Page 21 of If Cain Were Able

I pull my arm from his grasp and make my way back to the table.

“Everything okay? You look a little pale,” Liam says, spooning roasted potatoes onto everyone’s plates.

“Yes. Um, Damon, how’s work?” I ask.

I rarely make eye contact with my son-in-law. I still carry a lot of guilt, and I suspect I always will. He and I tolerate each other for Liam’s sake, but it takes effort.

“Good. Busy. We’ve acquired several new accounts, so I’ve been working long days.”

“It’s the worst,” my son whines, taking his seat. “He gets home so late some days we don’t even have time to⁠—”

“Liam,” I say, cutting him off, knowing he’s not great with boundaries and tends to divulge far more than a father needs to know.

“Geez, Dad. I was going to say hang out, but it’s nice to know you think we’re fucking all the time,” he says with a shameless grin.

“He shouldn’t be so quick to judge, considering that’s what your dad was doing at your age,” Cain says, reentering the dining room. He laughs at Liam’s confused expression. “Your dad and I went to college together,” he says nonchalantly.

The words just get tossed out there as though he didn’t rip my chest open back then, too. Except that time, he left me bleeding out with no plan to stop the hemorrhaging.

“Oh, no way! He didn’t mention that,” Liam says excitedly. “Did y’all know each other back then?”

Cain cuts his eyes to me, but I refuse to meet them.

“We did,” he says.

“So, you knew my mom, too, then?”

My eyes sink closed as Liam brings up his mother. She was my one saving grace. The only reason I survived life after Cain. She knitted me back together without even knowing she was doing it. She never knew about Cain and me. No one did.

“Emilia?” Cain whispers.

I nod once, feeling sick to my stomach.

This dinner table is filled with my losses. People who are so close to those I’ve loved, yet not them.

Except for the man seated next to me.

He could fix every splinter in my heart.

If only Cain were able.

Chapter 13

Cain

Patrick’s grief is palpable, and it feeds the possessive demon within me. He never looks at Damon for more than a second or two; meanwhile, I can’t take my eyes off the young man. His features are beautiful, though this version is far more reserved than the man whose photo is in Patrick’s drawer.

Then there’s Liam.

I knew Emilia, albeit not well. But after Patrick cut me off, I had a hard time accepting that he was able to move on, and I’m ashamed to admit that I watched them from a distance, although I doubt Patrick knows that. Emilia was tolerable because she was a woman. In my eyes, that made her safe because Patrick would remain mine in the way that mattered most.

But sitting at this table with Liam, the product of Patrick and Emilia’s love, makes my need to reclaim the man next to me almost uncontrollable.

I make polite conversation throughout dinner, gleaning as much information about the men as I can. They ask questions about my career and life in Boston. If I don’t think too much about who they are or what they mean to Patrick, it’s an enjoyable dinner.

Afterward, Liam and Damon attempt to clear the table, but Patrick stops them.

“I’ll take care of that. You boys get on home.”