Marcus had left it behind. I tensed, not wanting to lie, but then Caden cleared his throat.
“Mind if we go back to my place and sleep ’till we leave this afternoon?”
My hand lifted to link with his. I held tight. I could miss a couple classes. I’d get the lecture notes later. “That sounds amazing.”
He never mentioned the coffee cup, but I knew he knew.
And for that reason, my heart ached even more.
“Colton tried to kill himself.”
Caden and I were in his bed. The dawn was just sneaking through the bedroom window. It trickled through the crack in his curtains, and we’d just gotten to his place. I’d thought Caden would fall asleep right away, but I knew now I wasn’t alone in laying here, staring at the ceiling.
His words struck me deep, where only memories of my mom resided.
“Caden.” I looked at him, my head rolling over on the pillow. He was staring up, like I had been, and I had no other words. I reached for his hand, linking our fingers together. “I’m sorry.” My voice was a whisper.
“He was in a fight two years ago. A stupid fucking fight,” he said. His fingers curled around mine. “Colton was on the Ivy League track. Not me. Not Marcus. It was Colton who wanted to be in this fraternity. He wanted to follow in our dad’s footsteps. He was planning on one day taking over the company, but he was leaving track practice one night, and that ended everything. And it was so fucking stupid. It was one of his friends. Can you believe that? One of his own goddamn fucking friends. They thought it’d be funny to try out these new helmets. They told Colton to put one on, and they whacked him with a bat. Twice.”
His hand gripped mine so hard. Our fingers were both white.
I didn’t say a word.
“The helmets were defective. They weren’t properly lined, so he wasn’t protected. He suffered a brain injury, and he’s never been the same since.”
“He tried to kill himself because of his head injury?”
Caden nodded. “One in three people with a traumatic brain injury has suicidal ideation. Do you know what that means?”
“They think about suicide?”
“Yeah. One in three. I don’t know the stats about those who actually attempt suicide, but it’s fucking huge. It’s bigger than it should be.”
My free hand covered our joined ones. I’d hold onto him with everything I had.
“This is Colton’s third attempt. Attempt. Like he’s fucking going for gold or something. That’s the terminology. That’s what they say, and you know the term they use for people who kill themselves?”
I didn’t answer. This was about him. I just wanted to help him.
“They call it successful. Some doctor was spitting out facts to us and rambled on about successful and unsuccessful attempts. Like we should give them a pin or a medal. ‘Good job, you killed yourself. Oh, you didn’t? You were unsuccessful? Too bad. Better luck next time.’” He stopped, drawing in a ragged breath. “I wanted to rip the doctor’s throat out when he said that. Successful. Like all those fucking stats after Colton’s first attempt were going to comfort us or something.”