Without a word, I closed the distance between us and pressed my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat thudded loudly beneath my ear. I wrapped my arms around him, holding on like he was the only thing keeping me anchored.
Then his arms came around me—firm, safe, and warm.
That was all it took.
A sob ripped through me, fierce and uncontrollable. I let it spill out finally, without shame or restraint.
Cameron said nothing. He didn’t try to soothe me with empty words. He just held me close as I fell apart in his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cameron
Days seemed to drag for me.
After Sloane’s breakdown on the hospital rooftop, everything felt fragile, as if she had taken a very slow step forward or maybe stopped moving forward altogether. She grew withdrawn, burying herself in her work, and I often caught her slipping away to find a moment alone, lost in thought.
The only hopeful thing was that she kept fighting, even when every step was so heavy for her. And all I could do was stay by her side.
She continued with her therapy, and I continued with mine.
Her father remained in the hospital for seven days, but she never once went to see him. Her parents didn’t reach out either, and I knew it was their pride keeping them away from their only child. That was something I could never understand. How could they turn away so completely, as if she meant nothing?
In the end, maybe it was better that way. It was best if they never found their way back into her life again. Maybe their absence was a gift in disguise. It was safer for her to build a life without them, one where their voices and their judgments no longer reached her. It hurt to think that parents could abandon their child so easily, but if cutting them out meant she had a chance at healing, then maybe that was the best thing that could happen.
And when it came to my relationship with Sloane, it had not unfolded the way I once hoped it would. I was still firmly inthe friend zone, standing in the same place as Gabriel or Lina—people she trusted and leaned on—but nothing more.
The difference was Harper. She was the bond that held us together in a way no one else could. When the three of us were together, we were a family.
Sometimes I wondered if she truly understood how much she meant to me, or if to her, I was only another constant presence in the chaos. I tried to believe that staying by her side was enough, that protecting her and Harper was enough. But deep down, I wanted more. I wanted her to see me differently, not only as someone she could rely on but as someone she might love again.
But for now, I had to accept it, carrying the ache of wanting something that might never return to me.
The days kept moving. One month slipped by, then another, and then another.
During my session, I told my therapist how I felt now that Sloane had improved so much, only to be struggling again.
He listened quietly, then asked, “Do you ever find yourself worrying that she might return to the way she was before?”
I hesitated before nodding. “Yes. All the time. Every setback makes me afraid it could be the one that undoes everything. I’m scared of losing her to it completely.”
“And if that were to happen,” he continued gently, “how do you imagine you would respond? What do you think it would mean for you to stay by her side in that situation?”
I drew in a sharp breath. “I want to believe I could handle it. I want to believe I would always be strong enough. But if I’m honest, the thought of watching her fall apart again terrifies me. I’m afraid of not being enough for her if it happens.”
He gave me a moment before asking, “Do you think part of that fear is about being hurt yourself? About being put through that pain again?”
I sat back in the chair, my eyes fixed on my therapist. “All I’ve cared about is making sure she’s okay. That she doesn’t feel alone the way she did before.”
He tilted his head slightly. “But where does that leave you? If all your energy is spent on her, what happens to you?”
I held onto my conviction as I answered,“If she’s safe, that’s enough. And happy. That she found peace, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
My therapist leaned back, thoughtful. “Cameron, you’ve told me before about the times Sloane pushed you away. The harsh words, the moments where you felt shut out, even when you were trying to stay close. That hurt you deeply.”
I nodded slowly.
“And when the weight of that pain became too much, you said you stepped outside the relationship. That you cheated. Not because you stopped loving her, but because you felt you couldn’t breathe anymore. You were desperate for relief.”
