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CHAPTER ONE
New York City
Present Day
“Your father and I would like you to come to dinner.”
Fuck.
A kink broke out in the back of Cameron’s neck. He didn’t attempt to stifle the curling of his lip. Instead he colored it with every single ounce of disgust the invitation evoked. He would rather spend a week being serenaded by the Fenway Park fanatics than two minutes at his parents’ table.
“I’m a little busy right now, Mother. We can talk after my trip.”
The humph from the other end came soft but loaded. Marilyn Blake never had to raise her voice to show her displeasure with her children. She always saved the screaming, yelling, and outward nastiness for her rounds with her husband Walter.
With her kids, she could convey her disapproval in small, covert-to-anyone-else noises that could still make them cringe but wouldn’t qualify as abuse to anyone watching. Sometimes it was her loud charged silences that could make a priest squirm.
Cameron was almost thirty, freed from her clutches, and almost immune to her.Almost. Marilyn could still get under his skin in ways only her husband came close to.
“I have a lot on my plate with the show and I’m getting on a plane in a couple of hours. This can wait till I get back.”
“There are art galleries all over New York City, Cameron. You are beloved here, the ace in the New York Emperors rotation, for God’s sake. All the fine art galleries would have given you weeks just dedicated to your pieces. Your name would bring them a lot of customers. I don’t know why you had to choose some unknown hole in the wall in D.C. for half a day.”
He chuckled. “Goupil is one of the most prestigious galleries in North America. It’s small but exclusive. They don’t choose just anyone for a show. So, even though it’s only a day exhibit, I’m going with prestige.”
“I’ve never heard of it, but you should know what is good for you. You don’t even bother to ask for my opinion or listen to reason. Like I’ve ever steered you wrong. You left a successful career to pursue a hobby full-time. I guess your parents don’t deserve a heads up on their son’s plans.”
Heat stoked up on his lower spine, but Cam stomped on it. He was too old to let his mother drag him into an argument. No, he wasn’t going to feed her need for drama.
“I left the game because I am done with it. I gave you ten years. I think that’s enough. Anyway, I really have to go—”
“Cameron. We want to see you when you get back. It’s not so hard. We live in the same city and we don’t ask you for much.”
The fuck you don’t. You ask for everything and always give nothing but grief.
The beep of an incoming call opened the escape door. He’d be a fool not to go through it. “My agent’s calling. We’ll talk about dinner when I get back.”No, we won’t. I’ll book a trip to Siberia to avoid you.
“Fine.” She cut off the phone call without a goodbye.
Cam placed his phone in his back pocket, grabbed his iPad, and headed out the door. He’d call his agent from the car.
Any other time, his mother would have put a damper on his day, but you can’t dampen what’s already soaked in shit.
The prospect of traveling to Washington, D.C. had already done that.
He never set foot anywhere near Maryland unless the Emperors were playing the Orioles. And even then, he stayed in his room most of the time and hightailed it out of there like the Inner Harbor was on fire.
He couldn’t pass up the offer from Goupil. Not if he wanted to continue with his life’s passion.
His mouth grew sour. Acacia Falls was seventy-fucking-six miles away from D.C.Still too close. Maryland reeked of anger, sadness, and heartbreak. His ears still echoed with his parents shouting at each other. They had been more focused on their own vices, and hurting one another, than on their children. Marilyn and Walter Blake are the kind of people who should never procreate but did. Three fucking times.
Cam swore to himself years ago that he wouldn’t make that mistake. He was going to keep his misery to himself and never pass the fucked-up Blake genes to anyone. That’s why he already scheduled the vasectomy for the day after his return. The only children he would ever have were the ones he forged on canvas.
•••
Washington, D.C.
The next day
