Page 20 of Scatter the Bones

Sitting across from Z, a young man in a black hooded sweatshirt slowly turns my way.

My heart slams as our eyes meet.

He stands and faces me. Doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t say a word.

Neither of us seem to know what to do or say.

Cain’s not the same little kid I remember. Now, he’s taller, probably about my height. Broader, like he’s acquainted with manual labor, but thin. Dark jeans, heavy work boots, messy hair curling over his forehead, shadowed eyes.

Except for his scar-free skin, he looks like a baby-faced version of the guy I see in the mirror every morning.

It’s pretty fucking obvious we’re related.

“Well, now it looks like we have a matching set.” Z claps his hands together and stands like he’s trying to break the tension. “You can use my office.” He rests his hand on my shoulder as he passes. “Unless you want me to stay?”

I shake my head. If Cain’s here to kill me, I don’t want Z caught in the crossfire. “I got this. Thanks, Prez.”

“No problem.” His brow furrows like he’s holding back a dozen questions.

Everyone knows I have a younger sister. No one but Rooster knows about my half-brother.

Z closes the door quietly behind him, but it feels like he sealed me inside for my judgment day.

The office hums with silence between the bass beats echoing from the main room. Out in the hallway, girls shriek with laughter. Heels clack over the floor. A symphony of sound while I face a ghost from my past.

Fidgeting, he clasps his hands together, his thumb and index finger toying with the ring on his pinky. His wary eyes scan my cut, then travel to my face.

It’s strange how familiar he feels even though the last time I saw him he was a kid.

Apparently, he’s still a quiet little fucker too. I’ll have to speak first.

“Cain?” I should ask how he’s been. Or what the fuck he wants. But all the words lodge somewhere deep in my throat, too tangled up in guilt and a decade of silence.

“Jensen.” His voice is deeper than I expected. Hesitant. Like he’s not sure he likes the sound of my name in his mouth.

He holds out one hand. More of an obligation than a greeting.

I take it. Feels more awkward not to. His palm’s warm, his grip firm.

A million questions pile up in my mouth.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” he says with a slow, laid-back cadence.

“You could say that.” I gesture toward the chairs in front of Z’s desk and pull one out, turning it to fully face the other one.

After a moment of hesitation, Cain settles into his chair and rests his hands on his legs.

“How’d you find me?” I ask, trying to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice.

“Wasn’t easy.”

Talking to this kid’s like yanking teeth.

Normally, I’d wait him out. Most people rush to fill the silence with chatter. Not this kid.

“How’s your mother?” I ask.

A flash of pain crosses his solemn expression. He laces his fingers together like he’s praying or trying to contain himself. “She passed away recently.”

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