Cameron didn't sleep in my bed that evening. He'd made his excuses, saying he had to be out late, working in the recording studio, and didn't want to wake me when he got in.

It had been a long, lonely night.

I had intended to track him down the next day after my classes. I wanted to talk about that dinner. There had been something odd about the entire evening. Something off with Cameron's behavior around his parents.

Sharon and Grant were certainly different from how I'd imagined them. They weren't terrible monsters at all. They seemed to genuinely love their son. And Cameron clearly loved them.

He also clearly lived for their approval.

I wondered why that was. Nothing in their words or actions had led me to believe they disapproved of Cameron. He had probably been quite the wild child growing up, but whatever antics he had gotten up to hadn't created a strained relationship.

Except for that odd tension when Sharon talked about getting into politics.

She said they would need to discuss what that would mean for their family.

When I stepped into the mansion foyer, backpack loaded with heavy-as-brick textbooks, my ears were immediately assaulted with the deep, bone-shaking tones of a bass guitar.

I followed the noise up the stairs and down a hallway to a closed door. I hesitated before knocking. I didn't know which room was Cameron's bedroom, but I knew it was on the second floor. I still hadn't been in it yet.

"Cameron?" I called through the door hesitantly.

No answer.

The music was loud enough that Cameron wouldn't have been able to hear me call through the door. The music was also loud enough that I couldn't imagine being able to get any studying done while Cameron kept it up.

I had been meaning to speak with him anyway. I might as well use the excuse that his music was bothering me. Otherwise, I'd have to admit that I was worried about him. Worried about whether or not he was okay.

I was sure the last thing Cameron wanted was for me to worry about him.

I forced myself to overcome my hesitation and decided to enter the room anyway. I pushed the door open a crack.

It was Cameron's bedroom. Or, there was a bed at the far end of the room. But that was the only piece of furniture that lead me to believe Cameron might sleep in there.

Instead, the place looked like it could have been a music store. A very disorganized music store.

Half a dozen guitars in their stands and two drum sets were scattered throughout the room. A small piano was situated in the corner across from his bed. Music sheets were scattered across every surface. Amps were stacked on top of one another with wires crisscrossing the floor.

The place was a mess. No wonder Cameron didn't want me to see it.

Cameron stood in the middle of the room, facing away from me. He held his bass guitar in both hands, wailing away at the strings. Although bass was part of the rhythm section, it sounded like Cameron was shredding. I didn't even know that was possible.

I'd rarely heard bass guitar solos before, but this one was impressive. Even with his back turned, the speed with which his fingers flew across the strings left me breathless.

Cameron was breathless as well, his vigorous playing having taken its toll. His chest was heaving, his shoulders tense, his hair slightly damp with sweat. I wondered how long he'd been playing. It might have been for hours.

I waited until he was done, not wanting to interrupt. When the pounding beat subsided I knocked softly on the door jam.

Cameron turned to me with an inquisitive look.

His skin was pale, with dark bruises under his eyes. His eyes were glassy and almost unfocused. When he pushed away the strands of hair that stuck to his cheeks, his hands trembled. It looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"Sorry." His voice was dull and full of exhaustion. "Was the noise bothering you?"

That was going to be my excuse, but now that I got a good look at Cameron, I thought better of it.

"Are you okay?" I asked instead.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he replied. He sounded as if speaking was a monumental effort.

"How long have you been playing?" I asked.

"I dunno. What time is it?"

"Past dinner time."

"Oh." He looked down at the bass guitar in his hands. His fingers clenched around the fret board. "All day, I guess."

"You look tired. Why don't we go get something to eat?" I offered.

"Not hungry."

"Not even for pineapple pizza?"

He moved to put the bass guitar back on its stand.

"Did you need something?" he asked, ignoring my pizza comment.

I paused, contemplating. I didn't want to pry, but Cameron was upset. I decided to take the roundabout way.

"Your mom asked if I wanted to do a spa day with her."

Cameron visibly flinched. There it was. I knew his mood had something to do with his parents.

"I told her I would have to check my schedule. I didn't want to agree without asking you first."

"Why? It's not like you need my permission."

My fingers twisted in the hem of my shirt. "I just met your mom. Isn't it weird for her to want to hang out with a perfect stranger?"

"You're not a stranger. You're my—" Cameron lifted his fingers in air quotes, "—lady friend."

I stilled. "She knows we're...?"

I supposed that explained why she wanted to get to know me.

"She's overjoyed, no doubt." Cameron lifted his eyes to the ceiling and exhaled a deep breath. "After all, you're perfect."

I frowned, confused. "Perfect?"

"Respectable," he clarified.

I nearly laughed. "I'm an orphan who grew up in foster care. I don't have a job because I'm mooching off my brother. I'm taking a college degree that will leave me almost no real employable skills."

"You're a polite, educated, driven young woman. Not to mention beautiful and classy as hell."

Classy? I'd never thought of myself that way. I always considered myself the artsy dreamer type.

"I suppose growing up in a fancy boarding school with snobby mean girls will do that to a person."

"I'm surprised she hasn't dragged us to the altar already."

I flushed. My heart jumped in my chest at those words. "Is that really what she's thinking?"

"I dunno. Maybe. I just know that with this whole politics thing, it's going to get complicated."

His expression grew downcast again.

"You sounded happy for your mom at dinner," I said.

"I am." He paused. "Or, I know that I should be happy for her. But things are going to go back to the way they were before."

"Before?" I jumped on the last word, hoping to finally get some understanding. "What were things like before?"

"Shitty," Cameron said bluntly. He turned away from me and flopped down on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Whatever. It's fine. You don't want to hear my sob story."

I sat down on the bed next to him, leaving some space between us, not wanting to crowd him.

"You told me your parents moved out when you were sixteen. That they were always traveling for business. When they first showed up, you mentioned that you didn't talk to them much."

Cameron looked at me in surprise. "You remember all that?"

"I've been piecing things together," I admitted. "I'd begun to think your parents were these horribly distant, cold, parental figures. But I met them and now... I don't know what to think."

"They're not terrible," Cameron said. "I love my parents."

"I sense a but in there somewhere."

He let out a deep breath, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

"My parents wished they'd never had me."