Wanting Mr. Cane

SEVEN

KANDY

I woke up before Cane did the next morning...at least, I think so.

I didn't even get the chance to sleep. I was too worried, sending text messages to Mom for updates, but she didn't have much information to give. Just said he was in critical condition and needed surgery. The good thing, though, was that he was still breathing. For now, at least.

Around 7 a.m., I heard footsteps. I picked my head up and watched as Cane passed by the den I was in. He glanced in my direction, but kept walking, and even with that tiny glance, I spotted his regret as clear as day.

Thirty minutes passed before he showed up again, in fresher clothing and his hair gelled back. He was rolling the sleeve of his gray button-down shirt up to his elbows as he stepped into the den.

"Your mom called, said I could bring you to the hospital with her." He didn't look at me for long. His eyes shifted over to the window instead as he slid the tips of his fingers into the front pockets of his black slacks. "Do you want me to take you by your house to change clothes?"
I lowered my gaze and studied the sweat pants and pink camisole I was wearing. These were my pajamas. I couldn't go out like this, and even though I wanted to be as far away from Cane as possible in this moment, I simply nodded and stood up.

"Yeah, that would be great," I murmured.

He nodded once and then turned as he said, "I'll get my keys."

After collecting his keys, he led the way to the door. I noticed that this time he didn't usher me out with a caring hand on the shoulder or arm. No. He didn't touch me at all. Hell, he could hardly even look at me.

I got into the car, my phone clutched in hand, as Cane got behind the wheel and started the ignition. He drove away from his house in complete and utter silence. I was almost tempted to turn the radio on.
I couldn't understand why he hadn't turned it on. Why he wasn't blocking out this godawful silence with some kind of noise. It's like he wanted it to be like this between us—uncomfortable and thick with tension.

It didn't take long for Cane to pull up to my house. When he pulled up front, I climbed out with haste, hustling for the front door. Remembering I'd left my things at Frankie's, along with my keys, I dug in the flowerpot beneath the window and took out the spare, unlocking the door and walking right in.

The house was so still that it almost felt eerie. Normally, around this time on a Saturday morning, Dad would be here helping Mom flip pancakes or humming one of his silly old school tunes. I'd walk down late to breakfast and he'd tease me, calling me sleepyhead and zombie because I hated being bothered until I had my coffee.

My eyes burned, but I fought the tidal wave of emotion and trotted up the stairs to my room. I washed up quick and changed into a purple dress and sandals, tied my hair up into a bun, and I was on my way again. On the way back to an uncomfortable, awkward silence.

I slid into the passenger seat of Cane's car and he backed out of the driveway before I could even buckle my seatbelt.
Seeing as he seemed to be in a hurry to get me out of the car and away from him, I expected Cane to take me straight to the hospital and deliver me to my mother. Instead, he stopped by a coffee shop, parking in front of the building.

"Want anything?" he asked, and his voice—the offer—made my belly twist. I wasn't sure if it twisted in a positive or negative way.