Craving Caden (Lost Boys #2) - Jessica Lemmon Page 0,1

had changed him for the better. Rena finally found the happiness she deserved. They brought out the best in each other, which was what couples were supposed to do.

“Hey.” Devlin kicked the sole of his brother’s shoe. “Therapist is here.”

Cade didn’t respond. That wasn’t unusual.

“You are a glutton for punishment, Montgomery.” Devlin’s mouth twisted into a smirk—the one my best friend Rena favored. His comment wasn’t venomous. He used to be a jerk. Now he was almost cordial, which was an adjustment for me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, curious.

Devlin had lived with Cade and Paul when he was younger and had returned to help after Cade’s accident. Recently, Devlin had moved into Rena’s apartment. Their relationship had moved fast—at the time I worried it was too fast—but I was also lost in a thick smokescreen of envy that had clouded my judgment. I wasn’t proud of that jealousy, but it was there. At the time I was holding out hope that my ex, Tony, and I might have a future together.

Boy, was I wrong.

“This is the last of my stuff,” Devlin said, thumb hooked under the strap on the bag hanging from his shoulder. “So…”

We both glanced at the beater of a car in the garage. Cade hadn’t moved an inch. One of his legs was straight out, next to an open toolbox and a few grease-covered rags, and his other foot was on the ground, knee crooked.

Devlin’s mouth pulled into a smile. “Enjoy your session with Mr. Sunshine.”

Okay, he was a looker, I’d give him that. But he wasn’t my type. Rena wasn’t anything like me. She was a bad girl who’d played good for years. I was a dying breed—the last of the good girls—a type-A, perfectionist only child who knew my place and measured my value by how much I could achieve.

“Well.” Devlin pushed a hand through his medium-length black hair and flicked a glance to the upstairs window where Cade had spent nearly every waking and sleeping hour since his accident. “He’s outside, so there’s that.”

True. I wouldn’t be climbing the stairs to his dimly lit bedroom today.

“Good luck.” Devlin walked to his SUV. I waved goodbye as he backed out of the driveway.

I pulled back my shoulders, readying for today’s challenge. Remember when I mentioned I was a type-A perfectionist? My drive to be praised and to do my best was a fire I started, but my father happily fanned the flames. Nothing seemed to please him, but that was another story.

I went into my field because I genuinely wanted to help people. Cade had given up on himself and his future, and my walking away from him would almost guarantee he’d never leave his bedroom. And I guessed a future playing video games and grunting every so often wasn’t what he wanted.

Lately, though, I didn’t feel like I was helping at all. We’d pretty much retreated to separate corners over the last month.

But he’s outside. That was major progress.

“Good afternoon!” I chirped. The wrench sound ceased for a second before starting up again. “Are we doing your session in the garage today? The change of scenery is nice.”

No comment from my captive audience. I sighed.

Most of the time I felt like I was failing miserably, but I continued to show up and try, try again. The money was a nice bonus, but that wasn’t why I showed up. At first, I told myself it was a favor for Paul, and then later I told myself it was my own never-say-die attitude, but there was only one real reason I continued to put myself through so much rejection.

I did it for Cade.

We were running out of time. Soon I wouldn’t ask myself if I should or shouldn’t bother showing up. I would graduate, pass the state board exam, and land a full-time position. I wouldn’t have time to come here and listen to myself talk.

I kicked Cade’s shoe like Devlin had, backing up quickly when Cade rolled out from under the car on one of those low wheeled carts mechanics use. His golden-brown eyes locked on mine.

He was a royal pain in the ass, but somehow still the most gorgeous guy I had ever seen. I’d thought so since I first laid eyes on him at Ridgeway University. Despite our mutual dislike, my appreciation of his fine-tuned biceps, the tattoos cascading down one arm, and his firm, wide shoulders hadn’t gone anywhere.

He stood and snatched an orange rag to wipe his hands and