CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Adalyn
For a second, I’d thought I was wrong.
That I had to be wrong.
Because how unlucky did I have to be? How very unlucky was I that on the day I was somehow having a breakthrough, on the day I wasn’t feeling like the failure I was—the embarrassment, the total and complete castaway—a reminder had to be flung back at my face?
One moment I was looking at Cameron, getting a little lost in the way his eyes were roaming around my face like he was seeing something, a little part of myself, perhaps even me, for the first time. Sitting there with the tea he’d asked Tony to get me because he remembered I didn’t drink coffee after noon. A warmth that had nothing to do with the tea or the nearness of his body surging, breaking through me.
And the next, poof. Everything was gone.
At first it had been nothing more than a flash of color. A shape I’d told myself not to think anything of. But then, the guy moved, as if his intention was to approach us. His chest faced me, and I knew just how wrong I was. How foolish.
He wore a hoodie with the exact image I’d seen on the energy drink website. The can. The doodle of my face. The slogan: CHOOSE ENTERTAINMENT OVER DIGNITY.
It all came back to me then, the fact I’d never gotten an update from Miami. That I didn’t know when or if they’d taken legal action. What I knew was that there was a guy with my enraged face on his clothes. In North Carolina. So I panicked. My heart dropped to my feet, I felt all my blood leave my face, and I did what I should have probably done that day I arrived in Green Oak, right after I pulled the pin and made my orderly, neat life implode.
I ran.
Or I tried. Because instead, I whirled on the bench I was sitting, tripped over the water keg, and plunged into the ground, managing to squeeze the take-out cup so hard, the lid flew off and the contents spilled all over me.
It wasn’t pretty, and I was sure I’d gone down with a scream.
I should have been mortified, humiliated, really, because I’d been doing a lot of falling and tripping and I was, frankly, sick of it. And yet, even as I went through that hurdle, I kept thinking, Well, at least Cameron will look at me. Not at the man in the hoodie. At least the one person in town who hasn’t seen that horrible video won’t find out this way.
So I remained there, on the ground, like the dumbass I felt I was, catching my breath, and then, just as all the adrenaline started to come down and relief was quickly replaced by shame, Cameron was there.
His hands landed on me, and I didn’t want to look at him, because I was really done with the world. But all I could see was him. Curse after curse left his mouth as he touched and poked and palmed every limb and part of my body in an almost frantic way. Some vaguely there part of me thought to complain, but I was too overwhelmed. By the trip and the reminder of what my life had become. By the fact that there was some guy wearing merch with my face and what that could imply. By the now real possibility that Cameron could never look at me the way he had minutes ago. By… everything.
Cameron moved even closer as he kneeled there, and real, understandable words finally started leaving his mouth. “What the fuck, Adalyn,” he said those deep green eyes meeting mine with a gravity that shouldn’t have been there. Had I tripped so miserably? “Tell me you’re okay,” he demanded. “Did you hit your head?” One shake of my head. “What the fuck happened?” Another bob of my lips. “Why are you not talking, love?” Love. Love? My breath got stuck in my throat. “I saw you looking behind me. Did anyone say something to you?” His expression changed, and he started moving away. “I’m going to—”
“No,” I said, grabbing his arm.
He immediately halted, but that murderous expression was locked in place.
Why was he so mad?
There was movement in my peripheral vision, and when I looked, I saw merch-guy talking to Tony, then turning away. He was leaving, paying us no mind, and I should have been relieved, I really should have, but my heart was racing too fast and my head was all over the place.
I returned my attention to Cameron, noticing he hadn’t moved an inch. I wetted my lips, cleared my throat until I could speak, and then, said, “Can we go?” He still didn’t move. “Please. Can you take me home?”
That fierce and hostile emotion vanished from his face, and without a word, his hands moved, reminding me they were still on my body. They landed on my back and on my waist. He waited for me to take the first step, moving his shoulder closer so I could use it for support. I braced my hand there, pushed myself up, but the moment I placed weight on my left foot, I went down again.
“My ankle,” I yelped. “I think I sprained it.”
I was immediately lifted in the air.
My temple fell against a warm and solid chest. His scent surrounded me, making me feel things I didn’t want to accept. I closed my eyes. “God, that was so embarrassing.” A shaky breath left me. “I embarrassed myself and you guys. I’m so sorry.”
Cameron’s rib cage vibrated with something like a grunt or a scoff, I wasn’t sure and I didn’t want to know. I was scared he’d agree and tell me just how ridiculous I was. But those words never came.
He moved with those long and confident strides, holding me up in his arms, and the only thing he said was, “I’ve got you now, love.”
By the time we reached Lazy Elk I was… an assortment of jumbled things.
For one, I was in pain. The drive back hadn’t been long, and I’d been quickly checked by Grandpa Moe, but as my ankle cooled off, the pain had steadily grown into a sharp bite that kept a wince on my face.
I was also embarrassed. Still. It didn’t matter that Cameron hadn’t commented on the fall. It didn’t matter that he’d limited himself to driving in silence, sending me quick glances to check if I was still there. I could hear the wheels in his head turning from the passenger’s seat. He knew there was something wrong.
And last, but certainly not least, I was experiencing an array of emotions that went from confused to shocked to aghast to curious to giddy, only to return right back to confused.
Cameron had called me love.
He’d carried me to his car like the damsel in distress I’d never allowed myself to be, and called me love. He’d somehow produced an ice pack and placed it on my ankle after I had to endure those big warm hands prodding and touching and massaging my leg. His touch had been so clinical, such a medical, expert touch, that I’d scolded myself when those tingles had spread all over my body. I’d been mad at the electricity crackling under my skin, when all he’d been doing was checking on me.
I blamed the four-letter word that had come out of his mouth.
The I’ve got you now, too.
I didn’t understand. I was perplexed, besides being in pain and embarrassed and mad and dazed and simply… tired. So tired I wanted to sleep all of this away. Close my eyes and forget about today, and last week, and the week prior to that. I wanted to hibernate until all the mess that was my life went away.
So when Cameron killed the engine, and parked in the exact same spot he always did, I jumped out of the car with all the dignity I had left and limped away.
And just like every time I’d indulged in a dramatic escape, Cameron was suddenly right there.
His hands came around my waist, and he said, “Let me—”
But I raised a finger, putting a stop to his unnecessary rescue mission with a simple, “No.”
“No?” he repeated, but to his credit, his hands fell to his sides.
My voice wobbled when I said, “I don’t need you to carry me inside like I’m…” Someone you care about. Someone you get hot drinks when they’re cold. Someone you call love. “Something.”
His expression tightened and somehow fell, all at the same time. Cameron looked… hurt, if I had to choose an emotion. And I felt like I’d just kicked a puppy. Or a baby goat.
With a shake of my head, I limped toward the porch, Cameron close behind, and found a small box on my doorstep. I craned my neck to inspect the label, recognizing Matthew’s handwriting. I leaned down, flexing my supporting leg so I could pick it up, but everyone on this porch knew flexibility wasn’t my thing and the task turned out to be, frankly, impossible.
In a swift motion, Cameron picked up the box with one hand and lifted me in the air with his other arm.
“I told you—” I started.
“Cut the bullshit, will you?” he interjected, and how infuriating was it that his scolding was delivered in the softest, most gentle tone? “Good. Now that you have stopped bitching for a minute, can you please unlock the door?”
I pulled out the key from the bag still hanging off my shoulder and did as I was asked.
Cameron kicked the unlocked door open with his foot and stomped inside the cabin, carrying me and the box in his arms.
“Box,” he barked. “Where?”
“Beside the bed,” I answered with a sigh. “Please.”
He moved in that direction. “Not a bed.”
“Yeah, I know,” I admitted with barely any energy left. “Who knows, maybe Matthew somehow managed to fit a mattress in that tiny box.”
My comment only seemed to spike Cameron’s frustration, because instead of putting the box down, he let it drop to the wooden floor with a thump.
“Hey. What if it’s something fragile?”
“I’ll replace it.” He shrugged, shifting my body and bringing me more securely into his chest. “Where?”
“Down on the bed, please.”
With more gentleness than I was able to process in that moment, he set me down. His eyes roamed around my body. Down, and up, and down again. His jaw clamped down tightly.
“I’ll be fine,” I murmured. “It’s just a sprained ankle.”
His brow arched, his eyes still not meeting mine. More words were barked. “Shower, ice, painkillers, and sleep.”
“Why are you enumerating things or barking out single words?” I fumbled with the buttons of my trench coat. “Why are you not talking or looking at me? I already apologized for earlier.”
That muscle in his jaw jumped. “It’s not an apology I want.”
“What do you want then?” A pause. No answer. “Fine, don’t talk to me then.”
His gaze finally met mine. “I’m not talking because I don’t trust myself,” he said, the storm that I could tell had been gathering inside of him breaking free in the green of his eyes. “Because if I say more than a few words, you’re going to find more reasons to hate me, Adalyn. You’re going to throw a fucking fit, and you’re going to make this extra hard for me. So, please,” he said, his voice turning rocky and strangely low. “Shower, ice, painkillers, and sleep.”
What, I wanted to ask. What exactly am I going to make extra hard for you?
But I knew the answer to that. Everything. Every single thing. Because that was what I did best. Complicate things. So I managed a nod and told him, “You can go now. Thanks.”
Cameron’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he muttered a “Good fucking riddance” before turning away and walking off.
I waited for the door to close behind him and when the sound reached me, I did exactly the opposite of what I’d just agreed to do. First, I limped to the kitchenette, grabbed a pair of scissors, and returned straight to the box. Inside, there was a note stuck to something that had been rolled in tissue paper. It read:
MAKE IT UP TO ME.
YOUR (ONLY) BFF,
M.
Make what up to him? I wondered while I tore apart the paper. If I’d been a little more lucid and a lot less in pain, perhaps I would have immediately known, but it wasn’t until I unwrapped it and turned it around that I understood.
I stared at the shirt—the black long-sleeved jersey with the number 13—and seven simple letters that spelled a name: CALDANI.
“This jerk,” I said, dropping down my arms and setting aside what had been Cameron’s L.A. Stars jersey for the last years of his career. “This jerk sent me this so I could get it signed for him.”
Any other day, I would have called Matthew and told him that he could forget about it. Perhaps I would even ask how he’d managed to get this package here so fast. But today? I didn’t care.
I grabbed my pajamas, limped to the tiny bathroom, set everything on the counter, and dragged myself into what passed for the shower. I let the hot spring water warm my body. Once done, I dragged the curtain back only to discover that both my discarded and sleeping clothes had fallen to the floor and were now drenched.
“Great.”
I wrapped my towel around my chest and limped back to the bed. My gaze fell on the black jersey with the tiny white stars scattered around the shoulders and upper section of the sleeves. Hardly thinking, I snatched it up and slipped it over my head. Polyester and nylon weren’t ideal fabrics to sleep in, but at least the thing covered my ass.
Clad in the very emblem of what had represented Cameron for the last years of his career, I let my body fall onto the mattress, wrapped my arms around my legs, closed my eyes, and cried myself to sleep.
It was fast, and the last thing that crossed my conscious mind was that at least now, I would remember the last time a tear had left my eyes.
By the time I woke up, it was dark outside.
All throughout the day, I was startled awake by violent gusts of wind hitting the cabin, slipping in a painkiller and going back to sleep. Except for this last time. Now the wind was too noisy, my mind was groggy after all that irresponsible self-medication, and my ankle was radiating waves of pain up my leg.
I rolled with a wince, hoping that it would help relieve the pain, and stumbled upon something. A source of… warmth. Wait. There was something on my bed. Something alive. Under normal circumstances, I would have immediately dashed out of the cabin, but I was so out of it that I found myself reaching out. I touched the object, probed it with my fingers.
It mewed.
I reached for my phone and lit the space before me, finding two eyes I’d seen before staring back at me.
“Willow?”
The cat made a noise I interpreted as a yes and climbed onto my lap, burrowing herself there. I saw myself petting her fur confidently, like this was something I did every night. Her small body started vibrating against my belly and chest. It was such an odd feeling, being purred on. But it felt so comforting. It almost made the waves of pain recede.
Was this why people had cats?
Was this why Cameron had adopted two?
“Do you curl up in his lap and purr?” I heard myself ask her in the darkness of the room.
A gust of wind hit one of the sides of the cabin, and Willow raised her head.
“S’kay,” I drew out. “The wind’s scary, but I’m here with you.” A strange thought flashed through my groggy mind. “I’ve never been held through a storm, y’know. I never told anyone I’m scared of them. I grab my comforter tight and tell myself to be strong. But I’ll hold you.”
Willow settled again, as if convinced by my argument.
“I’ve been in Cameron’s arms, y’know,” I continued. “And you’ve been in his lap.” Willow’s head inched upward, resting against my breasts. “I think that makes us friends.” I frowned. “Does he have a great lap?”
She prodded at me with her small bicolor snout.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I closed my eyes, memories of a shirtless Cameron holding this very same cat. Jealous. He’d implied Willow was jealous. Of me. A thought took shape. “Oh no. He must be worried sick about you.”
I opened my messages app and started typing, but my eyes felt weird and the letters danced. So I pressed on the tiny mic symbol on the corner, and started recording instead.
And when I was done, I hit send.