Bully stepbrother

68. I'm that boy you never wanted to abandon

MADISON

My cab pulls up in front of the apartment building like I'm a guest, when just a couple of weeks ago, this is the place I call home.

The sun has already set, so those who are back home have turned on their lamps; the building looks cozy, dotted with warm squares of yellow all the way up to the floor where Caden lives.

The nerves I managed to keep under control on my way here kick awake again. I turned down Asher's offer to drive me so he wouldn't see how shaky I am and start asking why visiting Caden makes me more anxious than any math test.

Please, Caden, don't make me regret this.

I've already wasted the excuse of calling my stubborn belief in his ability to change with enough love a "second chance." Coming here is a gamble I'm not sure I can afford. I want to believe the things he had said to me this morning. He made me a good breakfast this morning, and that has to count for something.

Enough rambling, now!
I clutch the lunchbox in my hand and breathe as steadily as I can under the circumstances, then head inside.

The elevator takes me straight up to the floor that feels so ridiculously nostalgic, it hurts. I shake my head, trying to armor myself emotionally before stepping into the quiet corridor.

The door opens a few seconds after my single knock. And Caden stands there, looking strangely compose, almost normal in a way he rarely is.

I'm terrified, but I fake a smile under his scrutiny.

"Am I welcome?" I ask, jutting my chin toward the door he's blocking.

He blinks, like he's snapping out of whatever thought he was stuck in, and steps aside with an almost bashful smile. I can't quite tell, because he turns his back to me and closes the door once I'm inside.

Inside... I have to admit, seeing the place holding together, like the person in charge of it isn't the master of wreckage, soothes something tight in my chest. I turn to face him, again.

He has stopped a few feet away, his hands shoved in the pockets of his black pants. He pulls one hand out when I hold up the lunchbox of what I have to admit is a very good breakfast he made this morning.

"The place seems in good hands," I jokingly remark into the silence stretching between us.

"There's no one to mess it up," he says with a little shrug.

A scoff slips out of me. "You were responsible for the place looking upside down."

He glances at me and smirks, then nods at the object in his hand before heading for the kitchen. I follow behind him.

He sets the lunchbox on the counter, and my eyes roam the space. It smells nice, and the table is... impressive. It's set for two, with candles, napkins, and all. Real effort, you can say.

"You didn't learn how to..." I start to tease and spin around to play detective with his new domestic talents, but I stop short.

He is holding a bouquet of red roses.

He stiffens, looking down at them when he notices I've gone silent. I just stare, wordless.

I don't expect this of him. So I didn't see it coming.

"Uh... I thought..." His throat works, and instead of finishing the sentence, he sets the bouquet on the island beside him.

He looks nervous, maybe even embarrassed.

I step closer to the island. "I'm getting flowers?" I ask lightly, trying to ease the tension in the air.

My fingers glide over the petals. There must be at least fifty roses in the bouquet, and he has removed every thorn.