CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN #2
"He was a long-haul trucker. Gone three weeks out of four, but when he was home, this was our spot." He takes a bite of his hot dog. "Mom hated it. She was the one with money - old pharmaceutical fortune. She wanted me in prep schools and yacht clubs. Dad wanted me to see the real world."
"What happened to him?"
"Heart attack when I was sixteen. Behind the wheel somewhere in Nebraska." He shrugs, but I catch the old pain in it. "Mom tried to erase him after that. Sold his bike - this one - to some dealer. Took me two years to track it down and buy it back."
"She must have been furious."
"She was relieved. Gave her an excuse to write me off as my father's son instead of hers." He steals one of my fries. "Haven't spoken since freshman year."
"Is that why you got into computers? To track the bike down?"
He shrugs. "That’s part of it. I took jobs to raise the money to buy it back.
Took every penny I had saved for college.
" He grins, and it changes his whole face.
"Worth it though. It led me to rowing to earn a scholarship.
Now it's the only piece of him I have left.
Plus, it's useful for rescuing coxswains having emotional crises. "
"I'm not having a crisis."
"You're eating a greasy hot dog at eleven PM in a parking lot with the team's ghost. That's at least crisis-adjacent."
I laugh, surprised by his humor. "Who got that started?"
"Zane started calling me that freshman year. Said I appeared and disappeared without anyone noticing." He steals one of my fries. "He wasn't wrong."
We eat silently for a while. No deep conversations about pack dynamics or trust or any of the heavy things weighing on us. Just two people sharing comfort food under buzzing lights.
"Ready?" he asks when we're done.
"Not really."
"Good." He gets back on the bike. "Neither am I."
He waits until I'm strapped on, then guns it. The world folds into a ribbon of black and silver and engine vibration that hums through my bones. He doesn't head for campus; he goes farther, leaning into the curve like he's folding space just for us.
Streetlights glare and fall away. Buildings become a smear, then gone.
The only sound is that low, steady growl under us and the wind carving his name against my ribs.
I hook my arms around his waist and press my cheek to the leather of his jacket because it feels like the only solid thing in the dark.
When the road turns to dirt, the bike stutters and rocks; my fingers dig into him without thinking. He cuts the engine and the bike shudders to silence, leaving only the sound of our breathing. The world snaps quiet and the silence feels like static on my skin.
We sit there, the valley a spill of pinprick lights below, the bike still warm under my thighs. For a second there's nothing but our breathing—his steady, too-slow breath and my too-fast one. The overlook stretches out below, the valley glittering faintly in the dark.
The quiet stretches, heavy as the night around us. Then Cameron swings off the bike, boots crunching against gravel. He doesn’t go far, just circles back and tugs me gently until I’m leaning against the seat, him standing between my legs, the machine still radiating heat behind me.
His hands find my hips, steady and sure, anchoring me in place. For a moment he just studies me, his eyes shadowed but intent, like he’s memorizing every line of my face. Then he leans in, brushing his mouth against the curve of my neck, breathing me in slow.
“I come here when I want to forget everything,” he murmurs, his voice low enough to sink under my skin. “But with you here…” His lips graze my collarbone. “…I can’t stop thinking.”
My pulse jumps. “About what?”
His mouth curves against my throat. “About how long I can keep pretending I don’t want this.
” One of his hands slides up my back, flattening between my shoulder blades to hold me closer.
“About how I’ve been watching you with the others, wondering if you’d ever look at me the same way you did that day in the boathouse. ”
I swallow hard, my fingers twisting into the leather of his jacket. “You think I don’t?”
“I think you’re careful.” He lifts his head just enough to meet my eyes, his own dark and steady. “And I’m the last person you expect to lose your caution with.” His thumb strokes over my hip, slow, deliberate. “But I’m running out of ways to keep myself from falling, Reese.”
The honesty in his tone makes my chest ache. The nearness of him makes my body hum. I can feel the tremor in his restraint, the way he’s holding himself in check, and it’s intoxicating.
“Then don’t,” I whisper.
Heat and a decision flash in his expression. His grip tightens, pulling me flush against him.
“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he warns, his voice rough now, frayed at the edges.
“I mean it.” The words come out steady, certain.
The last of his control unravels. He dips his head, slow enough to give me time to change my mind, but when his mouth finally finds mine, the world tilts.
The kiss isn’t tentative, it’s consuming, deliberate, a surge of everything he’s been holding back.
His hands frame my face, strong and sure, and my knees nearly give out with the force of it.
The valley below could vanish. The night could collapse. And I’d still be here, kissing him back like there’s nothing else.
The kiss is a storm, and I don’t want shelter.