Cameron
Seven twenty, seven twenty, seven twenty . . .
My pen traces the numbers into my notebook on repeat. The twentieth day of July. One of two days I never need to write in my planner to remember.
Today is the twins’ eighteenth birthday.
It hit me before I woke up as if I’m on some fucked-up alarm system that only remembers the worst shit imaginable. Every cell in my body and ounce of blood pumping through my veins could never forget the day I held my kids in my arms for the first time.
Life was so fucking promising back then with the entire future at our feet. And Rosie, she had enough life for the two of them. Always squirming, she hated being wrapped up tightly the way most babies loved. It was as if she knew there was so much waiting for her out there and she couldn’t wait to get at it.
Three years. All she got was three fucking years.
I Frisbee my notebook across the office, amazed I was even able to do that when my body feels as if it’s filled with concrete.
The phone on my desk buzzes. “Hey, Cam?” Layla’s voice is tentative, having probably heard me toss my planner.
“Yeah.”
“The guy from Cage Freak wants to know if he can set up a meeting with you today. I saw you cleared your schedule, but I wanted to make sure I wasn’t looking at it wrong.”
“I’m leaving at noon.” Before I take Ryder out to dinner tonight, I have a few errands to run, and every one of them is going to be unpleasant.
“Oh, sure, okay, I’ll set him up for tomorrow.” The intercom clicks off.
I should write that down somewhere. In scribbled words, I make a note and stick it to my computer screen.
The intercom buzzes again. “Sorry to bother you, but there’s pretty little blonde out here whose mouth will put what’s written on a truck stop bathroom stall to shame.”
Eve? What’s she doing here?
“Want me to send her in?”
“Please.”
I stand and move around my desk just as the office door swings open. Eve saunters in all smiles and swaying hips. For the first time today, I’m able to take a full breath.
“Surprise.” She holds out her arms, grimaces, and curls her arms around her chest. “Ouch.” Her fingers rub circles into her triceps. “I’m still sore from the other day.”
“That’s good. We’ll have to get you back in the weight room.” I pull her close for a hug, dragging her sugar-and-spice-scented hair deep into my lungs. “What brings you by?”
“Oh, I had to tell you. I just had a job interview.”
Well, that explains why she’s dressed up, but this kind of a long summery get-up with a deep vee that shows off her ample cleavage isn’t something I’d consider interview material.
“Where?”
“Pool at Mandalay.”
I guess sexy beach casual makes more sense.
“How’d it go?”
She shrugs, and I release my hold enough so she can back up a step, but I keep my arms around her waist. Being in the same room with her is calming, and touching her is even better.
“Good, I think.” She worries her bottom lip. “I’m not really sure. I applied for one of the supervisor positions, but told them I’d take first available even if that means I have to pounce around in a G-string and sling drinks to drunks.”
A low growl hums in my chest. “Don’t know how I feel about that, doll.”
That’s not true. I’m good and fucking sure I hate that.
“Money is money. I’m just trying to earn enough to feed myself, pay the bills, and hopefully have enough to get a pizza from time to time.
Slinging drinks in a G-string? Nope. Not happenin’. “Layla’s going on maternity leave in two months. Until then, I’ve got enough going on to keep you both busy.”
She backs away, her big and very wide eyes on me. “You’d . . . but you don’t know anything about me.”
I lift an eyebrow and feel the side of my mouth curve. Leave it to Eve to get a smile out of me on today of all days. “You sure about that?”
Her cheeks flush. “Oh, no, I mean . . . yeah, you know me like . . . naked or whatever, but you don’t know anything about my work ethic or how I operate under pressure. You’ve never seen me handle a challenge or problem solve.”
“Sure as shit have. You want the job; it’s yours. It’ll give you plenty of time to train with Layla so when she’s gone it’ll be a smooth transition. She can take as much time as she wants, and it’ll give you some valuable work experience on your resume.”
She’s staring at me, her jaw hanging on its hinges. Her eyes flutter and she shakes her head. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a genius?”
I shrug. “Yeah, I hear that a lot.”
She launches herself into my arms. “Thank you, Cameron. I swear I’ll work so hard. I’m a fast learner.” She smothers my neck and jaw with quick kisses. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” With a quick, jerk she leans back and covers her mouth. “Oh, but no kissing the boss, right? Sorry.”
“Fuck, doll, if there’s no kissing, then I revoke my offer.”
She slaps my chest just as Layla pops her head through the cracked door.
“Sounds like we’re celebrating.”
“Cameron’s going to hire me while you’re on maternity leave.” Eve jumps up and down clapping her hands.
The girls hug and start talking about how much fun they’ll have, and for a second, I wonder if there’ll be any work going on between them or if it’ll be mainly gossip and chick talk.
I grab my notebook off the floor and move around my desk to check the time. Almost noon.
“Let’s go to lunch and celebrate.” Eve’s eyes swing to mine. “Is that okay? Or do you have fighter boss shit to do?”
“Yeah, I’ve got some things I need to take care of before tonight.” I drop my gaze to my desk because I know if I make eye contact she’ll see I’m not giving her everything. And knowing Eve, she’ll pry until she gets it.
“Aw, poop.” Her brief disappointment is soothed when Layla describes the new sandwich place that opened up down the street.
I grab my keys and shut things down for the day while listening to them moan over what they’re calling “fancy chicken salad.”
“Eve, babe, I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.” I brush a small kiss against her lips and roll my eyes at the gooey-girlie sound that Layla makes.
Once out of my office, the oppressive weight is back.
Seven twenty, seven twenty, seven twenty . . .
The day I was handed everything I’d never appreciate until I lost it.
##
Suicide isn’t always quick. For some, it’s slow, dirty, and more complicated than a bullet through the skull or a belly full of pills: a daily decision to syphon any fight they have left, drown it in substance and depression. Death by sheer will to be done with this world combined with the weakness to fucking man up and end it.
Sitting in my old living room and staring at the door that leads to the empty pool that drained my little girl of the life she was meant to live, D’lilah pours herself another glass of cheap vodka. For the first time in a long time, I relate to what she’s feeling.
My body aches and I’m tired. So fucking tired. I fist my hands into my hair and try to pull to the forefront all my reasons for needing to stay strong, but fail. This isn’t about me, shouldn’t be about me, but it hurts so badly.
“What did they say?” D’lilah slurs from her slumped position in the chair across from me.
I peer up at her and take in her dirty clothes and tangled hair. Her pallid skin and bloodshot eyes prove her slow suicide mission is working.
“She’s going downhill.” I swallow back the ache in my throat that hasn’t disappeared since I left the nursing home. “No longer responding.”
“Huh.” She takes a swig of the clear liquid and drops her head back. “Probably for the best.”
I grind my teeth and rein in my temper. “Whatever the fuck that means, ’Li.” Easy to say from her hiding place at the bottom of a bottle.
She laughs a deep guttural sound of intoxication and surrender to the inevitable. “Never should’ve put her in that place.”
My lips pinch together to keep from saying all the things I’ve wanted to say but never could.
“Just drawing it out, ya know?” She shrugs and takes another gulp.
“Says the drunk who wrote her off,” I say, shocked at the intense growl that punctuates my words.
This is fucking stupid. I need to get the hell out of here before I make today worse than it already is.
She glares at me through one eye. “I tried to go; you wouldn’t let me.”
“Too little too late.”
“What does it matter anyway? She’s gone, Cam! What’s the point? So I can stare at the shell of a girl I don’t know?”
Unthinking, I hook the lip of the coffee table and flip it on end. “You selfish bitch!”
She shoots to her feet, stumbling before she finds her balance. “Fuck you! Get the fuck out!” Her face blooms red with anger, and her nostrils flare.
I shake my head and storm from the room, ignoring the foul rant that she’s spewing to my back. If living in denial, wallowing in her own pain until she dies is what she wants, I’ll leave her to it. My stomach knots as the obligation to make right all I’ve done wrong washes over me.
Dammit. Fuck! I turn, throw my fist, and smash through the dry wall. My chin drops with the weight of regret. I lean my forehead on wall and try to slow my heaving breath and racing heart.
“Cam—”
“Not now.” I hold my hand out to keep her back and close my eyes. Calm down. Think.
“I’m sorry. Today sucks for all of us.”
I push off the wall but avoid her eyes. “I have to go.”
“You don’t have to leave—”
I whirl around and fix my eyes on hers. “Sober up, ’Li. You need to be there for our son tonight. Do not fuck this up.”
She jerks as if my words were a sucker punch to the gut. Good. Maybe that’ll help pull her head out of a liquor bottle long enough for her to show up to her son’s birthday dinner.