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How do I deserve him? How can I ever deserve him after this?
“Nod, Cameron,” he begs.
A snotty, broken laugh sputters from my lips. I remember my oath I made that first weekend at his parents’ when he passed out in his bed. It’s one I’d sign in a heartbeat—to keep him forever. I don’t know if I’ll get forever, but I make an unintelligible sound and nod for the man who makes me feel like I’m not broken.
CHAPTER 31
Pete
“Goodnight. I’ll be up in a little bit,” I assure Cam, placing a kiss on his cheek.
He lowers his eyes and smiles. If it weren’t so dark out here on my parents’ porch, I’d wager he’s blushing. First kiss in front of my family—it had to happen sometime.
“Take your time. I’m just tired,” he says softly.
Tired is code for depressed, if I ever heard. I reclaim my chair and wait patiently for my family to bid him their goodnights. Once he’s inside, I listen to the sound of his footsteps going up the stairs.
I find several sets of attentive eyes staring back at me when I finally tear my gaze from the front window. Cam’s been here enough times that it’s obvious my family noticed the change in him today.
I managed to get him on a red eye from South Carolina last night. I wanted to take him home and tuck him into my bed and hold him. The thought of Travis or Randy Fairway pounding on my door, however, made me rethink my plan. Their brother needs to recuperate from the hell they put him through. I wasn’t about to risk him being subjected to them again while he’s still so fragile.
He fell asleep in the car halfway here this morning, but the bags under his eyes and the forced smiles he wore for my family didn’t escape my notice. He’s drained, physically and emotionally. John Fairway did more than steal him from me for two days. I’ll be damned if he tries to again.
“I need your help,” I let out in reply to the questioning looks from my family.
“What’s the matter, honey? You two didn’t seem like yourselves today,” Mom asks.
I tell them. I tell them everything. It’s the most words I’ve ever spoken to my family in one sitting. There are no quips or jokes from Miranda or Jesse. No left-field questions from Mom. By the end of my recounting, though, she’s clutching her hand to her heart.
“That boy is welcome here for as long as he wants,” she warbles adamantly, swiping at a tear in her eye.
“Twenty-five, Mom,” Jesse drawls, but surprisingly, it holds none of his usual snark.
“There goes your spot for number one,” Miranda confides to him, but her gaze is fixed on her feet, the impact of my story clearly responsible for the frown on her face.
“Gotta grow up sometime,” Jesse mutters.
It’s such an earnest and self-deprecating statement coming from him. I almost wonder if there’s something bothering him too, but I’ve only said half my peace. I don’t know if what I’m about to ask is too much of them, but Dad, of all people, pipes in, making my request easier to reveal.
“What can we do?”
CHAPTER 32
Cameron
I still can’t believe he left me here. Well, I know I agreed, but that man could talk me into anything. It certainly isn’t like being uprooted in the middle of the night and flown across the country, but it feels like I’m in the witness protection program… in a Hallmark movie.
Pete said it was so I can relax. I’m pretty sure that was a polite way of saying he doesn’t want my father to find me. It’s difficult to relax, however, knowing he’s back in Bellevue alone, dealing with the awkward task of taking over Randy’s job. I think I’m worrying right now because I’ve hardly had time to worry since he left on Sunday. His mom hasn’t been in short supply of providing me with distractions. I think an alliance was formed behind my back.
I have become a permanent fixture in her kitchen these past three days. Shaking Bob McClennon’s hand, I shut down my tablet, glancing awkwardly at the check he left on the table. It’s surreal that people are paying me to do something that I’ve always wanted to do.
Every day this week, someone new from town has visited us and asked me about designing a logo or advertisement for them. I had two clients yesterday, actually. One was a woman who wanted me to design graphics for her daughter's baby shower.
“That’s going to look great on my truck doors.” Bob beams at me, gathering up the box of baked goods Lorraine packed up for him.
We have quite the racket going. I draft them a design at the kitchen table while the scent of her baking tests their willpower. She sold two cases of applesauce yesterday, and Bob just took his pickings from the rack of apple cider donuts she made this morning.
Once I see Bob to the door like I live here, I make my way back to Lorraine Land. The scent of cinnamon will forever be a comfort to me from now on, but this has got to stop.
