Chapter 46
46
Josefine
Millie and I have watched a lot of romance movies over the years. I feast on the suspense over the will-they-won’t-they moments, like when one person races against the clock through the airport. Or when the wind sweeps away a stranger’s phone number onto the street. Or a wedding is interrupted by a desperate confession.
But never in my wildest dreams did I think this could be my reality.
“Cam , ” I gasp, and a shiver runs through my body. “What are you doing here?”
“Flying to LA. What does it look like?” He winks. He brings my hands to his lips and presses a kiss against my skin in the shadow of the brim of his ball cap.
“No,” I exhale. “I mean, that’s sweet of you, but—no.” He can’t fly out to LA for me. That’s just crazy.
Shifting in my direction, with his knees jammed into the seatback in front of him, he speaks. “I’m not trying to be sweet. I’m trying to be there for you. Don’t push me away.” His voice is clear and unwavering.
I regard him for a moment, taking in the seriousness in the set of his jaw and the genuine compassion behind his eyes. “My life in California is messy,” I warn, “and—and it’s about to get messier.” He has no idea.
The plane is taxiing. There’s no way out of this now. The overhead lights turn off and the strip of lights flicker above the windows, illuminating along the length of the plane.
“And you think that’s going to scare me away? I can handle messy, Joey. I didn’t quit my job and give up my inheritance to play it safe. I gave it up to live life on my own terms. And I want to be there for you. I want to do this. I’m choosing this. I’m choosing you . Let me choose you.”
My heart cracks open and tears finally tumble down my cheeks, despite my attempt to keep them inside. “I don’t deserve you.”
Cam hasn’t let go of my hand. In fact, he’s clutching harder, and his left leg is bouncing like a jackhammer now that we’re moving down the runway.
“Are you a nervous flier?”
With his eyes still shut tight, he juts his chin in confirmation. “Just during takeoff and landing,” he mumbles, white-knuckling the armrest to his left.
I hold his hand in my lap and lean over him so I can rub calming circles over his chest.
“Did you ever read the book We’re Going on a Bear Hunt as a child?”
The plane lifts off then, and he cracks one eye open skeptically at my random question.
“Remember what they did every time they reached a new hurdle? The snowstorm? The cave?”
He nods, and his grip loosens just a fraction, so I continue. “They observed the obstacle and considered their best course of action. They couldn’t go under it or over it, so they went through it. Flying’s a lot like that.”
A smile surfaces on his smooth face, and he drops his head back against his seat and lets it loll, his eyes glowing in contemplation.
I nuzzle into his shoulder, ignoring the way the armrest stabs into my ribs.
“The same goes for you, you know,” he says.
I lift my head to meet his gaze beneath the brim of his hat.
“With your mom,” he clarifies. “We’ll get through it.”
The way he says we has my insides lighting up like constellations in the night sky.
Once the plane has evened out, Cam breaks away to lift the armrest between us.
“You must be exhausted.” He drapes an arm over my shoulders and tugs me into his sturdy body. He kisses the top of my head and strokes my hair. I nearly purr like a kitten at his tranquil touch. He’s about to find out that playing with my hair is my kryptonite.
Sometime later, I’m woken by a subtle shifting of Cam’s body. I sit up straight and wipe at my chin, mortified when my hand comes away damp.
All he does is give me a soft smile. Removing his hat, he chuckles. “Sorry to wake you, but my arm’s asleep.”
He rubs and shakes out his arm as I stretch out my neck. The brown noise of the engines drowns out the rustling of passengers around us who are struggling for comfort with their makeshift neck pillows, and random overhead lights look like polka-dots in the otherwise dark cabin.
I unbuckle my seat belt and slide to the window seat. “Come.” I pat my thigh, motioning for him to lay his head in my lap. He obeys, kissing my knee, then settling in.
Running my fingers through his hair, I rest my head against the fuselage. And for the first time in hours, a sense of calm covers me like a blanket. Bring on the bear, because with Cam by my side, I can get through anything.
Sometime after three, we deboard at LAX. Neither of us checked bags, so we head straight outside to locate a taxi. When we exit through the automatic doors, I inhale the familiar Southern California air. Although the smell of pollution is similar to that in New York City, it’s much less humid here.
While we wait, I turn my phone off airplane mode and wait while a slew of texts pops up. I immediately open the one from Tyler: I was able to get your mom into that rehab facility in Palm Springs.
My lungs seize. He got a facility lined up without even checking with me? I know the place he’s talking about too. It’s super exclusive. There’s no way we can afford it. This is so like him—making decisions for me.
Cam takes my carry-on and brushes a hand down my arm like he can sense the rage bubbling up inside me. Just a simple touch from him dulls the fury. “What’s wrong?”
Scattered and overwhelmed, I wave him off and furiously tap out a response on my phone.
He steps closer and lays his hand over the top of my screen. When I look up at him, his kind eyes are narrowed and his mouth is a flat line, like he means business. “I know you’re used to doing everything on your own, but you don’t have to anymore. And, baby?” He steadies me with his hand at the back of my neck and brushes the pad of his thumb against my cheek. “You are worthy of so much. If this is going to work, you need to talk to me, okay? I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
I give him a curt nod and am rewarded when a light sparks in his eyes.
“You’re right.”
A taxi pulls up then, and he guides me inside. Once we’re settled, he watches me, expectation clear in his expression.
So I dive in. When I tell him I called Tyler for help, he doesn’t even bristle. He nods and listens as I relay how he picked my mom up from the hospital, then brought her to the rehab center without my permission.
“I’m sorry he didn’t discuss it with you first.” He squeezes my hand. “ And I’m glad she’s in a safe place.”
He’s right, but— “I can’t afford this rehab center. A thirty-day stint will be tens of thousands of dollars,” I squeak.
Nausea creeps up like a slow, relentless shadow, followed by a boiling, dizzying sensation—no doubt from a combination of exhaustion and stress. With a sharp breath, I push it all down and smother it with a lid.
The rehab center in Palm Springs is two hours from LAX, so Cam suggests we stop at my mom’s so we can sleep for a few hours and promises we’ll head east first thing in the morning.
It’s nearly seven in New York, so I text Aunt Rachel in case she’s still sleeping. She immediately calls me and puts me on speakerphone. I tell her and Uncle Ethan everything I know while Cam thumbs away on his phone beside me in the taxi, one hand on my lap the entire time.
I decline their offer to fly out but promise to update them as soon as I know more and if I need their help.
When we pull up to my mother’s modest bungalow, the street is eerily quiet. A lone streetlamp bathes her carport in a dim glow.
I exhale a sigh of relief when her spare key is still buried in moss in a planter. When I open the front door, the faint scent of takeout greets us .
To be honest, I expected the place to be worse, but it’s mostly tidy. The only thing out of sorts is an empty Styrofoam container on the counter next to her cell phone. At first glance, the main living space looks rather untouched.
“Is this where you grew up?”
“No. I never lived here. My mom moved shortly after I started college.”
I left San Diego to put some space between my mom and me, but living in the house my father died in without me became too unbearable for her.
We walk down the hall. Flicking on the light, I take in the guest bedroom. I stayed here for a couple of days after my breakup, but I haven’t been back since.
Cam embraces me from behind, resting his chin at the top of my head. My hair is down but kinked from the flight, with remnants of hairspray from the gala.
I turn in his arms and mumble into his chest. “Thank you for being here.”
He squeezes harder when my sniffles turn to sobs, and he doesn’t let go. He supports me when my legs feel like they’re about to give out, and he rubs my back when the waterworks finally release.
“I’ve got you.” He kisses me on the top of my head.
I focus on the steady rise and fall of his chest.
I love this man, and I think he might love me too.