Page 127 of What Should Have Been Ours

So when I pull back into Cam’s parking garage, stepping inside the place that feels more like home than my own, I’m able to breathe, finally.

With him. Always with him.

That’s the only place I want to be.

He’s on the phone when I walk in, pacing the living room, his voice light with amusement. But when his eyes land on me, his entire focus shifts.

“Yeah, man, I gotta go,” he says quickly. “I’ll text you later.”

His sweatpants hang low on his hips, his black T-shirt stretches across his frame, the backwards baseball cap hides the short hair that’s just starting to grow back, and for some reason, altogether, it makes him look younger. Healthier.

For a second, I let myself pretend he is.

He crosses the room, pulling me into his warmth, his arms wrapping around me.

“Hey, you,” he murmurs into my hair. “How was your day?”

“It was fine.”

A lie.

He studies me, but I don’t want to drown him in my heaviness. I just want to be here, with him. Happy.

He doesn’t push, just keeps me close as he steers us toward the couch.

“Alright, wedding planning,” he announces, rubbing his hands together. “What do you need from me? Because I’m happy to just show up and say ‘I do,’ but I feel like you might want more than that.”

I smirk, sinking in beside him. “How do you feel about Central Park?”

His brows lift as he nods in approval. “Classic. I like it.”

“And I was thinking we could do the reception at my mom’s house in Jersey. You know how much she loves hosting, and her backyard is basically built for it.”

Cam nods, a small smile forming. “She does love a good excuse to go all out.”

“And your mom can help too. They get along anyway, they’ll love any excuse to get together and plan something like they used to.”

“They do, which is weird,” he teases. “Because my mom has great taste in people.”

I smack his arm, and he laughs, reaching for my hand, threading his fingers through mine.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks suddenly, his voice quieter.

I blink. “About what?”

He smirks, but there’s something vulnerable underneath it. “You sure you want to marry a dying man? You still have time to back out, I’d understand. Just, ya know…don’t do the whole runaway bride thing. I don’t think my ego would survive it.”

My heart clenches.

He’s trying to make a joke, but I hear the fear underneath it.

I cup his cheek, making him look at me. “Cam, there’s no one else for me. There never has been. There never will be.”

His jaw tightens, and he exhales, nodding. “Good. Cause think about how poetically tragic that would be to die of a broken heart before the cancer could take me.”

I groan, shoving him lightly. “Your dark humor is concerning sometimes, Cam.”

He chuckles, but his eyes start to heat looking at me. His hands slide around my waist, pulling me onto his lap.