Chapter 25
Camryn
M y eyes eased open, then immediately squeezed shut against the assault of morning light. Each pulse of my headache brought with it a fresh memory from last night. The bedsheets beside me were still warm, carrying his scent. My hand drifted across the rumpled fabric, dreading what I'd find.
Empty space.
I shot upright, instantly regretting the sudden movement as my head spun. The room tilted and settled, revealing what I already knew: Trystan was gone. My stomach twisted with a nauseating mix of relief and disappointment. Maybe this was better. Cleaner. So why did my chest feel like it was caving in?
I fell back on my pillow, clenching the covers tight to my naked body as blurry memories from last night flashed forward. Heat crept up my neck, flooding my cheeks. I ducked my head, wishing I could disappear into the sheets.
Nothing I'd said to Trystan was wrong, but the way I acted afterward was so embarrassing. I let my emotions get the best of me, and I knew better. It made me vulnerable, and I didn't want to be.
The mattress dipped beside me, and every muscle in my body locked. I lay frozen under my shield of blankets, heart hammering so loud I was sure he could hear it. Maybe if I stayed still enough, this moment would pass like a dream.
"Coffee, water, or carbonation?" His voice was morning-rough, intimate in a way that made my skin prickle.
"What the fuck?" I mouthed silently into my pillow. What was he still doing here? Didn't he have, like, band shit to do?
"Cam," he whispered. I didn't move. I'd just pretend I was still sleeping, and maybe he'd go away. "Cam, I know you're awake."
Fuck.
I lowered the blanket. Trystan sat shirtless on the side of my bed. His hair was messy, and his blue eyes fixed on me. "How are you feeling?"
Oh, I don't know, embarrassed, angry, hungover, sad, and a little happy he was still here. "I'm okay."
"Good." He smiled. "You scared me last night."
"What are you still doing here?"
He reached forward, setting a cup of coffee on my nightstand. "You were so drunk you almost drowned last night. I wasn't leaving you like that, but if you want me to go now, I will." The bad part was I didn't want him to go. "But I don't want to, just so that's clear."
"Why?" I shifted in the bed, sitting, clenching the covers tightly to my chest. "You didn't want me to come to your concert, but..."
"That was a mistake." His shoulders tensed, hands curling into loose fists against his thighs. "All of it was a mistake. Do you remember what we talked about last night?"
"I remember everything." I nodded. "You were jealous because you thought I was hooking up with Owen." He pressed his lips into a tight line but nodded. "I'm not hooking up with Owen, but he has made his feelings perfectly clear, which I appreciate because I honestly have no idea where I stand with you."
"I know..."
"No," I shook my head. "You don't. See, you tell me you want me, and then you ghost me. Then you think you have the right to get jealous when you think someone else stepped up. I can't play these games with you, Trystan."
"I know they feel like games, but they're not." He sighed, shoving his hand through his hair. "Growing up, I saw how love can destroy you. I watched it destroy my mother until she couldn't even function like a normal human being."
"And then you watched her pick herself up and find the man she was meant for. You watched her fall in love with an amazing man who treats her right." He nodded. "Sometimes we get it wrong a few times before we finally get it right, and it hurts, but when you do get it right, you forget all about the hurt because you realize that was never love. It was lust or infatuation but never love." He smiled. "You have to kiss a few frogs before you find your prince, and that's what happened with your mom. Your dad and your mom weren't right for each other. It hurt, and now she's happy, but if she hadn't fallen for your dad, she wouldn't have you. Everything happens the way it's supposed to."
I had no idea where that came from. I knew nothing about love, and yet what I said felt so right.
His gaze lifted, meeting mine. "You're right."
Sighing, I reached out, resting my hand on his arm. "Look, no one knows better than me how much your childhood can affect who you are now, and I was totally willing to go slow with you until you were ready, but I can't do whatever this is with you."
"I know..."
"Your family is really all I have." The words scraped my throat raw. "They're everything to me, Trystan. Everything." My fingers twisted in the sheets until my knuckles went white. "I can't lose that. So maybe... maybe we just start over. Forget this happened. Go back to being friends..."I was putting him in the friend zone whether he wanted me to or not.
The last word hung between us like a peace offering. Or a white flag.
Trystan's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost angry. "Go back?" He leaned closer, and I caught myself swaying toward him before I could stop it. "You think I could just forget? Forget the way you taste? The sounds you make when I touch you?" His eyes burned into mine. "You're not the type of girl a man just forgets about, Cam. Not ever." My chest tightened as the weight of his words settled over me. "I can't be just friends with you."
He shifted closer, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. "I fought it as hard as I could." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "God, did I fight it. But..." He ran a hand down his face. When he looked back at me, the raw vulnerability in his eyes made my breath catch. "I'm in love with you, Cam. And I'm absolutely terrified."
A hundred responses crowded my throat—anger at how he'd pushed me away, joy at his confession, fear that this was another game. But all I managed was a choked "I—I..."
"It's okay if you don't feel the same," he said. "Especially after the way I treated you, but I'm going to prove to you that I am your prince." His face split into a slow smile. "If it's not already too late?"
My eyes searched his for sincerity. "I honestly can't tell if you're serious because my judgment is clouded when it comes to you. So, if you are serious, you'll have to prove it."
"It's not too late then?"
"If that's your indirect way of asking if I'm dating Owen," I smirked, "no, but we do hang out." His jaw tightened. "As friends. Just like you and me. Friends."
"Friends," he repeated. "For now."
I laughed. "You seem so sure of yourself."
"I am," he said, his tone so serious I believed him.
"Don't you have a concert or something to be at?"
"Yeah, and I have to give Jax his bike back, but I wanted to make sure you were good. To make sure we were good before I left."
Swallowing hard, I nodded. "Just don't ever do that again."
He reached out, cupping my face gently, brushing his thumb across my cheek and his fingers along my neck. My eyes closed, and I melted into his touch. "I'm really sorry, Cam."
The raw sincerity in his voice, the slight tremor in his hands as he reached for me—it all spoke louder than his words. For the first time, I saw past his usual bravado to the vulnerability beneath. He'd driven all the way out here just to apologize, and that had to mean something, right?
"I really want to kiss you."
My eyes opened, meeting his intense gaze. The air between us felt charged, dangerous. He hadn't moved closer, but somehow the space between us had shrunk to nothing. I sucked in a harsh breath, trying to remember all the reasons this was a bad idea. He was still Trystan. Still the guy who'd made promises and then ghosted me, still the one who could shatter my heart if I let him.
But god, he was beautiful. The morning light caught in his messy dark hair, traced the strong line of his jaw, highlighted the hunger in his eyes. My resolve crumbled like wet sand.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I surged forward. The first brush of our lips was tentative, questioning–then his hand curved around the nape of my neck, thumb pressing gently against my pulse point, and something inside me unraveled.
I may have started the kiss, but Trystan quickly dominated it. He looped an arm around my waist, and I shifted, throwing my leg over him and straddling his lap. He shoved his hand into my hair, tugging, forcing my mouth wider, and feeding me his tongue. His chest rumbled with a deep, low groan.
My nipples pulled tight as I brushed my breast against his heated chest. His hands gripped my ass as he lifted from the bed, holding me tight against him as he turned and dropped my back to the bed pressing his weight into me.
And as if the lights switched on, I came to my senses. Ripping my mouth from his, I shoved at his chest. "I can't... We can't..."
He propped himself up, holding himself over me, every point where we weren't touching suddenly electric with possibility. "Right," he breathed. “Friends.”
"This," I waved my hand between us, my fingers trembling slightly, "confuses me." The words felt inadequate. How could I explain that every touch scrambled my thoughts? That his presence alone made it impossible to remember all the reasons we shouldn't do this?
I pressed my palm against his chest, meaning to push him away. Instead, I found myself memorizing the steady thud of his heartbeat. "And right now..." I forced myself to meet his eyes, "I need to be able to think straight. I need to know this isn't just..." Another impulsive decision. Another mistake. Another regret waiting to happen.
"Okay." His smile was gentle, but something darker flickered in his eyes. His hand covered mine where it rested against his chest. "We take it slow." His thumb traced circles on my wrist, sending shivers up my arm. "But Cam?"
"Yeah?"
"'Slow doesn't mean I'm letting you go this time."
The certainty in his voice made my stomach flip. This was exactly what I'd asked for, wasn't it? So why did it feel like I was still falling, still waiting for the ground to disappear beneath my feet?
He rolled onto his back beside me. "But you're going to have to cover up," he said, voice rough as gravel, "or I'm not going to be able to control myself." The muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched it, his knuckles white where they gripped the sheets.
I laughed, the sound carrying more confidence than I felt, and pushed off the bed. When I turned to face him, I let the last of my hesitation fall away with the sheets. The sharp intake of his breath was audible in the quiet room. His eyes raked over me with an almost physical weight, leaving trails of heat in their wake. The bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed hard sent a shiver of satisfaction down my spine.
"Will you come see me on tour?”
"Nope." I curved my lips into what I hoped was a casual smirk, fighting to keep my voice steady. "If you want to see me again, you're going to have to work for it."
I forced myself to walk to the bathroom, feeling his eyes trace every step. The wooden door clicked shut behind me, and I sagged against it, letting out a shaky breath. Through the thin wood, I could hear him shifting on the bed as the springs creaked. Was he leaving? Staying?
My palm pressed flat against the door. One push and I could go back out there. Tell him to stay. Let him prove himself right now, consequences be damned.
I curled my fingers into a fist instead. No. If this was real—if he meant everything he'd said—then he needed to show me with more than just words and heated touches, even if every cell in my body screamed at me to open that door.