𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The last few days of training with Dante have left me feeling like a pile of bricks—or, more accurately, like I'm lying under one. My muscles ache more than they ever have, and every movement feels as if my muscles are separating, only being held together by a single thread. No matter how many fights I've been in or who they were with, none of it compares to the burning in my abs and the overall exhaustion. I was hoping the one day off I had from everything would be relaxing, but the fact this shitty mattress has roughly fifteen rips in it doesn't exactly soothe my spine.

"Get your doll away from my truck!" I hear Caleb snap at our sister, Leah.

"Maybe your truck shouldn't be near Abigail!" Leah fires back.

A grunt bubbles in my throat while I try to roll onto my sore ribs to see what exactly these two have to be bickering about this early in the morning. Sharing a room with a nine-year-old and a seven-year-old isn't exactly ideal, but what other choice do I have? Plus, the alternative would be them in the living room in the middle of Tim's warpath, and that's out of the question.

"What are you two arguing about?" I squint my eyes, letting them adjust to the sunlight pouring through the window. "And who opened the curtain?"

"She won't keep that thing away from my truck," Caleb says while pointing to the ratty barbie that's clutched in Leah's hands.

Her eyes pool with tears while she hugs onto the one thing she loves most in this world. To be fair, it's the only one she has. She's had that thing since she was four years old. There's bubble gum stuck in its hair, the left arm is chewed off from a dog we had last year, and so much dirt is caked on its face you can't even see its eyes anymore. Honestly, the thing fucking freaks me out—but it keeps her happy and entertained in this hellhole.

"Do you think it's nice to talk that way about Leah's things? How would you like it if she said that about your truck? Or your Spider-Man?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He slowly lowers his gaze toward the floor. "I wouldn't like it," he admits quietly. "I'm sorry, Leah."

"It's okay," she replies with a wide smile.

I chuckle and shake my head before swinging my legs over, letting them dangle on the top bunk. I slide off, my feet landing with a thud on the wooden floor, causing the light fixture above us to shake slighly.

"What the fuck is going on in there?" Tim yells from the living room. My eyes roll so hard, I think they might just pop right out of my skull.

Leah moves her feet slowly along the floor until she stands beside me. Her shoulder-length, straight brown hair covers her pale face while her eyes stay fixed on Abigail.

"What's wrong, Lee?" I ask quietly, brushing her hair out of her face. Using her nickname usually pulls a smile from her, but this time, there's no such luck.

Then I hear it—her stomach growls so loudly I'm almost positive the entire neighborhood can hear it. Caleb slowly stands from the floor and moves to stand beside our sister. His dark brown hair falls just above his eyebrows, but with the way his eyes are fixed on the floor, his hair acts more like a veil.

"Did you guys have breakfast?" I ask quietly, leaning in closer so only they can hear me.

They both shake their head without shifting their eyes.

I cross the room to check the time on my phone that rests on the small end table to see it's well past breakfast—it's actually closer to lunch than anything. I lick my teeth and scoff before shoving the phone into the pocket of my sweatpants. The door swings open with a loud bang and regret floods through me at the thought of Caleb and Leah standing in the small bedroom. More than likely scared and now alone. I turn around, ready to check on them and apologize for my outburst. But instead, I'm met with both of them standing directly behind me—almost like they're using me as a wall between them and the big bad wolf.

Seeing them look up at me with hope shining in their crystal blue eyes, the anger slowly dissipates. It doesn't fade completely, but it's enough that I don't want to beat the shit out of Tim. At least not right now, not while they're around.

"Come on, guys. Let's go eat." I extend my hand for Leah to take. Her small hand wraps around my finger so tight her knuckles turn ghostly white.

We walk slowly down the hall and enter the living room, which connects to the kitchen. Tim sits in his La-Z-boy perched right in front of the television with a six-pack of beer within arm's reach. A revolting belch escapes his throat just as we walk by, and I don't miss the way Caleb scrunches his face in disgust at his own sperm donor.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asks without his eyes leaving the TV.

"Feeding the kids. Since you're too busy," I say over my shoulder and continue walking into the kitchen.

"Hey!" He slams his can against the coffee table before turning to glare daggers at me. "Watch your tone."

I pat Caleb on the shoulder and point to the small kitchen table. "Take your sister and sit down. I'll be there in a minute," I say quietly.

He nods and takes Leah's hand, their feet shuffling against the tile floor. I don't move until I hear the scrape of a chair to make sure they're out of earshot. I turn around and make my way toward the living room, planting my feet right beside Tim, feeling my anger creeping back despite trying to keep it in check.

"You realize it's nearly noon, right? These kids haven't eaten all day," I say through gritted teeth.

He lets out another belch. My skin crawls, and suddenly, I'm craving a hot shower.

He shrugs. "Not my problem."

"What the fuck do you mean, 'not my problem?'"

He crushes the now empty beer can in his hand, tossing it toward my feet. "What I mean is that it's not my problem. There's nothin' to make," he states firmly.

"How is there nothing to make? I just paid you guys yesterday." I don't bother waiting for a reply and instead turn back toward the kitchen.

Ripping open one of the cabinets, I'm met with nothing but a box of saltines, half a loaf of bread, and an unopened bottle of ketchup. Nothing that'll fill these kids up and I'm sure they're sick of ketchup sandwiches.

I turn toward the fridge and rip it open, but it's the same story. Beer fills the shelves—nothing else. Not even a gallon of milk. My chest tightens, heat spreading through me like a wildfire. Yesterday, I gave my mother four hundred dollars. There's no excuse for this kitchen to be empty.

I slam the fridge shut, the bottles and cans inside clinking together loudly. When I turn to face the kids, they're staring at me, wide-eyed, and immediately avert their eyes to the floor. I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath, willing the anger to settle before I explode in front of them.

"Can you guys go get your jackets and boots?" I ask while grabbing the house keys on the counter.

"Where are we going, Cain?" Caleb asks quietly.

"We're going out. Can you guys wait for me by the door?"

They slowly slide off their chairs and walk hand in hand toward the front door. The sound of their boots scraping along the floor nearly drowns out their hushed conversation.

I quickly walk into the living room, grab Tim's beer out of his hand, and slam it onto the coffee table. Droplets of liquid escape the can and pools underneath it.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he yells.

I lower myself until I'm inches in front of his face. "Where did the money go, then? Drugs? Alcohol is easy to figure out since it's spilling out of the goddamn fridge."

"You better remember who the hell you're talkin' to, boy," he spits.

I shake my head. "Oh, I know who I'm talking to. I'm talking to a drug fiending dead beat father who can't even buy their kids the fucking essentials. Like food," I bark. "So, where the fuck did it go?"

"That's none of your business." He pushes my shoulder, but not enough to stumble me back like when I was a kid. I'm not a kid anymore. I tower over him now and I'm not afraid of him.

I'm not the same small child I once was who hid from him. Caleb and Leah are the ones that need protecting now. Thankfully, he hasn't laid a hand on them. He knows I'll come after him if he ever even thinks about it.

As soon as I go to walk away, I hear the crisp sound of him opening another can.

"Don't think your mother and I don't know you're hiding the rest of the money," he states. "We'll find it."

I turn and lower my gaze to him. "Yeah? Good luck."

By the time I make it outside with the kids, it feels like I forgot how to breathe. I wanted to hit him so badly it was physically hurting me. But there are too many reasons I couldn't. Caleb and Leah have dealt with enough in their lives. They don't need to see the one stable adult in their life get arrested. Plus, Dante was extremely clear that if I fight outside of training, then I'm out for good.

I can't say for certain whether or not training with him is actually helping, but it feels like it's getting easier to keep myself in check. It's only been a few days, but we're there all day long. Just the two of us working our asses off with either the bags or in the ring, taking practice punches. That's the way I prefer it, just going in and punching shit. But he keeps wanting to talk, and I am not a talker. He is my trainer, not my therapist.

"Cain?" Leah asks quietly. "Can you tell us where we're going now?"

I look down at her and give her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Do you guys want to get a Happy Meal and go sledding?"

Their faces light up before they're bouncing and pulling my arms in different directions. "Yes!"

A small smile tugs at the side of my lips at their reaction. This is exactly why I've been hiding money. Well, not hiding, but not giving it to Angie or Tim. I give them enough to shut them up and enough to keep the kids fed. These kids don't deserve to live like I did growing up, and I'll be damned if they do.