Shattered Glass(84)

Interesting subject change. I wasn’t sure how to go with it. “No, I didn’t.” I’d let him talk, that was how.

“I tried to kill myself once. Peter stopped…um…hustling, then. After that…he watched me so closely. Kept track of everything. My moods, my actions, the way I slept. Always right beside me and checking my temperature by kissing my forehead or sitting by me at night. Then he started going with Iss more. Dealing drugs. That’s how he got caught.” He picked a loose thread off his knees and chewed it. I stayed silent. “Iss— Peter told me. He told me to stay away from Iss. But Peter’s love is like a vise, and it squeezed so hard.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s not your fault, Cai.”

“It is,” he nodded vigorously. “He told me to stay away from him. I just was so tired of everything. Of being smothered. Told what to do. Don’t stay out late, Cai. College applications, Cai. Don’t go to Rachel’s house, she’s bad news. Take your meds. Stay away from Iss.”

“It doesn’t matter if you went in Iss’s car to defy your brother, or even that you stayed in Iss’s house. Iss was more than fifteen years older than you. He was a big guy. And, most importantly, you didn’t want it.”

Working on Vice, I knew the only way to get this through Cai’s head was to repeat it over and over. For everyone around him to repeat it. It had to be ingrained. Thoroughly. Much as I wanted to hug him and stop that flow of tears, having a man touch him might trigger something. So I sat there and stared at the wall as his tears fell and hoped my words comforted him.

“Peter never cries.’ He laughed, smudging his face again as he wiped it with the meaty part of his palm.

“I’m sure he does. Just not in front of anyone.”

Cai shook his head, inhaling the paint fumes that were making me lightheaded.

“You really don’t know him.” Movement out of the corner of my eye had me checking his fingers, they drummed against his knee in a tidy rhythm, until he reached into the front pocket of his overalls and pulled out some more Pixie Stix.

Without glancing over, he offered some to me. I plucked one out of the fanned bundle and ripped the top open with my teeth. Both of us tipped our heads back and poured the sugary powder onto our tongues. My mouth watered, creating a paste that made my tongue shrink with its tartness.

“This is vile stuff,” I slurred, swallowing ungraciously.

“It’s awesome. You’re just too old.”

“Old? You little shit.” I tossed the crumpled wrapper at him, bouncing it off his head. If not for the crusted tears on his face, the moment might have been funny.

Out of the blue he extended a key, lifting the palm of my hand to accept it. “What’s this?”

“When you came by Saturday, Peter kept trying to get you out of the house.”

“Yes?”

“You need to see why. And bring it back here.” The smile he gave me was a mixture of naughty and shy.

I squinted at him and stared at my palm to consider the key. “It’s not a porn collection or sex toys is it?”

“You really don’t know Peter at all,” he mused. “He’d never keep that stuff where I could find it. But that right there? That’s the key to knowing Peter.”

The brass teeth grinded against my skin as I fisted it. My ticking pulse could be measured with parade drums. I was so eager to drive to their house, calling Cai on his terrible play with words slipped my mind.





Chapter Fifteen





Did I Just Agree to More Pussy?

As I stood and readied to leave, Cai spoke up again. “I have an ulterior motive for having you go to the house.”

“Of course you do,” I said. “You wouldn’t be Peter’s brother without an ulterior motive for everything.”

Cai’s attention fastened to his knees. “That wasn’t very kind.”

“You’re right.” Properly chastised, I sat next to his feet. “I’m not a very kind person, Cai.”

“Cruelty is an effortless answer to fear.”

“Who said that?”

“Um…me?”

“You’re too wise for your own good.”

“You’re too cynical for yours,” he tossed back, blush and half-grin firmly in place.

“The motive?” I veered us back to the original topic.

“Begone?” Which brought a raised eyebrow from me, followed by a, “My cat,” from him. My lips turned down in distaste. He winced and added, “She’s litter box trained.”

“I don’t care if she can flush the toilet. I hate cats.”