Chapter 9 #2
Then Cameron caught sight of him, and his eyes widened in shock. A moment later, however, he grinned, as if he had no idea of the storm he’d just walked into. “Hey, Theo.” He touched the arm of the guy he was talking to, said something in a low voice, then came toward their table.
Theo’s throat tightened. His pulse quickened.
This was not on the schedule.
Cameron Walters wasn’t supposed to be here, not in Theo’s carefully ordered life.
He was supposed to remain in the past: Gary’s kid brother, the one Theo had once taught to play simple harmonies during choir camp afternoons.
The one he had noticed far too much, back when Cameron was eighteen and Theo was already buried deep under rules and self-control.
Now Cameron leaned against the table with the ease of a man who belonged in his skin, his laughter sliding as smooth as whisky over ice. Theo’s body remembered before his mind allowed permission.
No. Absolutely not. He’s Gary’s brother. He’s off-limits.
A heartbeat later….
He’s dangerous.
Theo tried to drag his gaze back to Max, to Sebastian with his haunted eyes, to Julian making a scene.
Group dynamics. That’s what matters. Balance, commitment. Not—
“Small world, huh?” Cameron’s grin was cocky and warm all at once. “I didn’t expect to find you in a place like this.”
Theo’s throat was dry. “You shouldn’t be here.” The words were out before he could rein them in.
Cameron tilted his head, clearly amused. “Why not?”
Because I’ll ruin you.
Because Gary would slit my throat.
Out loud, Theo clipped, “It’s not exactly your scene.”
Cameron’s smile turned a shade softer. “Maybe it is. Maybe you just don’t know me yet.”
Theo’s chest tightened. His rules—his whole system of order—shook under the weight of that look.
“My round,” Oliver announced. “Just to prove firefighters are not poor as church mice.” He glanced at Cameron. “Why don’t you join us? Seeing as you’re a friend of Theo’s.”
Theo clenched his jaw.
When everyone had given their orders, Cameron and Oliver headed for the bar, and Theo breathed a little easier. He tried to catalogue voices, energy, anything but the way Cameron’s laughter still thrummed in his chest. He scribbled something meaningless in his notebook just to ground himself.
“You’re twitchier than usual,” Max murmured from across the table.
Theo didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”
Max’s chuckle was infuriating. “You only say fine when you’re two seconds from combusting.”
Theo kept his tone flat, his face rigid. “Drop it.”
Then Max leaned in, his leather creaking, his voice pitched for Theo’s ears alone. “That boy walks in here and suddenly you forget how to breathe. Who is he?”
Theo’s pen stilled. He didn’t want to answer, but Max had already seen too much. He always did. “Gary’s brother, Cameron,” Theo said curtly.
“Gary Walters? You two still friends?”
He nodded.
A pause, then a sharp grin in Max’s voice. “Ah. Now I get it. Forbidden fruit.”
Theo’s jaw clenched even tighter. “He’s not fruit. He’s… irrelevant.”
“Mm-hm.” Max leaned back, sipping his beer, his eyes still glittering with that unbearable knowing expression. “If you say so.”
Theo forced his gaze back to the others. Sebastian was telling a dry joke, and Julian was laughing too loud, Liam looking between them as though he saw more than he let on.
Everything normal. Manageable. Ordered.
Then Cameron’s voice rose above the noise, warm, playful, threaded with something adult Theo had no business noticing, and every system Theo relied on felt one error away from collapse.
Max, damn him, was still watching.
Cameron came back from the bar with Oliver, balancing three pints and an easy grin.
Instead of taking the spare chair at the end, he slipped into the gap between Sebastian and Julian as if he’d been there all along.
Within seconds he had Julian laughing too loud again and Liam leaning forward, his eyes wide, soaking up the warmth of Cameron’s presence.
Theo gripped his pen. Ink smudged across the margin of his notebook, but he didn’t move.
Cameron didn’t spare Theo a glance. Not one.
Instead, he leaned toward Sebastian, asking about songwriting, his tone warm enough to pull a half-smile from the quietest man at the table. He teased Julian about his glitter eyeliner, and Julian preened. He even coaxed Milo—Milo, of all people—into a dry back-and-forth about rock chord changes.
Theo sat frozen, his pen hovering, useless, above the page. His notes devolved into scratches, meaningless loops. He told himself it was good—better—that Cameron’s attention never strayed in Theo’s direction.
It’s safer that way.
But his gaze kept drifting, inexorably, to the breadth of Cameron’s shoulders, the curve of his grin, his eyes, his long legs under the table. Every flicker of his voice drew Theo like a hook tugging through his ribs.
Max, damn him, had gone quiet too. Watching. Measuring. Theo didn’t need to look to feel the smirk lurking there, the I see you gleam waiting to pounce.
Theo adjusted his posture, crossing and uncrossing his arms, trying to focus on the chaos of overlapping voices. But Cameron’s laugh cut through it every time, warm, playful, full-bodied in a way that belonged to a man who knew exactly what effect he was having.
Theo couldn’t look away. He couldn’t stop cataloguing every note of him, like some unwanted melody building in the back of his mind.
This is wrong. Unprofessional. Dangerous.
It was then that Theo realised he wasn’t listening to the group as a whole. He was listening for one voice.
And that, more than anything, terrified him.
“It was great meeting all of you,” Cameron announced. A chorus of agreement rippled around the table. Then Cameron leaned in close enough to be heard over the music. “Still all rules and routines, Theo? Or do you ever let yourself break curfew?”
Theo smirked thinly. “Someone has to keep order.”
“That someone doesn’t have to be you all the time,” Cameron countered, his eyes gleaming. “You’d look good out of order.”
Theo didn’t let the heat in his chest show. “Enjoy your night, Cameron.”
“Always do,” he said easily, then straightened. A moment later he’d vanished into the press of bodies.
Theo sat frozen for a moment, his jaw locked, his pulse skittering. The prospect of moving to London had seemed like a good idea, an exercise in logistics.
But if Cameron is here….
Now it tasted like danger.
Now Theo wasn’t sure what would happen if their paths should ever cross again.
Max had been right about the couch—it was pretty comfortable. He’d found Theo a couple of sheets, a pillow, and a blanket, then made him a cup of decaf tea before bed.
“Is there anything else you need?” Max leaned in the doorway with his mug.
“I’m good.”
Max chuckled. “You’re going to have trouble switching your brain off, aren’t you?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?” He’d hardly said a word on the way back from the bar.
“You’ve been chewing the same thought for an hour. I’d ask what, but I think it’s more a case of who.”
Theo flashed him a warning glance. “Drop it.”
Max smirked. “Can’t. His laugh put a dent in your control. That dark, wavy hair, those broad shoulders, those stunning eyes…”
“I said drop it,” Theo snapped, sharper than he meant.
“Ah.” Max’s grin widened. “Static explained.”
Theo forced his gaze back to mug of steaming tea. “Static fades.”
“Sometimes it does,” Max said, heading for bed. Then he called back, “And sometimes it just builds.”
Theo lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling.
Structure is supposed to protect you. So are systems, order, distance.
Tonight had reminded him of something vital. Sparks didn’t ask for permission—they landed, they smouldered.
And Cameron was a spark with way too much history.
Theo closed his eyes, trying to pin his thoughts into silence.
I agreed to form this group because I needed control.
But maybe what he really needed was a place to let go.
As he drifted toward uneasy sleep, one thought hovered close by, sharp as glass:
What if Cameron doesn’t stay on the periphery?