Cameron
I speed down the highway on a familiar route that takes me to my old house. After Rosie drowned, I wanted to sell it, but D’lilah refused to let it go. Said it had too many memories. For me, it only held one memory that I was more than happy to leave behind.
I couldn’t look at a single thing in that house that didn’t remind me of what I caused and all I lost. It’s one of the reasons that our marriage fell apart and D’lilah ended up a walking liquor bottle.
Fifteen minutes later I’m pulling into my old driveway. Pristine lawn, trimmed shrubs, and a wide concrete path lead to an atrium surrounding the front door. From the outside, no one would ever guess the devastation that lives within.
I slide my key in the door, and before it’s all the way open, I can hear her crying. Fuck, what’s it going to be this time. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s my fault.
“’Li?”
“I’m in here.” Sniffling and small whimpers come from the living room.
I round the corner to see her curled up on the couch. With the vaulted ceilings and overstuffed furniture, she looks tiny in this space. I cross to her and drop to the opposite end of the sofa. Her blond hair is piled high on her head, eyes puffy and bloodshot, and her lips are swollen from crying. Even now, after all the heartbreak combined with her unhealthy lifestyle, I can still see a sliver of the woman I married. She was so gorgeous, so full of life, and now . . . I look around the room, unable to stomach how broken she’s become.
“House looks good.” Pathetic, but I can’t think of what else to say. We both know why I’m here. She has no one, burned all her bridges and chased away every friend she ever made.
“Cleaning lady.” Her voice is small and fades with another sniff.
“You wanted to talk?”
“Yeah.” She pushes herself up a little and straightens her wrinkled tee. “Ryder doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“He’s a grown man, ’Li. Nothing I can do to help you there.” She can’t possibly be surprised that after fourteen years of being ignored by his mother he’d want nothing to do with her. I wish I could muster up some pity for the woman, but it’s as if there’s a sheet of glass between us. I can see her and hear her, but even with her pain so obvious, I can’t bring myself to console her.
“I think I’m sick.”
“Can you be more specific?”
She shrugs and wipes at her nose with her shirtsleeve. “I can’t eat, never sleep. I’m . . .” A sob rips from her chest. Her body shakes with each wave of sorrow, and the smell of hard liquor seeps from her body. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“You’re a drunk.”
A gasp cuts off her crying. “No—”
I hold up my hand. “Don’t waste your time. You’re not fooling me or anyone else.”
She blinks and drops her chin to her chest.
“Not tryin’ to hurt you, ’Li, but think of this from Ryder’s eyes. You’ve been choosing booze over our boy since . . .” The twinge of discomfort in my chest reminds me of how far I’ve come.
There isn’t much that causes me to cringe anymore. There was a time, back after I fell, that I could cry. I’d watch Ryder toddle around the house, calling out for his twin sister, who was never coming home. I’d hold D’lilah in my arms as she wept and cried out to God. The pain was so intense, like having my heart ripped from my chest on repeat.
Then one day I pulled myself up. It was time to stop rolling around playing victim, and I was ready to take back by force all I’d lost starting with the octagon. I stopped caring, refused to feel, and that shit worked wonders. So I don’t envy D’lilah and all she’s wrestling with. I gave all that up years ago.
After what seems like forever, her tears finally dry. “I’m sorry, Cam. I’m such a mess.”
“You think it might be time to get some help? Try rehab again?”
She pushes up; her blue eyes bore into mine. “You want to lock me up?”
“Your life. Your call. I’m thinking that if you want to know your son you need to show him you’re willing to put all this shit”—I motion to the empty wine glass on the table—“aside and put him first.”
“Ha!” Her eyes narrow. “Typical, Cam. That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? When people become a burden, you send them away.”
My jaw clenches. “Fuck you.” Too late to bite down on my impulse, I brace.
“Fuck me?” Her voice is loud, shrill. “It wasn’t my head that exploded and made me stupid was it, Cam? Fuck me? You walked away when the backdoor was wide open.” She coughs on a sob. “Our little girl . . .”
“I’m not doing this with you.” I push to stand and prepare to leave, unable to believe I actually left a business meeting for this shit. Not that I wasn’t more than happy to escape the Jonah-Owen standoff. “You think I don’t wake up every morning of my life aware of the mistakes I’ve made. I live with those regrets every hour of every fucking day.”
“You son of a bitch—”
“You wanna blame me, I get that. But don’t forget, ’Li, you’d be living on the streets, sucking booze out of half-empty beer bottles in trashcans if it weren’t for me.”
She crumbles in on herself, and I watch the fight drain out of her. “You’re right.”
Well, that’s something, I guess. “No shit.”
She cringes at my response, sighs, and drops her head back on the couch. “I miss my son.”
She needs comfort, but my anger for her abandoning Ryder when he was so young keeps me distant.
“I’ll quit.”
“You serious?”
“I’ll try.” She shrugs. “But do you think you could get Ry over here maybe? Just for dinner?”
“’Li—”
“Please, Cam. He’ll do it for you.”
Shit. I stare at the broken woman before me and contemplate stomping out of the house and leaving her to her crap, but the backdoor catches my eye.
I scroll to Ryder’s number and hit send.
“Dad, what’s up?”
“I need you to come by your mom’s house.”
“Can’t. I’ve got plans.”
“They can wait.”
“No way. I’ve had plans with these guys for a week now.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and pray for calm. “It won’t be a late night. Push back your plans ’til nine.”
“Dad, this isn’t fair. I—”
“Ry, please.” Is it too much to ask for a little help?
Silence.
“Ry?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“Stop by the grocery store on your way; put it on the card.”
“Fine.” A long sigh.
“We’re having dinner here tonight, so grab some steaks while you’re there.”
“Whatever.”
“Thanks, man. Later.”
He doesn’t say goodbye.
I hope this little family dinner doesn’t blow up in my face and make things worse for Ryder and his mom. Dinner. Just one dinner.
And suddenly I have a powerful urge to drown in warm sugar and cinnamon.
~*~
Eve
It’s late and I’m watching DVR episodes of “Say Yes to the Dress.” My eyes burn either from exhaustion or crying. Who knew watching women pick out their wedding dresses would be so emotional? I sniff and wipe my cheeks with my comforter that’s pulled up to my neck.
“I’m never getting married.” I sound like such a baby.
After seeing Cameron at work today, I’ve been in a funk. Another reminder of all the things I’ll never have. Sure, I could probably find a husband who’ll beat the shit out of me and call me names, but what’s the fun in that? I roll my eyes at the direction of my thoughts.
I scroll through recorded shows but quickly tire of the same ole crap. I should go to bed, but I can’t get my brain to slow down enough to sleep.
How could he not have more to say? Even a “hey, how are ya” would’ve been better than his silence. Not that I deserve more. He probably thinks I’m a whore. I mean I basically acted like one. He tried to say something before he left that night in my room, and I wouldn’t even let him do that. I wonder what he would’ve said if I hadn’t cut him off with my ridiculous rules-of-a-one-night-stand speech? From the look on his face today, I’m guessing it would not have been “Let’s do this again sometime.”
I pushed him away after we had sex, and today at the restaurant, he treated me no better than I deserved, even left without saying goodbye. Shocker.
My doorbell rings. I jump. Who the hell would be here—I check my clock—after midnight?
I dip deeper into my bed, pulling my comforter up to my eyes. This neighborhood has seen its fair share of yellow tape, and it would be just my luck. My heart races and my body heats. A knock at the door. Crap, it’s a psycho murderer.
Do I even have a weapon? There’s a baseball bat in my closet, if I could—the doorbell rings again.
“I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die.” My palms sweat. I can’t just lie here and do nothing. I drop out of my bed to the floor and crawl to my closet.
A loud knock sounds on the door.
“Shit! Okay, think.” I take a few deep breaths. The door is locked, so that should buy me some—oh crap. I left my front windows open. If I call 911, I’ll be dead before the cops get here. I’m going to have to fight. Blood pounds in my ears as I grab my bat and tighten my hands around the grip. I hold it at the ready as I creep through the dark toward the front door.
Another knock. I squeak and cover my mouth, hoping the psycho didn’t hear me. Tiptoeing, I move through the living room to the front door.
“I can do this.” I reach out and slowly twist the lock. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Here goes nothing. With one quick move, I hurl open the door. “Die, motherfucker!” I swing hard, but in a flash, the psycho whips out a hand and catches the bat before it makes contact with his head.
“Fuckin’ shit, Eve!”
I freeze, my chest heaving as adrenaline fuels my nervous system. “Cameron?”
He yanks the bat and manages to pull me closer to him before I release my grip. He opens his mouth to say something, but his eyes lock on my chest and no sound comes out. I do a quick mental assessment, grateful that I’m wearing my favorite pair of lacy boy shorts and a newer white tank that isn’t covered in stains. His eyes drag down my body, narrowing as they go until they’re nothing more than tight slits. My thighs warm and my tummy tumbles at the predatory way he takes me in. Inviting me to play while pushing me to run.
“I thought you were a murderer!” I hiss through my teeth.
“Murderers knock on doors?”
My mouth gapes at his duh-dumb-shit tone even though he makes an excellent point. I slide my gaze down his broad chest, trying to figure out how to answer. I’ve never seen him dressed so casually before, but the man can rock a pair of jeans and a cotton tee just as well as he can the dress shirt and slacks. I remind myself that he blew me off today, in front of Jonah and Owen. In my damn restaurant. I meet his glare with a scowl that I don’t mean.
“What are you doing here?” I chastise myself for sounding so breathy.
“Needed to see you.” His words are clipped and guttural.
“You saw me earlier and you had nothing to say.” Anger builds within my chest, but so does the urge to strip him naked and pounce. “You expect me to believe you’ve suddenly found your voice.”
“You’re mad.”
“Ha! I’d have to care to be mad.” I’m such a hypocrite. I’ve been over here crying into my bedding, feeling like a pathetic loser, and now I’m acting as if I couldn’t give a flying fuck.
He advances, taking two long strides toward me as I take double that to step back. “Had my share of crazy women today, babe. Not in the mood for back talk.”
Did he just . . .? Crazy women?
“I don’t give a shit. You show up at my house after completely ignoring me, and you think I’m going to fall back with my legs open?” If that’s what he thought, he’d be right. Nausea coils in my stomach.
“Be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t hoping for that.”
Heat flushes through my body, anger mixing with arousal. “You’re a fucking asshole!”
He kicks the door shut behind him, and it’s only then I realize he’s backed me into my house. My breath hits in bursts. He’s treating me like a booty call, but I like it. I’m sicker than I thought.
“You tried to take my head off with a baseball bat, and I’m the asshole?”
He keeps advancing, herding me like livestock toward my bedroom.
“I want you to leave.” Fuck that was painful to say when my entire body screams the opposite.
Another step, his eyes drop to my chest. “Not what it looks like to me.”
I chance a quick look at my boobs. Shit! I could win a wet T-shirt contest without the water. “It’s cold.” I shrug, but he sees right through my lie, and a wicked grin tugs at his perfect lips.
“Had a fucked-up day.” Another step. “Want it to go away.” And another. “Only way I know how to do that is between your thighs.”
A tremor of arousal races through my body and collects deep in my belly. Even if he turns away after tonight and all I ever did was offer him relief through my body when he needed me, isn’t that worth it? I have something to offer him that might keep him coming back. That’s not love, but it’s like love’s second cousin. Close enough to the real thing.
I’m taking my last few steps backward when my legs hit the side of my bed. He steps in close, and the spicy scent of his aftershave teases my body to life. Blood pounds through my veins, in my heart, and between my legs. I want this.
He dips his chin and places a lingering kiss to my forehead. “My doll.”
My chest swells with warmth. Needed and his.
One finger traces down the side of my face to my jaw and down my neck to my nipple. He swirls it around and chuckles when the flesh grows impossibly tighter. “Cold my ass.”
I can’t help but giggle. There’s a voice deep down that says I’m screwing everything up, that sleeping with him again is ruining any chance I had with a man like Cameron Kyle. Teach others the way you deserve to be treated? I’m teaching him that I’m a slut. Men never date the slut.
And yet . . .
He hooks the hem of my tank and pulls it up. I lift my arms and nearly groan as he removes my top in a slow drag against my body.
“That’s my good girl.” He tosses the shirt to the side and makes quick work of his own tee.
The light from the TV casts shadows that seem to intensify his muscles. I don’t remember him being so big the first time we hooked up, but that may’ve been due to the fact that we attacked each other, not giving any time for visual appreciation.
I flatten my palm against his chest and push up to his shoulder mesmerized by the feeling of his soft, inked skin before raking my nails down his bicep. My fingers fumble with his belt, but he doesn’t intervene. He stands there, hands to his side, allowing me to undress him. His pants open but need a shove to drop from his thighs to pool at his feet. He toes off his shoes and steps out of his pants, standing in nothing but a black pair of boxer briefs.
Dizzy with all that stands before me almost gloriously naked, I sit on the bed. My eyes take the time they need to memorize every inch of his body, knowing that this is most likely the last time I’ll get to see him like this.
“Enough.” His deep, gravelly voice calls my eyes to his. “Open your legs.”
I don’t consider anything but total cooperation, and I walk my feet apart against the carpet floor.
He shakes his head. “Wider.”
I brace my weight with my hands against the bed behind me and push my legs wider.
A low rumble vibrates from his throat. Approval? “Put your feet flat on the bed.”
I scoot back and do just that.
He sucks in a short breath through his teeth. “Fuck yeah. There it is.” Now it’s his eyes that eat me up from top to bottom. He steps in close and slips his hand into the front of his briefs.
In unison we both moan as he touches himself.
My body melts into the bed. I have the urge to rub my thighs together, but I know closing my legs will displease him. And all I want to do is make him happy.
I lick my lips, my hands clenching against the bed sheets. I’m so anxious to get at him, to touch him and feel the heat of his body as it covers and impales mine. My lungs fight for more oxygen, lightheaded by the visual he’s providing.
“Eyes up here.”
I force my gaze to his.
“Good girl.” He bites his lip as he continues to stroke himself. “Tell me what you want, Eve.”
“You.” His body, time, attention, affection—everything. God, I sound so desperate.
“Say please.”
“You first.”
He pulls his hand from between his legs and glares. “I don’t beg.”
Fear toys with my head, tells me that I’m pushing him away, even though the hunger in his eyes says the opposite.
“Neither do I.” I tilt my head, hoping he sees confidence rather than insecurity.
“Fair enough.”
A slow smile pulls at my lips.
He steps between my legs and dips two fingers inside my panties. I catch my breath as the euphoria of finally being touched rocks through my body. I arch my back to force him deeper.
His fingers retreat. “Uh-uh.”
“You are so frustrating!” I drop back to lie flat on the bed.
“But you like me here, tempting, frustrating. You know it’ll end well.”
No. It won’t. Because ending means he’ll be walking out, and I’ll be left alone to sort through my regret and second-guess everything.