Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Theo
The smell of coffee reached me before the hazy morning light of Monday morning did.
I woke to the quiet clatter of mugs in the kitchen and the soft, off-key humming that meant Cameron was awake. For a moment I lay there, listening to the sound of another person moving through my morning. It felt strange but pleasant.
When I stepped into the kitchen, Cameron stood in front of the stove, his back to me. The sight of Cameron’s long legs encased in skinny jeans, revealing the outline of a firm arse, was enough to stop me dead in my tracks.
The only emotion to spear through me was regret that I hadn’t had the chance to see that arse in all its naked glory the other morning.
That’s because you looked away. You know, because you didn’t want Cameron to catch you perving on him?
“Morning.” Cameron’s tone was as bright as sunlight. “I hope you like your eggs unrecognisable.”
Then I took stock of my kitchen. “Oh my God. Did a hurricane pass through here and somehow I missed it?” There were toast crumbs on the counter. Smears of butter. Drops of orange juice. A spatula covered in scrambled egg. Spots that looked like congealed fat.
I blinked. “What did you do?”
“Think of it as art,” Cameron said, deadpan. “In breakfast form.”
I arched a brow. “You’ve been here, what, not even a couple of days? And already you’ve redefined the word chaos.”
“Thank you.” Cameron grinned, sliding a plate towards me. “It’s a gift. And didn’t someone looking suspiciously like you say that a little chaos now and then was a good thing?”
“Then I guess you can have too much of a good thing,” I ground out. I glanced at the plate, and whatever else I’d been about to say died in my throat.
Cameron had done scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, grilled tomatoes, and toast.
“Wow. When you make breakfast, you really go all out, don’t you?” I picked up a fork and tried the eggs. Okay, they were overdone, but I wasn’t going to complain, not when Cameron had gone to so much effort. “Thank you.” To say anything else would have been churlish.
Cameron smiled. “Now eat it before it gets cold and the eggs solidify even more.”
We sat on the couch together, our plates balanced on cushions.
“Maybe I need to invest in a dining table,” I muttered between bites. “Nothing huge, perhaps one of those that opens out. Something big enough for two.”
“Well, you tested the sofa bed for guests, so let’s assume you finally bring a guy home. You can’t expect him to eat off his knees. Not exactly romantic, is it?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him romance was the last thing on my mind. Instead, I went back to eating my breakfast.
“Is this the moment when I tell you I’m far better at cooking pasta and sauces than I am at making breakfast?” Cameron murmured.
I let my mouth fall open. “I would never have guessed.”
Cameron narrowed his gaze. “And now you’re mocking me.” Then he laughed. “Not that I blame you.” He glanced toward the counters. “I have some clearing up to do before I grab my shower.”
“We’ll clear up,” I told him.
Cameron started to smile but it faltered halfway. “You’re saying that because you don’t think I can clear up as well as you can.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
Busted.
The laughter had loosened something tight in my chest. This was the kind of easy, ordinary conversation I hadn’t realised I’d missed.
We talked about nothing: Cameron’s classes, the neighbour’s cat that had adopted the front step, and the guy who’d got on my train, drunk as a skunk, and serenaded all the passengers with a tortured rendition of ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’ until people started giving him money just to make him stop.
Cameron commented that as a marketing ploy, it was ingenious.
The banter was effortless, the kind of gentle teasing that made the flat—and myself—feel alive. I was even relaxed enough to smile.
“You know, this is almost peaceful.”
“Don’t jinx it.” Cameron stood, gesturing for my plate. “You working here today?”
“Trying to.” I grimaced. “Once the kitchen is back to its usual state.”
Except the mess had been worth it to grasp those minutes of laughter and calm.
Cameron
Monday brought classes. It also brought a complication.
I was having difficulty focusing.
It was bad enough that I was aware of it. What made it worse? My tutor, Nora, noticed it too, enough to warrant a dry comment about lack of concentration resulting in mediocre results. Then she’d studied me for a moment.
‘This isn’t like you.’
Yeah, I knew that.
I also knew the cause of my inability to focus was probably knee deep in code at that moment, oblivious to the effect he was having on me.
I’ve been living there three days and look at me. I’m a mess.
Surviving my brief stay with Theo might be more of a challenge than I’d anticipated.
Except I don’t want it to be brief.
I knew it couldn’t last. Having someone sleeping on his couch for more than a couple of weeks? Theo couldn’t put up with that. It wasn’t neat and tidy. It didn’t fit in with his orderly view of the world.
Everything can’t come down to creating order out of chaos.
I’d made one important decision, however. Playing with my hand would only happen when Theo wasn’t breathing the same air. Because the atmosphere the next day had been…
Tortured. Awkward. Painful.
Theo
I wasn’t supposed to be this distracted.
I sat at my desk, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard, the half-written line of code refusing to resolve into anything logical. The flat was quiet except for the soft rustling of charcoal on paper—Cameron sketching on the sofa, one leg tucked under him, music humming low from his phone.
I strained to hear the melody. “Is that Hozier?”
“Yeah. It’s a track called ‘Almost.’” He didn’t look up from his sketchpad.
I liked it. The calm music seemed to fit him.
It should have been a peaceful evening, but every so often, something tugged at the edge of my focus. Not the music, but a laugh. A breath. A shift of weight on the cushions. The awareness was constant, intrusive, and impossible to ignore.
I breathed in. Breathed out.
Focus, Theo. Work.
Cameron cleared his throat. “Do you ever stop working?”
I glanced up. “Sometimes.”
“When? Christmas?”
My lips twitched. “You’re mocking me again.”
“Only because it’s easy.” Cameron flipped the page, charcoal dusting his fingers. “You know, for a guy who spends all day dealing with machines, you make a mean Bolognese.”
I shrugged. “Machines are predictable. Cooking’s just chemistry with edible outcomes.”
Cameron chuckled. “That’s so you.” He yawned. “Break?” he asked, stretching his arms overhead. His shirt lifted, exposing a strip of warm skin above the waistband of his joggers.
I looked away so sharply I nearly pulled something in my neck.
“I’m fine.” A short sentence that sounded way too abrupt.
Cameron hesitated. “You sure?”
I nodded without looking. “Yes.” Except I was nowhere near sure, but if I admitted that, I’d have to admit why. I heard Cameron rise from the sofa, his footsteps muted against the hardwood. I kept my eyes on the screen even though the characters were blurry.
A hand settled on my shoulder, light, warm, and harmless.
Except it wasn’t harmless at all.
My entire body went rigid, and my pulse spiked, a violent jolt beneath the skin. The bright, ordinary room tilted sharply.
Cameron didn’t notice right away. He gave my shoulder an affectionate squeeze. It was a kind gesture, but all I felt was the memory of fingers closing around my wrist years ago.
Luka’s grip, gentle enough to pretend softness, firm enough to dictate stillness.
“Slow down. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
My throat closed. I couldn’t breathe. My vision tunnelled. The walls seemed to lean inward, too close, too loud. Cameron’s touch burned, not with desire, but with the echo of an old wound tearing open.
“Theo?” Cameron’s voice dipped into concern. He withdrew his hand. “Hey. Are you okay?”
“I—” I stood so quickly the armchair scraped harshly against the floor. I stumbled back, my breath snagging in my chest.
Cameron stepped forward instinctively, and I flinched.
He froze, his hands raised in harmless surrender. “It’s okay. I’m not—I didn’t mean—”
I shook my head, unable to speak, my heart beating too fast, too loud. Panic clawed at me, hot and choking. My lungs refused to cooperate. I pressed a hand to the desk to steady myself.
It didn’t work.
“Don’t—” I managed finally, my voice hoarse. “Please. Just—don’t.”
Cameron’s wide-eyed look of shock, confusion and hurt was as tangible as a blow.
I hate myself.
I forced a breath in, forced my spine straight, forced the panic back into its cage with sheer will.
“I just…” My voice trembled. I hated that too. “I need a minute.”
Cameron nodded slowly, his eyes dark and searching. “Of course. Take whatever you need.”
The gentleness in his tone made my chest seize.
Luka never spoke like that. But then Luka never paused or softened, never asked what I needed, and somehow that made it worse.
Cameron backed away, giving me space. Too much space. The gap between us yawned wide and hollow.
I stood. “I think I’ll go work in my room. I need to concentrate.”
Cameron frowned. “At this time of night? Shouldn’t you be winding down?”
I shrugged. “It isn’t that late. And I have a lot of work on at the moment, so every minute helps.” I forced a smile. “In case I don’t surface again, I’ll say good night now.” I picked up my laptop, my sheaf of papers, and headed for the sanctuary of my room.
The door clicked shut behind me, and I was alone in the quiet. Except my heartbeat wouldn’t slow, and Luka’s ghost wouldn’t leave, repeating that soft, poisonous mantra—
“You’re better when you’re quiet.”
I pressed both hands to my face.
I flinched away from Cameron. And Cameron’s face….
The truth settled like lead in my stomach.
I have to stop living in the past.
But trauma wasn’t a door I could close—it was a crack that kept widening every time I felt something real.