Chapter 123 What About Me?
Chapter 123 What About Me?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cade
The house has never felt this quiet.
I notice it before I even open my eyes.
Normally, Saturday mornings have their own rhythm.
Jordan rummaging through the pantry as if we’ve somehow run out of cereal overnight.
The television turned on when no one is actually watching it.
Charlie wandering into the kitchen, still half asleep, his hair sticking up in every direction as he reached for the coffee pot before I could pour my first cup.
He’d grin every time I caught him.
“Morning.”
Like he’d always belonged there.
Today, there is only silence.
The furnace hums softly beneath the floorboards, pushing warm air through the vents while sleet taps against the bedroom window.
I stare at the ceiling for a long time.
Eventually, I sit up.
Every muscle in my body feels heavy.
Not sore.
Just… tired.
The kind of tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep.
It comes from carrying something for too long.
I dress slowly, pulling on a thick sweater before making my way downstairs.
The kitchen greets me exactly as I left it.
Clean countertops.
The fruit bowl sitting in the center of the island.
A dish towel folded neatly beside the sink.
Everything is exactly where it belongs.
Everything except Charlie.
I fill the coffee maker without thinking.
Water.
Grounds.
Filter.
Button.
Routine has always been comforting.
Predictable.
Safe.
The machine begins to brew.
I reach into the cabinet for a mug.
My fingers pause.
Two mugs sit at the front.
The navy one I always use.
The plain white one Charlie somehow claimed without either of us ever talking about it.
Not his mug.
Just… the mug he always reached for.
I stare at it longer than I should.
Then I put it back.
One mug.
Just one.
The coffee finishes brewing.
I pour it.
Take one sip.
Set it down.
It tastes wrong.
I don’t know if I measured the grounds incorrectly or if my mind simply refuses to cooperate.
Either way, I leave the mug sitting untouched on the counter.
My eyes drift toward the hallway.
The guest room door is closed.
Yesterday morning, Charlie had walked out of that room.
Yesterday morning, he walked out of my life.
Because I told him to.
The realization lands as hard now as it did yesterday.
I grip the edge of the counter.
“You did the right thing.”
The words sound hollow when spoken aloud.
I don’t believe them.
Not even a little.
Jordan comes downstairs about half an hour later, wrapped in a hoodie and rubbing sleep from his eyes.
He barely glances in my direction.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
He opens the pantry.
Closes it.
Opens the refrigerator.
Closes that too.
“We’re out of cereal.”
“We’re not.”
“I don’t like that cereal.”
I almost smile.
Almost.
“Then make eggs.”
He groans dramatically. “You always suggest eggs.”
“They’re good for you.”
“They’re boring.”
He grabs a granola bar instead.
Problem solved.
Jordan pauses at the island. “So…”
“So?”
“Charlie texted.”
My heart stumbles.
I keep my expression carefully neutral. “Oh?”
“He said work’s keeping him busy.”
I nod once. “That’s good.”
Jordan tears open the wrapper. “I figured he’d be here this weekend.”
“So did I.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Jordan doesn’t seem to notice.
He shrugs. “I’m sure he’ll come around next week.”
Maybe.
Maybe not.
The uncertainty settles heavily in my chest.
Jordan heads toward the living room, already focused on whatever game he intends to spend the afternoon playing.
The conversation lasts less than two minutes.
Normal.
Completely ordinary.
Exactly the way I need it to stay.
At least for now.
The phone rings just after noon.
Patrick.
I stare at his name for several seconds before answering.
“Hey.”
“Cade.”
He doesn’t say anything else.
He doesn’t have to.
He knows me too well.
“You sound exhausted.”
“I didn’t sleep much.”
“I figured.”
Silence stretches between us.
Patrick lets it.
He learned years ago that if he waits long enough, I’ll eventually fill the quiet myself.
He’s right.
“I told Charlie to leave.”
The confession comes quietly.
Patrick sighs. “I thought you might.”
“I hurt him.”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No attempt to soften it.
Just honesty.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
“I thought…”
The sentence falls apart.
Patrick waits.
“I thought it would be easier if I ended it now.”
“And was it?”
I let out a brittle laugh. “No.”
“No,” I repeat more softly. “It hurts worse.”
More silence.
Then Patrick asks, “Why?”
I close my eyes. “Because someone had to be responsible.”
“Responsible for what?”
“The consequences.”
“Cade.” His voice remains calm. “What consequences?”
I don’t answer.
Because the truth is, I don’t know anymore.
For weeks I’d been building walls around possibilities.
Around things that hadn’t happened.
Things that might happen.
Things I was afraid could happen.
Patrick speaks again. “You’ve spent your whole life trying to protect everyone around you.”
I lean against the counter.
“I had to.”
“You did.”
His agreement surprises me.
“You were fifteen. You didn’t have the luxury of making careless choices.”
The memory tightens my chest.
“But,” Patrick continues, “you’re still living like that frightened fifteen-year-old.”
I don’t respond.
Because he’s right.
“I’ve watched you make yourself smaller for years, Cade. You’ve convinced yourself that’s what being a good father looks like. It isn’t.”
The words sting.
“I don’t know how to do anything else.”
“I know.” Patrick’s voice softens. “But maybe that’s the problem.”
After we hang up, I don’t move.
The house feels impossibly still.
Outside, snow continues falling.
Inside, the coffee has gone cold.
I should pour another cup.
I don’t. Because I know I won’t like it.
Instead, Charlie’s voice comes back to me.
Clear enough that it feels like he’s standing beside me.
“Jordan is a fully grown man.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“It’s time you start asking yourself…”
The rest follows.
“What about me?”
Yesterday I heard an accusation.
I thought he’d been asking why I hadn’t considered his feelings.
His future.
His heart.
And maybe there had been some of that.
He deserved to ask.
He deserved far more than I gave him.
But standing here now…
The words sound different.
He wasn’t pointing at himself.
He’d been looking directly at me.
My breath catches.
“What about…”
The realization unfolds slowly.
Painfully.
“What about you?”
I grip the edge of the counter.
Charlie wasn’t asking me to choose him.
He was asking me when I was finally going to choose myself.
The thought steals the air from my lungs.
I stare at my reflection in the dark kitchen window.
When was the last time I asked myself what I wanted?
Not what Jordan needed.
Not what Patrick thought.
Not what people would say.
Not what the neighbors might whisper.
What…
Did…
I…
Want?
Nothing comes.
Not because I don’t have an answer.
Because I haven’t asked the question in so long that it feels unfamiliar.
Twenty-two years.
Twenty-two years of measuring every decision against someone else’s happiness.
Would this embarrass Jordan?
Would this make life harder for Patrick?
Would this disappoint them?
Would people judge?
Would Charlie regret choosing someone like me?
Question after question.
Every answer centered on someone else.
Never me.
A small, broken laugh escapes before I can stop it.
“God.”
I didn’t even understand what Charlie was trying to tell me.
The afternoon drifts by without me noticing.
I straighten books that don’t need straightening.
Fold laundry that was already folded.
Wipe down countertops that are already clean.
Anything to keep my hands occupied.
Anything to stop thinking.
Nothing works.
Every room reminds me of him.
The guest room.
The couch where he’d fallen asleep watching movies with Jordan.
The dining table where he’d argued that pineapple belonged on pizza.
The back porch where he’d stood watching the snow while sipping coffee I’d made.
Little pieces of him remain everywhere.
Not enough to fill the house.
Just enough to make it feel emptier.
Late in the afternoon, I open the cabinet again.
The white mug sits exactly where I left it.
I take it down.
Turn it slowly in my hands.
It’s ordinary.
Cheap.
One of four matching mugs we’d bought years ago.
Yet somehow, seeing it in my hands feels like holding proof that someone had quietly become part of my life.
Without asking.
Without demanding.
Without forcing anything.
He’d simply… been there.
Until I told him not to be.
I close my eyes.
For the first time since yesterday morning, I let myself admit the truth.
I don’t miss the bond.
I don’t miss the certainty of fate.
I miss Charlie.
His terrible jokes.
His impossible optimism.
The way he filled every room he entered.
The way he made this house feel lived in.
The way he looked at me as though I was someone worth choosing.
My eyes burn.
I blink hard.
The realization is terrifying.
Not because I love him.
I’ve known that for a while now.
It’s terrifying because I finally understand something else.
For twenty-two years I’ve confused sacrifice with love.
I’ve convinced myself that if I carried every burden alone, everyone else would be happier.
Safer.
Better off.
Charlie wasn’t asking me to stop loving Jordan.
He wasn’t asking me to ignore reality.
He was asking me one simple question I’d forgotten how to answer.
What about you?
The silence of the house offers no answer.
Not yet.
But for the first time in longer than I can remember, I decide that maybe it’s time to start looking for one.