I’m on the fence.

Worried as fuck to pull the trigger.

Punching numbers, plugging in costs, estimating marketing, determining profits. It all seems like such a crapshoot.

When my cell rings, I don’t even look to see who it is when I answer it. “Hello.”

“Camden, it’s your father.”

I freeze.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I should have looked at my screen.

I shouldn’t have answered.

He clears his throat. “I’m calling because that money I transferred to you more than two months ago is still sitting untouched in the holding account.”

Fighting back my fury, I slam my laptop down. “And…”

“And, as a businessman, you know leaving that much money in a non–interest-bearing account isn’t good business. I’d like to send you a list of companies you might consider investing in.”

Clenching my fists, I fight back the urge to say, “Fuck you,” and instead keep quiet.

“Cam, are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Listen, son, I know you’re angry at me and you have every right to be. What I did was wrong, but don’t waste your life because of it. It’s time you stand up and become a man.”

The fact that he is right only irks the living shit out of me. When Makayla and I thought she might be pregnant, it wasn’t having a child that worried me; it was how the fuck I was going to be able to take care of one. Take care of both Makayla and our child. That’s what terrified me. I need to get a real job.

He goes on. “I know Brandon didn’t have what it took to make it in this business—”

Anger swoops through me, and I cut him off. “Don’t you dare mention his name, not like that. Everything Brandon did, he did to make you proud, and because it was never good enough for you, he needed an alternate reality. He shot needles in his veins to forget who he was, to forget that he was your son. You might not have handed him that last needle, but you were the reason he used it. So you don’t get to talk about him.”

The line goes dead and I know I pushed him too far this time.

Good.

It had to be said.

Minutes pass and regret settles in.

I don’t really believe that.

Not anymore.

I’ve come to accept that Brandon’s fate was his own, and the life he lost was his own to lose. It doesn’t mean I won’t miss him. Or that I don’t love him. Because I do. It just means I know there is no one to blame.

Fury rips through me at what I did. I punch the wall. I shouldn’t have said that to my father. No matter how much I hate him, I shouldn’t have said that.

Finding a bottle of whiskey, I pour a drink, then another, and another, too.

Shoving it aside, I lay my head down and close my eyes.

Fuck my life.

When the door opens, I barely hear it.

“Cam?” Makayla calls from the living room.

With my head still down on the kitchen table, I slowly lift it. I have no idea how long I have been sleeping, but the pool of drool below me tells me quite a while. When she appears in the doorway, I try to make it seem like I’m fine. “Hey.” My words are only slightly slurred.

She comes rushing forward with some rather large file folders and her date book, which is never far from her side. “I’m so glad you’re home. I need some help. I can’t decide what to do.” Her voice is frantic and her words come so fast, I can barely comprehend them.

I rub a hand down my face. “Slow down. What are you talking about?”

Sitting next to me, she starts going through the items she just set on the table. “The jewelry orders,” she snaps, like I’m a mind reader and should have known.

Slow at the draw, I ask, “What about them?”

Her face creases and little lines of anger appear on her forehead.

I consider reaching over and smoothing them with my finger.

“Cam,” she says loudly.

No, I don’t think she’d like that.

Those lines have rearranged themselves around her mouth now because she’s pursing her lips. “How could you forget? We talked about all of this yesterday at lunch.”

I cock my head to the side. “How about you remind me?”

Fuck me, but with the state of mind I’m in, I can’t remember my own name right now.

Not giving me an inch, she huffs a frustrated sigh. “I have to decide if I should decline new orders on my jewelry until I can make the product? Or if I should accept the orders, but create a back-order status? Or if I should just process them and state a three-to-four-week shipping time?”

Oh yeah, now I remember. The thing is, my head was already pounding and now it’s spinning with her issues and my issues all mixing together. “Makayla, I already told you the first rule of business is never turn away business. But you have to figure out a realistic delivery date before you can do anything.”

She starts rattling on about the same things we discussed yesterday. What materials she has. Blah blah blah.

I push my fingers through my too long hair.

Shit, I need a haircut.

What she has to order. Blah, blah, blah. How long it takes to make each piece.

I already know all of this. “Makayla,” I interrupt. “Just tell me a fucking date, and then I can help you decide the best action.”

Those beautiful hazel eyes narrow at me. I’ve seen it before, and trust me, there is no calm before the storm. “Why are you acting like such an asshole?”

That’s it. I’ve been patient, but we’ve done this dance before. “Why are you acting like such a bitch?”

Makayla stomps to her feet.

Fuck, I regret it the minute it comes out.

Hurt is in her eyes and red is painting her face. “Go to hell.”

Her words stun me. “Makayla!” I shout, jumping to my feet. “I’m sorry, but I have my own shit to deal with right now.”

She grabs her things and turns away, toward the window. Bars of afternoon sunlight streak her body. “Then don’t let me bother you.”

I grab her upper arms. “Stop acting like this.”

“Let go of me!” she screams.

“I will when you cut the shit. Just leave all that stuff and I’ll look through it later. I just can’t do it right now.”

She shrugs out of my hold. “Forget I even asked. I’m not an idiot. I was looking for advice, not for you to swoop in and take over.”

“Take over? What the fuck are you even taking about?” I yell, grabbing the folders from her. “Just let me see your projections.”

In her attempt to yank the pile of folders away from me, somehow it ends up slipping from our grasps and smashing to the ground, and a whirlwind of papers cascades around us.

Makayla stares at the mess.

I reach for her again, and again she shrugs away from me. “Makayla,” I whisper.

Entirely out of sorts, she raises her gaze to look me right in the eyes and grits her teeth. “Forget it, Cam. I don’t want your help anymore.”

I punch my fist into the wall and I consider pounding my head against it. “Makayla, that’s enough. I told you I have some shit to deal with. Cut me a break here.”

Bending down to pick up her things from the floor, she looks up at me. “I can’t go through this again.”

“Go through what?”

“What I did with Sebastian. This is him all over again.”

“What do you mean, him?”

“The forgetting, the being too busy, the everything. It’s Sebastian all over again.”

“No, it’s not. You don’t understand, Makayla, I’m trying to figure something out.”

She raises her chin. “I do understand. And you know what, Cam? When you figure it out, why don’t you come find me. Until then, I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

I want to explain. I should explain. I don’t. “Son of a fucking bitch, will you sit down and talk about this with me?”

High color rises in her cheeks. “There’s nothing more to say, Cam. I meant what I said. I’ll see you around.”

“Makayla, I’m sorry,” I say again as she heads for the door.

She ignores me.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, over and over, but she’s already out the door.

What the fuck just happened?