Bully stepbrother

55. If anyone ruins me, it will be me

CADEN

I have been driving in circles since I left the hospital, hands cramped around the steering wheel, that sharp sting lodged in my chest from everything I have done to myself. My vision keeps blurring, and a voice in the back of my mind will not shut up about how reckless it is to drive like this. I have seen the cost, and I should know better.

The street ahead straightens out, and I realize I am only a turn away from Paxton's apartment. I can pull in there and get off the road before I wrap this car around a pole.

I park in an empty spot and kill the engine. His car is nowhere in sight, so he is obviously not home. The idiot still keeps a spare key under his doormat like an old lady who never learned not to trust anyone.

I climb the stairs, lift the mat, and pick up the key. The door unlocks with a soft click, and I push it open. I have barely stepped one foot into the apartment when a scream tears through the air.

For a heartbeat, my chest jolts, then the shock drains out of me and turns into irritation.

"You need to chill," I say to Meredith, keeping my face blank.

She stands in the kitchen doorway with a wooden spoon in one hand and a metal spatula in the other. The place smells heavy with food. Her eyes are blazing and trained on me like I am the one who broke into her house.

"Hold whatever you have to say," I tell her. "I have enough on my plate. I cannot deal with you." I roll my eyes and drop onto the couch, letting my body sink into the cushions. I press my hands over my face and force a breath into my lungs.

"My grandpa always says sharing is not just caring," she says behind me. "Sometimes it is beneficial on both sides."

"I do not give a damn about your grandpa," I mutter.

"He would be fine with that." Her tone is light and careless.

I drag my hands down my face and stare up at the ceiling. My head feels like it is stuffed with static.

"Look, I can be a good listener. Hit me with it," she says.

I turn my head and look at her. She stands there in what has to be Paxton's T-shirt, bare legs, hair pulled back, those earnest eyes that think they can fix anything. She has no idea what she is inviting into her head.

"Marcella, look," I breathe out, rubbing at my forehead with my fingers.

Her shoulders go rigid. "Do not call me what I am not. I am Madison."

Patience, Caden.

I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste metal, so I do not drive my fist into Paxton's wall.

"You are not," I say. The words grind out between my teeth as anger pushes up through my chest.

"The name is Madison, bro. Take it." She lifts her chin and delivers it with that irritating mix of confidence and mockery.

"I will not," I snap. My glare lands on her, and for a second, she swallows. Her arms wrap around her middle, and her shoulders draw in like she is suddenly aware of how small she is compared to me.

I will never hurt her, if that's what she thought.

"Well," she continues. "It is not like you can pay for me to change it." There is a smirk in her voice.

A thin thread of hope cuts through the rage and catches me off guard.

"You would change it?" I ask.

"It depends," she replies with a shrug.