Chapter 9
Cam
Training hard or hardly training? – caption from Cam’s social media post – a video of him and Luke messing around at the gym , March 6th
I try to be quiet as I shut the front door, not wanting to wake Sadie. But she screams. Calling out to her, I rush through the living room and down the short hallway to her bedroom.
When I throw open her door and flip on the light, she recoils from the brightness, then snorts a laugh. I did hear her scream, didn’t I?
“Did something happen?” I ask, scanning her room for anything that could have scared her. It’s just her usual setup—soft blankets, pastel paintings, a sunflower-printed rug. The most dangerous thing in here is the sharp corners on her dresser.
“This is so embarrassing,” she groans.
I sit on her bed so we’re facing each other, gently pulling her pink-and-purple-tipped hands away from her wide eyes. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine. I’m being ridiculous.” She shakes her head, dropping her hands to her lap, revealing a thin yellow shirt that does nothing to conceal the shape of her pointed nipples. Fuck. I can’t be thinking about her like that right now. “I shouldn’t have screamed when I heard the front door,” she admits.
“That’s why you screamed?” I ask, confused. “What am I missing?”
She sighs, the tension leaving her shoulders. “It might not have been the best idea to get high and watch the scariest movie I’ve ever seen.”
I fight back the urge to laugh at the most adorable thing she could have said. “The movie freaked you out?”
“Yes, don’t judge me,” she says, pouting.
“I’m not. I would never.” My brow furrows. “Which movie was it?”
“ The Shining . I wanted to check watch a scary movie off my list.”
“And did you?” I ask.
“Not yet, but I should,” she says, leaning over to her nightstand. Her tank top hangs loosely around her cleavage, which I try very hard not to stare at. She slides open the top drawer, eyeing it like something might leap out at her. When nothing does, she pulls out a pink-and-white checkered notebook. “I don’t like being scared. At all ,” she explains. “Even a little bit. But a lot of the best things I’ve done, I did while I was scared.” Sitting back down, she adjusts her tank top, exposing even more cleavage. Was that intentional? “So, I’m trying to do more of it. Being scared. A scary movie seemed like a less aggressive way to… I don’t know… build that skill?”
“That’s admirable,” I say, forcing my gaze to stay locked on her eyes. “A lot of people aren’t willing to do anything that scares them.”
“Don’t admire me too much,” she laughs. “Mostly, I’ve always wanted to watch The Shining because it plays at the drive-in during that one scene in Twister .”
“That’s adorable.”
“No one’s around to hear you say sweet things to me, you know,” she sighs. “Anyway, I was trying to sleep, and I kept hearing sounds. Or maybe just thinking I heard them. For all I know, it was just Boo running around the backyard.” Her eyes dart over my shoulder to the dark L-shaped hallway beyond her open bedroom door. I look, too, but there’s nothing there. “I can’t stop thinking about the creepy ghosts, and feeling like they’re going to get me ,” she whispers, the last two words barely audible.
“I won’t let anyone get you,” I say, pulling her fluffy blanket tighter around her hips.
“You can’t protect me from ghosts,” she murmurs. “ No one can .”
“First of all, watch me,” I say, resting my hand on the bed beside her legs. “Secondly, I don’t think the ghosts in that movie actually hurt anyone, do they?”
She shakes her head.
“Maybe they were there to warn her of the real danger.”
“Pretty sure that wasn’t it,” she laughs, her voice light again. “If they were , they were really creepy about it.” She flips open her notebook and starts browsing the pages. “This isn’t in any order. I just write them as I think of them. So, it always takes me a while to find the right one to cross off.” She pauses on a page. “I should probably just remove ‘ see a ghost’ altogether at this point.” Her voice drops, sounding more to herself than to me. “I forgot that was even on here. I should probably start bowling if I ever want to bowl a perfect game. It’s not a full moon, is it?”
“It was last night, so almost,” I answer.
“Hmmm, I don’t think that would count,” she taps her pen on the page.
“Plus, I’m too scared to go outside right now.”
Struggling to follow her logic, I ask, “What does that have to do with bowling?”
“Oh, that’s not about bowling.” She cuts herself off. “It’s something else.”
“Now I’m dying to know,” I lean forward. “But you’re not gonna tell me, are you?”
“No, of course not,” she laughs, pulling the comforter over her face.
Wanting to be closer to her, I move fully onto her bed and lean back against the headboard. When I place my arm on the pillows behind her, she drops the comforter and stares at me silently for a long moment, eyes narrowed, jaw firm.
I almost break the silence, but there’s something happening behind her eyes that I can’t quite place. Her face is clear of makeup, and what I thought were a few light freckles turns out to be a lot more. Her lashes are soft, her brows almost unnoticeable. The waves in her hair have fallen by this time of night, and her pink-tipped blonde hair now reaches her shoulders. She looks soft and beautiful like this.
Her teeth drag over her plush pink lower lip, and I want to drag mine across it . Would she like that? She liked it earlier when I kissed her cheek, but that wasn’t the same. I probably should have kissed her on the lips then. It would’ve made the most sense for the story we’re telling. But I don’t want our first kiss to be in front of anyone else.
Her voice is quiet when she asks, “Do you want to read my list?” Her arms are wrapped tightly around her knees, as if she’s building up the nerve to share it with me .
I try to mask my eagerness, answering with nonchalance, “Thought you’d never ask.”
She giggles, tucking her hair behind her ears and handing me the notebook. The silver lettering on the front says Try It , and the matching sprayed edges of the paper are starting to wear off. The first page is blank, but the second is filled with a list of things—about half of them crossed off.
Move to California
Leave Jared
Bake a perfect cookie
Call Mom
Get two tattoos
Take a pole class
Go a whole day without apologizing
Start smoking weed again
Learn how to roll a joint
Fall in love one more time
Change my nail shape
Each one is a small insight into her inner world that leaves me more curious than before. How long has it been since she called her mom? Who taught her how to roll a joint? Are there photos or videos from this pole class she took? Can I see them? Can I convince her to bump up the “no apology” day to the top of the list? I even want to know what her old nail shape was.
I don’t ask any of that, though, skipping over the most intriguing one— fall in love one more time— and opting for a safer question. “Why two tattoos?”
“Getting one didn’t seem adventurous enough.” She shakes her head as soon as she says it. “That’s not really it. I just feel like if I’m going to do it, I should do it. Does that make sense?”
“It really does,” I say, relieved that she’s willing to entertain the conversation. “Do you know what you want to get?”
“I have a few ideas, but nothing solid,” she answers.
“What are these ideas?” I ask. “You got pictures?”
“No pictures, just thoughts. I think I should get something baking-related, and Allie always says I’m like a ray of sunshine. It’s my favorite way to think of myself, and that…” She trails off, suddenly shy.
“I’ve heard her say that,” I nudge her shoulder with mine. “I think it’s a perfect description for you.”
“Really?” She looks at me, her face lighting up.
“Yes, really .” I lean down, making sure she has to look me in the eye. “You’re warm, bright, beautiful, and impossible to ignore. Pure sunshine.”
“Well, that’s—I’m not really—You don’t have to—” she stammers, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment.
“Is ‘ learn how to take a compliment’ on that list somewhere?” I ask, lifting it between us.
“No,” she says, pressing her lips together, trying to hide a smile.
I pass the book back to her. “Add it.”
She opens her mouth in mock offense but shuts it again when I hold her gaze. “Fine,” she rolls her eyes, her cheeks turning pink. “I guess you have a point.”
“I do,” I say, watching her jot it down. “Now give it back. I wasn’t done with that.”
She hands it to me without protest, and it’s flipped to a later page. Just above learn to accept compliments is written: Block Jared
She wrote that recently, but why hasn’t she done it? Last time I read one of his DMs, he said she’s not worth anyone’s time. If that’s what he’s saying to me, what kind of awful shit is he saying directly to her? She’ll hate that I’m asking, but I have to know. “Why haven’t you blocked him yet?”
“What?” she asks, her eyes darting around like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
“Jared,” I say. “Why haven’t you blocked him yet?”
Her brows furrow. “It never occurred to me until tonight. Devon suggested it, but I have to think about it.”
“Why?” I press.
“Why what?” she responds, crossing her arms as she shifts away from me.
“He’s not good to you,” I say, running my hand through my hair. “He shouldn’t be allowed to contact you.”
“You don’t know that. You can’t—”
I cut her off. “Sadie, the guy—”
“You interrupted me,” her mouth falls open.
“And you were defending him. Someone has to stand up for you.”
I expect her to snap back with something like “You’re not my boyfriend” or “This isn’t your business ,” but instead, she watches me quietly for a long time, her shoulders rising with deep breaths. Finally, she scoots closer and says, “He’s the worst, but I decide when I block him.”
It’s not the answer I wanted. I hate that he still has access to her—that he can hurt her again. But she’s giving me a clear “back off” message. This won’t be the last time we talk about this, but for now, I change the subject. “By the way, whenever you’re ready, I’ll take you.”
Her brow furrows, confused.
“To get two tattoos,” I explain.
“Oh, right.” She nods, relieved. Still tucked under her comforter, she drops her legs to the side, resting them on mine. “I’d like that a lot. I can’t think of anyone better to go with.”
Pride swells in my chest, but I move on, flipping the book open to the next pressing issue. “I’m amazed you haven’t crossed off bake a perfect cookie yet.”
“I’m not interested in lying to myself,” she laughs.
“I’ve never eaten one of your cookies that wasn’t perfect,” I say, resting my hand on her knee.
Her eyes fall to my hand, and she rolls her lips to suppress a smile. “Well, you must not be much of a cookie connoisseur.”
“Sadie, I know perfection when I taste it.” My eyes drop to her pink lips. “I’m sure I’ll taste it again soon.”
Her caramel eyes widen, and her chest— I’m no longer able to resist —rises with a soft, shaky breath. Good. I’m getting to her. Her next words come out breathy, “Let me know when you find the scary movie one.”
“Of course.” I grin, turning back to the notebook. This might be my favorite thing I’ve ever read. It’s a wild collection of experiences, from simple things— win a game of Monopoly , stay awake for twenty-four hours —to things she wants to learn— drive a stick shift, to things she wants to accomplish— hold my breath for three minutes, run a half marathon , and even things she can’t control— see a ghost, find five dollars on the ground, see two shooting stars at once .
Pride swells again when I find let someone read my list . I point out that she can cross it off too. I’m the first person she’s shown this to.
The item that made her blush and hide behind the blanket is dance naked under the full moon . She’s already been brave enough tonight, so I don’t bring it up. Have a good boyfriend isn’t crossed off yet. Even though I don’t deserve to feel it, a sting zaps through my ribs. It’s a sharp reminder that this thing between us isn’t real. I’m not getting to her.
It’s almost one in the morning, but I’m not ready to give her up yet. “You save me any of those strawberry shortcake cookies?” I ask.
“Of course,” she laughs. “I saved you two.”
“You want one?” I ask, already getting off the bed and heading down the hallway.
“Sure,” she says, but there’s a waver in her voice.
When I turn around, she’s curled back into her protective ball.
“You want to come with?” I ask.
“No, I’m fine.” She shakes her head, obviously scared.
“Alright, I won’t make you,” I say, walking toward the kitchen.
“Wait!” she yells out, and I’m back in her room in an instant. She rushes to explain, “They’re on your nightstand. I forgot I put them there. I hope that’s okay—that I went in there. I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t—”
“All good, sunshine,” I say, leaving the room again. I raise my voice as I walk farther down the hall. “You’re welcome in my room anytime.” I flip on my light switch. “Especially if you’re bringing treats.” Sitting on my nightstand are two cookies on a plate I recognize as one of her favorites—blue with daisies and a cursive S in the center. “Are you sure these cookies aren’t perfect?” I call out, picking up the plate. Underneath, there’s a note in the same neat handwriting she uses for her list.
Promise I’ll always share my cookies. – S
I lift the plate to my nose as I make my way back to her . “They smell perfect. They look perfect. They were made by you—” I stop myself from saying you’re perfect as I enter her room again.
She’s shifted into the space I left open, making it easier for me to join her on the bed. “They’re not perfect,” she sighs.
“Let’s taste them to be sure,” I say, sliding next to her.
Sadie leans her head into my shoulder, laughing. “Yes, please.” She takes the smaller of the two cookies and devours half of it in one bite.
Matching her enthusiasm, I take the other one. Holy shit. “Cross it off,” I say, mouth full of strawberry cream cheese perfection.
“No, it doesn’t count,” she protests.
“Why the hell not?” I ask.
“Because this is someone else’s recipe,” she says, her hand covering her mouth as she takes another bite. “I tweaked it, but I didn’t come up with it from scratch.”
“The list didn’t say you had to invent the recipe,” I remind her.
“It’s implied ,” she laughs, leaning into my shoulder again, finally allowing herself to relax there.
I’m caught up in the soft curves of her face, the pout of her lips, the sparkle in her eyes as they flutter closed. If I don’t move, will she fall asleep on me like this? I want to reach out—run my fingers through her hair, cup her cheek, pull her closer. But I can’t stop thinking about have a good boyfriend —and how it hasn’t been crossed off. It’s a sharp reminder that I’m not getting to her.
Carefully, I nudge her off my shoulder and onto her pillow, then stand.
She blinks at me, still dazed. “I guess we should sleep, huh?”
“Yeah, I’ve got to be sharp for practice tomorrow,” I say, though I don’t have to be there until noon.
Pulling her knees up to her chest, she mutters, “Sure, yeah, me too. I mean—not for practice. I’m not racing motorcycles tomorrow. You know that—I have work.”
There’s an uncomfortable twist in my gut as she stumbles over her words. She’s probably still scared and doesn’t want to be alone. It doesn’t feel right to leave her, but I can’t invite myself into her bed.
Resting my forearms on the doorframe, I ask, “Was thinking I’d sleep with my door open tonight. Would that be okay with you?”
“Uh, sure.” Her brows furrow.
“And I could leave your door open too,” I add, drumming my fingers on the wood. “For airflow,” I explain.
It’s March in Palm Springs, so the days are warm but the nights are cool. All the windows are closed, and airflow isn’t really a concern, but making sure she doesn’t feel alone is.
After a few seconds, she catches my meaning and smiles. “Yeah, airflow. That’s a good idea.”
Her bedroom is at the corner of the L-shaped hallway, and my room is at the end of the other side. Our doors open toward each other. We can talk with our doors open, even if our bathrooms are between us.
Once I’m in bed, I call out to her. “Hey, sunshine?”
“Yes?” her sleepy voice responds.
“You doin’ okay?” I ask.
“All good. I’ll let you know if—” She pauses, and I stay still, not wanting to miss her words. “I need help with airflow,” she finishes.
She’s half-asleep, so I assume the silence that follows means she’s already drifting off. But I stay awake a little longer, just in case she needs me.