We looked at each other for a long moment. Neither of us spoke, our thoughts spiraling in different directions. For a second, I thought Cameron might back out, that he’d change his mind and shut down.
But then his expression softened, growing quiet. His shoulders dropped slightly, the look in his eyes turning resigned.
“Ask me anything you want to know,” he said. “I’ll answer.”
I stared at him, surprised by how steady he sounded. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Yes. As long as you’re sure you can handle it, Sloane. What I’m more worried about is you.”
“I’m ready to hear it now, Cam. I don’t want to keep brushing it aside and pretending everything’s fine. We need to talk about this.”
His eyes flicked upstairs, and I could tell what he was thinking. If Harper woke up, we might not hear her. The silence between us stretched, and yet it felt heavier than anything we’d said so far. We were standing at the edge of a conversation we had both spent too long avoiding.
Then, without a word, he reached for my hand and led me to the stairs. We walked up in silence, each step slow and careful; both of us were carrying something delicate between us.
He sat on the floor just outside the bedroom door and gave a light tap on the hardwood beside him. I lowered myself down next to him, our shoulders nearly touching.
Cameron turned his head to look at me. He was waiting, giving me space, but I could feel the weight of his anticipation.
I sat with it for a moment, trying to steady my breath, trying to keep my thoughts from unraveling. I wasn’t sure how to start, or if I even should, but the question had been circling my mind for too long.
So I started at the beginning.
“How did you meet her?” I asked quietly. “Tell me everything. From the start.”
He let out a long breath, his shoulders sinking. His eyes searched mine, like he was bracing for a crack in me, something that might tip me over the edge. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t.
I was stronger now. He could see that, even if it didn’t stop him from worrying.
“After I dropped you and Harper off at home, I just drove. Sometimes for hours, all through the night. Trying to clear my head. Trying not to feel like I was drowning.”
He paused, silent for a beat, probably weighing his words, probably making sure they wouldn’t cut deeper than they had to.
“One night, I ended up at that bar near the pier. It was packed, too loud, and I needed quiet. So I took my beer and walked down to the pier. Sat on one of the benches. She was on the other.”
I stayed quiet, waiting for him to go on.
“We talked,” he said softly, eyes shifting to the front. “About nothing, mostly. Random things. It was nice, though. Not having to think too hard. Not having to feel too much. Just talking.”
He paused.
“But sitting there, both of us alone, holding a beer and staring out at nothing—we were the same. Two people looking for an escape. Just needing a moment of peace.”
He paused again, swallowing.
“The next day, you and I had that big fight. You were screaming at me. You even threw things at me.”
He turned to look at me.
“It was the fight about counseling. I brought it up again, and you lost it. It got so bad that I had to leave. So I went back to the pier. And she was there.”
I remembered that. Shame and guilt washed over me again as I thought about how stubborn I had been, how selfish.
He glanced down, then looked back at me.
“The next day, and the next after that—I went again. She was always already there.”
There was something in the way he looked at me now. The kind of look that made my stomach twist, that warned me whatever was coming would hurt. I braced myself, even though I knew it wouldn’t be enough.
