Hot Damn (Hot as Puck #3)

28. Beckett

Beckett

“ S he asleep again?” I lean against the doorframe and watch Whit as she sits on the edge of my bed and stares at Cami.

“Yeah. I think showering wore her out.” She doesn’t take her eyes off Cami when she asks, “You think she’ll still want to hang around us when she works out it’s all my fault?”

“What?” Pushing off the doorway, I stride over to my bed. “None of this is your fault. Why would you even think that?”

Glancing up, her tear-filled eyes meet mine. “Everything started when I posted that picture.”

“Oh, Whitbee. No. This is not on you. And Cami does not blame you for what happened to her.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s not who she is.”

“I don’t want her to hate me.”

The quiver of her bottom lip has me reaching out and tugging her to her feet. Pulling her into me, I press her face to my chest like I did when she was little. “Shh…”

She lets me hold her and I’m relieved when her tears don’t come. I hate it when she cries. It guts me. When she sniffs loudly and pushes away, I let her go but frame her face so she’s forced to look at me .

“This is not your fault. And Cami would never blame you for something someone else did.”

“I feel so bad, Dad. I had to help her wash her hair and get dressed and she’s so still now.”

The fear in her eyes amplifies my own and my next words are as much a reassurance for her as they are me.

“That’s probably the Zolpidem still affecting her.” With everything in me I wish the words to be true.

“When will it stop? I don’t like seeing her like this. I want the Cami who threw her laptop at that reporter.”

“You and me both, baby, but her body needs time to recover from her fall and the drug, and we need to give her that.”

“Can I stay in here with her until she wakes up again?”

“If that’s what you want to do.”

“I think one of us should be with her until she’s better.”

Whit’s need to care for Cami matches mine, making it easy for me to go along with her request. “I agree. Although I don’t think she’s in any danger. She’s just sleeping.”

“I still want to stay with her. I can bring my laptop in and work on my English assignment.”

“Okay. Go get what you need and when you’re back, I’ll head downstairs and make us something to eat. Or order in. I’m not sure what we have in the fridge.” Hell, I can’t remember the last time I shopped for groceries.

“Can you see if we have everything to make chicken noodle soup? I think she’d like that.”

Studying Whit, I realize Cami isn’t the only one who could do with some homemade soup. “Yeah, I can do that. And if we don’t have what I need, I’ll go to the shop.”

“Should we wake her up when the food is ready or let her sleep?”

“I think it’s best if we let her sleep. Let her body do what it needs to, to recover.” An idea hits me and I smile. “How about a picnic? I can bring our food up here and we can put a blanket on the floor while we keep an eye on her.”

I need to take care of both of them. Whit is scared and needs reassurance Cami is going to be okay, and if letting her stay in my room until Cami wakes is what does that, then I’m going to do everything I can to make it happen.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead I let go of her face and nudge her toward the door. “Go get your laptop. I’ll clean up the bathroom before I head downstairs.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“For?”

“Humoring me.”

“I’m not humoring you.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m not. Letting you stay in here with Cami eases my own fears so if I’m humoring you, you’re humoring me.”

She frowns, her gaze going back to Cami and before she speaks, I know I’ve chosen the wrong words. “You’re worried?”

“No. Not worried. I know she’s going to be fine, but, like when you’re sick, I want to be near her so if she needs something I’m there to get it for her.”

The smile she shoots me is full of adult knowledge and scarier than having a drugged Cami sleeping in my bed. “Like me, huh?”

“Go.” I put my hands on her shoulders, turn her and push her toward the door. “Get your laptop.”

With a laugh she leaves the room and I shake my head. Whit has never known me to care for anyone besides her and Mama Dot, and while I’m not in a relationship with Cami, I’m invested.

Invested in a way I’ve never been before.

The feelings I have for her are nothing like the ones I had at fifteen. And for the first time in a long time, I understand why people called me a victim. I’ve never felt like one but when I look at it now, I see it.

My gaze moves over Cami.

She’s curled on her side, and I have to move to see if her chest is rising and falling. Rationally I know she’s going to be fine but it doesn’t stop my brain from spinning worst-case scenarios.

And as I stand here watching her breathe, I have to admit I’m falling for this woman.

Sexual attraction aside, I like her. Even if I’m not comfortable with her job—I admire her independence and strength even though circumstances have required she relinquish both in recent days.

I want her in my life, want to be in hers. In what capacity I’m not sure. I’ve never been in a relationship.

Hell, I haven’t had sex since before Whit was born, not even a one-night stand.

It’s not like I haven’t had the opportunity. But I’ve never been interested in any of the puck bunnies who throw themselves at players. Never felt like I was missing out when I looked at other players with their partners.

Having Whit has always been enough.

Until now.

Now I want to see where this thing between Cami and me can go. I want to explore the emotions she makes me feel. Want to see if I still know how to please a woman, if I remember how to make a woman com?—

“I’m back.” Whit gives me a quizzical look when she sees me standing next to the bed watching Cami like a creeper. “Did you tidy the bathroom?”

“Ah, no.” I scrub a hand down my face. “I’ll do it now.”

“Don’t bother. I can do it.” She puts her laptop on the far side of the bed and checks on her patient, making sure Cami is tucked beneath the covers. “Can you bring up some more water? This is warm now.”

Taking the glass from her, I smile. “Sure.”

“And if you go to the shop, can you get a couple of energy drinks? I think they might help her when she wakes up.”

“There’s some in the gym fridge.”

“Oh, can you move them to the kitchen?”

“Sure. ”

“Don’t worry about the water. I’ll let you know when she’s awake so it’s nice and cold.”

“Anything else?” I ask, struggling to contain my amusement.

“No.” Whit glances around the room before leaning over to tug the covers up again. “I think that’s it.”

I’m grinning as I walk out of my room.

Witnessing Whit take care of Cami doesn’t just put a smile on my face. It warms my heart to know I’ve raised a child who’s compassionate. I might not have seen it before Cami pointed it out, but I should be proud of myself.

I was still a kid myself when Whit was born, but I’ve been a good parent in spite of my age and not growing up with decent—never mind good—role models as examples.

Mama Dot came into my life when I was fourteen and while she was a great influence, a wonderful guide, she held more of a grandmotherly role, for both of us.

The majority of my parenting has been done on instinct. And a deep knowledge of what a parent shouldn’t be.

The day they handed me a squealing, slippery baby, I vowed to love her and protect her with everything I had.

Knowing I did that, seeing the results through Cami’s eyes, has me understanding why she thinks I need to tell Whit about her mother.

My daughter is strong enough to deal with the circumstances of her birth. Mature enough to handle the scandalous way she entered the world.

And if for some reason she’s not, I’ll be there for her. I’ll remind her I love her more than I can ever explain.

There’s an urgency inside me to tell Whit about her mother now, one that has never been there before. Over the years I avoid thinking about Catrina at all. Except Whit has the right to know her, to make her own judgment of the woman who birthed her.

I can’t tarnish my daughter’s opinion with my own. I need to allow her to make up her own mind and the only way to do that is to give her the truth .

After checking the pantry and fridge and finding we have what I need to make a pot of chicken noodle soup, I set out to get it on the stove quickly.

Years of practice making Whit’s favorite comfort food means it only takes minutes to have a large saucepan bubbling away, the delicious scent filling the kitchen. With our dinner dealt with, I head for my home office.

I’m not really sure what I’m looking for when I unlock the filing cabinet and pull out the folder holding the paperwork from the trial, my name change, and Whit’s birth.

She’s seen her birth certificate. Has no reason to believe anything on it is untrue, and while her name and mine are real, mine hasn’t always been Beckett Higgison.

Flicking through the papers, I find my official name change document and lay it on the desk.

Staring at my birth name, I feel no connection to it. I ceased being Gregory Becks the day I became a father. Nothing before that day means anything to me. Whit’s birthday is as much mine as it is hers.

Should I start with that?

If I show her this, she’ll want to know why I changed my name the day she was born. Nothing in the court files has my name on it. Birth name or legal name. There’s nothing to tell her the court transcripts or newspaper articles are about us.

I have no idea how to go about revealing the circumstances of her birth. All I know is I have to tell her.

She’ll be eighteen on December tenth.

I’ve got two months to work out how to reveal the truth.

“Dad!”

Whit’s shout and the sound of her feet pounding down the stairs has me scrambling to shove everything back in the folder. Opening the bottom drawer of my desk, I drop it in and slam the drawer shut as I rush around the desk then across the room.

I’m almost at the door when she skids to a stop in the doorway. The smile on her face has the anxiety squeezing my chest releasing and my legs slowing.

“She’s awake!” She bounces on the balls of her feet. “And she’s normal.”

I have to laugh. “Normal?”

“Yeah, she’s not spacey and she remembers everything including passing out.”

“Oh. Well, the soup should simmer for another half hour, but we could eat it now.”

“I’ll get her a bowl.” She’s spinning on her heel before I can stop her.

With another laugh I follow her to the kitchen. “I thought we were going to have a picnic upstairs.”

“We don’t have to now. She’s coming down after she brushes her teeth.”

Why Cami needs to brush her teeth before we eat is a mystery but if she says she feels well enough to come downstairs to have dinner, I’m not going to argue.

Except the thought of her possibly getting dizzy on the stairs and falling has me turning around.

“I’ll make sure she’s okay on the stairs.”

“I’ll set the dining table. I don’t want her sitting on a high stool at the breakfast bar even though she says—and looks—like she’s fine.”

Whit’s words have me grinning as I race up the stairs. I really have done a good job raising her. And while I hope she’ll understand the secret I’ve kept about her mother, I know she’s mature enough to deal with it, even if she’s mad at me to begin with.

“Hey.” Cami’s voice has my stride faltering.

“Oh, hey.” I frown at her. “Why are you dressed in that?”

“I need to get out of your hair. I’ve taken up too much of your time.”

“What?” I take a step closer, my frown turning into an angry scowl. “No.”

“No? ”

“Yes. No, as in no, you are not going anywhere. And the last thing you’ve done is take up too much of my time.”

“But—”

“Cam.” Stepping so close I feel the heat from her body, I lower my head and bend my knees a little, bringing my face in line with hers. “You. Are. Not. Going. Anywhere.”

Her eyes dart back and forth between mine and I can almost hear her mind working, scrambling to come up with another argument.

In a desperate attempt to silence any words she might be about to say, I do something I’ve never done before.

I crush my mouth to hers.

The gasp she lets out allows me to slip my tongue between her lips, to explore her heat, taste her flavor.

Instinct has me wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her closer, pressing her breasts to my chest.

Her mouth is wet heat and mint, her body warm and soft.

And the moan that fills the space around us could be mine or hers.

I don’t know.

The only thing I’m certain of is I don’t want to stop.

If we do, I want to start all over again.

With a growl, I pull her impossibly close and lift.

Another rumble in my chest pushes me forward until I press her back to the wall.

I lean into her, eat at her mouth.

It’s raw and lacks finesse, but it’s the most electric contact I’ve ever experienced.

So electric my dick aches, the throb beating deep, pounding through muscle and bone, drowning out everything except the need to be closer.

Drowning out everything except Cam.