Bully stepbrother

80. Perception

JUDE

"Caden's been shot," he informed me.

"The incident occurred where Kane Esteban and his daughter resided, but it's owned by the Chandlers, the acting governor of California," Shawn explained.

Do I fucking  care who the hell that cursed family hides behind—governor or president?

No!

They could seek refuge next to the king if the country were a kingdom.

I'll tear Kane into a million pieces, even if it means a lifetime in jail.

I wouldn't mind.

I have nothing to lose.

That man robbed me of family, love, and happiness eight years ago—taking my daughter, driving my wife to madness, and almost killing our son.

In his recklessness, I lost everything.

Now he returns to take the last piece I have left—my dear son, who never had my love and care.

Not now, not ever! I won't let it happen. Caden is a survivor; he'll live. And count Shawn dead for the delayed news.

I can't believe I've been paying him and his team to watch over my children, only to learn about an incident a year later.

My son was in jail for attempted murder because of Kane and his fucked up mistake.

Damn!

Why did I blame Caden for his sister's death? Why did I punish him and let him believe he was accountable?

He shouldn't feel the need to avenge.

He's just a kid trying to struggle and stand like a man.

He shouldn't have to act above his age or have anyone's blood on his hands.

It was all me—I planted the seed of anger and guilt in him.

Jen will be disappointed in me for losing control, for destroying our child's life, for traumatizing him.

Maybe that's why she left. Perhaps she saw the shadow of my harm when I was lost and blinded by the truth, needing her, not caring for our son's survival, not caring I was affecting him.

Unsteadily, heart throbbing, hands trembling, I dial my son's number.

Please, pick up. Let this be a dream, a prank. Anything.

I can't lose him.

If he picks up and tells me he's alright, no bullet in his body, I promise to admit my guilt, apologize for everything, and love him more than life. "Hello, is this Caden Thaddeus's father?" a woman asks.

Having heard a voice that wasn't my son's, I felt a sharp blade from my throat down to my chest.

My mouth suddenly dry, tasting the smell of blood in my lungs.

I know my son. He hooks up with different women, elders, and youth. But no one ever picks his phone.

This means he was really shot.

"Yes. How's he?" I croaked, struggling to breathe.

"He lost a lot of blood; he's in the theater."

My poor son. I did this to him.

"I'm on my way, getting on a flight. Take my blood, keep him alive. Just ensure he's alive, please," I implore.

"We'll do our best," she promises, giving me the hospital address.