Bully stepbrother

67. Operation make breakfast for Mad

CADEN

I just couldn't sleep the whole night. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Cara, and not in the way I usually dream of her and Mom in the house we used to have, but Cara on the asphalt, lying there bloody, in the pool of red.

It's a tormenting nightmare, I know Reagan should know about it. She always tells me to share every shift in what I'm feeling so she can help me, but... I remember the few times I slept next to Mad. Those were the only nights I had any peace, and that realization had me panicked that if I moved on with Mad, it meant I'm letting Cara and Mom go forever.

The thought pulls a small smile to my iron morning face now. I roll out of bed and head to the bathroom to shower and get ready.

There's no class until eleven. My stomach is grumbling, so I head to the kitchen to see what I have. It's been a while since I did any grocery shopping, but the last time I did, I barely used what I bought, so I should be able to make something.

I open the fridge and spot a bag of bagels. I grab it, only to feel they've gone stale.

"Just great, bagel." I toss it into the trash and lean back, staring into the full fridge. The veggies still look fresh. There are eggs, sausages, and a lot of other things I can improvise with.

Maybe I can make a real breakfast. It's only seven.

A certain someone I know doesn't eat this early and has the same class as me, so I know where she'll be. If I can finish breakfast by a little past eight, I can get it to her on time.

The idea is too good. I can't help it. I can already see her face when I show up with that excuse, and she'll know I'm thinking of her.

So it's operation Make Breakfast for Mad.

I pull up YouTube and find this Turkish breakfast recipe that sends me back and forth between cooking and baking and leaves the kitchen a mess. After about hours, it's worth it. Everything is ready and looks almost as good as it did in the video.

We have actual lunchboxes. Martha brought them for us when she and Dad were here. I grab one with enough compartments to hold everything I've made and arrange it all carefully, including coffee in a tumbler and a bottle of water.

Time's gone. It's nine, and I already worry Antony has fed her. There's no time for me to sit and eat.

I grab everything, leaving the kitchen in a wreck, I'll clean it later, and rush out of the apartment to the car.

I start the engine and ignore Dad's repeated calls as I reverse out of the parking lot.

All he knows how to do is ruin a mood. It's been a long time since I've felt this good, and I'm not letting him take it away. When I see Mad, I need to be at my best, and that means without Dad in my head.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm on her male friend's street. He lives at the far end, so I drive slowly through the residential area the way you're supposed to. Kane's old ass couldn't do that when he took Cara's life.

But this isn't about Kane or Cara. It's about Mad.

Except... why is she getting into a cab?

Wait.

"What the hell?" There's no class until eleven.

I'm about to press the horn when that part of me that always trails after her, even when she doesn't know, tells me it's harmless stalking. I can tail her cab, see where she's going, and make sure she's safe. That's all.

Maybe I can still give her the breakfast I made.

The cab keeps going, heading toward school until the last minute, when it suddenly turns.