SALT (Summer Nights)

6. Cameron

Chapter 6

Cameron

" H ow is it possible I have nothing to wear!" I screech as I storm out of my walk-in closet and head toward my bed, shooting Mac a text.

Cameron: You said it's just the family, right?

I blow out a breath and hope she's by her phone. Dinner is at 4 pm which means I'm supposed to be there in fifteen minutes.

Mac: Yes, Connor is grilling.

Cameron: What are you wearing?

Mac: Wear the black halter top with that black and white printed skirt with the slit up the slide. He likes that one on you.

Cameron: This is why you are my best friend. Tell me this was all a cruel joke, and you're not really leaving for the summer.

Mac: Get dressed and get your ass over here!

I just finished pulling on the skirt Mac said I should wear when there's a light knock on my door.

"It's open."

The door opens slightly. "Are you decent?"

"Yes, Everett. Since when have I ever invited you in while I was naked?" I say with a little added cheekiness, given where things ended last night.

It's seldom that any words affect Everett. He's a lawyer. The man wears a constant look of indifference no matter the situation, but the slight clench in his jaw when he puts his hands in his pockets tells me that mine have, and that's new.

He ignores my impudence. "I was just seeing if you were ready to go."

"You came by to see if I'm ready to go?" I question, trying to understand why he'd stop by my room to ask me at all.

"Yes, I'm leaving for Connor's and…" He rolls his lips and drops his eyes. "You know what, never mind. I'm not even sure why I asked. You're probably going out after dinner."

I haven't ridden in a car with Everett since I was seventeen. Sure, we live in the same house, and we attend the same family functions, but we don't ride together like father and daughter or anything else for that matter. It's why my brain is stumbling now. The lack of sleep I got last night because I stayed up replaying every touch and dissecting every word in the kitchen, trying to piece together where we stand, could very well be getting the best of me now. I know I'm operating on less than sufficient neurons, but I'm pretty sure I'm reading between the lines just fine.

He turns, his hand on the knob when I say, "Were you about to offer me a ride? Because if so, I'll take it."

His head turns slightly toward the sound of my voice, but he doesn't give me his eyes. "Be down in five," he says before exiting my room.

I don't care how out of sorts this man has me. There's no way in hell I'm turning down alone time with Everett Callahan, and a car ride to Connor's guarantees I'll have it twice.

" W hat's it like having a best friend who can read minds? I freaking called it. Greedy and jealous. You realize when the dam breaks, you're in for it. I hope you've been dusting off the cobwebs with toys, at least."

"Oh my god," I can't help but laugh.

She knows I haven't had sex in over a year. I've been irrationally committed to Everett since the night we shared in my tent on my twenty-first birthday. In my mind, the second his hand trailed up my thigh and he pulled me into him, I was his. It doesn't matter that he left the second his conscious thoughts alerted him to what he had done. I feel it in the depths of my soul. In those few fleeting seconds, he knew who I was, and I was exactly what he wanted, what he craved.

"I also think you are reading into the silence on the ride over way too much. This is new territory for both of you. He wants you all to himself. Period. Since we've been over here talking, which has been at least forty-five minutes, he's glanced in this direction at least three times, and we know it's not because he's looking at me. I'm just going to say it because it needs to be said. If you want to have an adult relationship with that man…" Her eyes flick back up to the house where the guys are outside grilling before adding, "Because that's what Everett is, he's a man. He's not a boy; he's not a guy in his twenties who's flip- flopping between partying and commitment. He knows what he likes and what he wants. If you want to take him on, you need to put on your big girl panties and sack up. You rode here in silence. Don't do the same on the way home. Use that pretty little mouth and start asking questions. Tell him what you want. Show him you're not a little girl anymore."

I down the rest of my mojito on that note. "He hasn't exactly given me the chance. Night one, he accused me of throwing the party, and then last night, things started out nice but…" I trail off remembering the last time we shared a tender moment in that same spot.

When he approached me at the sink for a moment, it felt like we were back in the kitchen last Christmas. It's childish and maybe it only serves to show my age—something I can't change—but I couldn't sleep, and I remembered I hadn't made Christmas cookies for the next morning. I realized there were no kids to wake up and Santa wouldn't be coming, but it makes me happy. My dad used to make them with me every year. We'd make the cookies, decorate them, and then pick out the best ones to set out. It's a tradition that hasn't left me. I was washing the mixing bowls while waiting for the cookies to come out when Everett came down and startled me. He asked if the dishwasher had broken, and when I gave him an unamused sidelong glare, he crossed the invisible line again. The one I know exists for both of us. It doesn't matter that I want to break it down. Not only is all of this new territory for both of us, but it's still taboo and forbidden. Everett isn't just an older man. I'm not na?ve. I've always known what a relationship between us would look like to the outside world. How it would be perceived, the rumors that would start; but in my eyes, none of it mattered. It didn't matter as long as, in the end, he was mine.

The time of night and the eve of the day quickly registered, and he realized what I was doing and why. His hand found my upper back, and he apologized. That same hand dropped lower when I gave him no words, and he shut off the water. My face turned toward his, and he said, "Tell me how I can make it right." His thumb slowly stroked over my back. The move was innocent enough, meant to comfort, not incite, but that's exactly what it did when the subtle brush of his thumb caught the hem of my nightshirt and his finger grazed my bare skin. The air seized in my lungs, and my skin instantly pebbled. As he stared at me, his eyes never leaving mine, I saw the heaviness there. The weight of the chemistry that had been building between us since my twenty-first birthday was undeniable, but that night, I saw more. What we shared had been years in the making.

"Cameron, I understand how his words put you on the defense, but I think—" Loud music and a truck pulling down the gravel drive have her words falling short.

"What is Parker doing here?"

"What do you think he's doing here? He is technically Connor's stepbrother now. Wait, did something happen between you guys? You sound upset."

"Come on," I nod toward the house. "I need a refill."

She holds up the bottle of wine she brought when we walked down here for girl time. "I have enough for two more glasses. Spill."

I hand her my glass and bend down to unstrap my heels before pulling up the hem of my skirt and taking a seat on the dock to dip my feet in the water.

"I used him, and now he wants to use me."

"Use you how?" she says as she empties the bottle of wine between our glasses.

"That is indeed the question," I say before looking down and noticing a fly had flown into my glass. "Damn. Come on. I need a new glass," I say as I reluctantly pull my feet out of the water. "This fly is obviously a sign that it's time to pay my dues."

" H ey," Parker says as I load my plate with food.

"Hey," I echo his greeting, attempting to keep things short in hopes that he doesn't want to pull any shit tonight. I swear it's like I can feel Everett's eyes on me, and he's not even in the room. I hate feeling guilty talking to Parker.

"Come sit with me?" he asks, nodding toward the Adirondack chairs circled around the firepit instead of the patio table.

"Sure." The moment we walk out the back door, I feel eyes on me, and not just Everett's. I'm sure Mackenzie is staring as well. We do look somewhat suspect going off to eat by ourselves instead of joining everyone else at the table. I want to ask what his deal is and why we can't just join everyone else, but the question would be pointless, so instead, I ask another burning question: "Where is Moira tonight?"

His brow furrows, and a slight scowl takes over his face at the mere mention of his stepmother's name. Another reason I couldn't just say no when Parker called in his ask. We have too much in common. Moira Michaelson, formerly Moira Callahan, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth too. The fact that Parker and his father, Kipp, are here speaks volumes about the type of man that Everett is. Kipp was one of Everett's closest friends in high school, and they're still friends even after his wife cheated on him, divorced him, and then went on to marry the man she had coveted since high school.

"I don't know. She hasn't been around much lately." I can hear the indignance in his tone. "I don't care to talk about her," he adds before taking a big bite from his burger.

I push the potato salad around my plate. I am hungry. I should eat. The carbs will help sober me up. I've had one too many drinks since we got here, and I need a clear head, even if it's the last thing I currently want. All the anxiety of the past week has been eating away at my sanity.

"Okay, so what do you want to talk about then?"

He shrugs. "Nothing. I just wanted you to sit with me." His eyes lock onto mine, and he says without words this is one of the moments where he's pulling his card. I don't say anything more as I lean back into my seat and take a bite of my food. Sitting I can do.

After finishing my food or what I could stomach considering the roller coaster of mixed emotions I was feeling, I excuse myself to the restroom. Splashing water on my face, I try to get a grip. I'm buzzed, not drunk; I ate enough to keep my head on when all I really want to do is let go. The problem is, letting go is the last thing I can do. If there's any chance of rekindling the spark I know is there between me and Everett, I can't get drunk and act a fool. Doing so would only hurt my chances of proving to him that I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm a grown-ass woman capable of having an adult relationship.

I turn the cold water on and splash my arms in an attempt to find my center and a semblance of clarity. It's easy to see what we want to see when we're crushing on someone. It's normal to overanalyze and obsess over every minute detail… "Completely normal," I finish the thought out loud as I grip the granite sink base and look at myself in the mirror. "Stop being a coward. Everett's back. You've prepared for this moment for months." I pull out my fire engine red lipstick and reapply it with a pop, giving myself a little needed pep in my step.

Exiting the bathroom, I'm just reaching the end of the hallway when I catch a glimpse of Everett heading toward the front door. Is he leaving? Not a day has gone by since he left town that I haven't plotted all the words I'd give him when he got home, and not only have I said nothing, but I've also basically made myself invisible. After he told me to move out, I stayed away, ensuring our paths didn't cross, too scared to watch the future I'd been dreaming up in my heart be ripped away. I've watched enough dreams die to last a lifetime.

Picking up my pace, I hurry toward the front door so I don't miss him before he gets into his car and takes off, leaving me behind again. He's rounding the car when I step out onto the wraparound porch. "You're just going to leave?" I call out after him.

Those molten black eyes flick up to mine, and my heart skips a beat. It's not an uncommon occurrence when it comes to him. It's a reoccurring episode that can't be helped when I know I have his attention.

"It looks like you have a ride," he says dismissively as he drops my gaze and reaches for the door handle.

"I came here with you," I rush out, my voice slightly cracking with the jitters coursing through my veins. I'm not this girl. I'm a confident woman. I mean, for god's sake, I strut around the house in thong bikinis. I know exactly what I'm doing every time I do it. I want him to look. I want him to feel something for me. But teasing a man and growing a pair of balls to go after him currently feel like two very different things.

Pulling open the door, he rests his hand on top of the car. "That didn't mean we would be leaving together," he says.

I take a step down the front stairs. "So you were just going to leave without asking me if I was ready to go?"

His polo is fitted so expertly across his well-defined chest that I can see the measured breath he pulls into his lungs from here before saying, "I ate my dinner. I spoke with my son. You didn't look like you were ready to go, and I am." He pauses, rasps his knuckles on the roof, and adds, "You're a smart girl. I'm sure you didn't come out here for a reminder of the rules, so if–"

I cut him off as I make my way down the remaining steps. "Do you want me to leave with Parker?"

His face is impassive, giving nothing away. His eyes stay locked on mine as I slowly approach the car. "It's probably better that you do."

My heart rate kicks up a notch as a mix of trepidation and anger slowly rises. Was that a passive flirt?

"What does that even mean? God, you're infuriating," I say, my tone holding back zero restraint. The time to be bold and take risks is now. Change doesn't happen staying inside our comfort zones.

He raises a brow and crosses his arms. "What is it that you want me to say, Cameron?"

I roll my eyes and shake my head before meeting his gaze again. "I want you to say no, Cameron. I don't want you to leave with Parker. I want you to get your pretty little ass in the car and leave with me the way I thought you would."

His face stays impassive, and for a moment, I believe I've read everything wrong and all I am is an inconvenience. The burden left to his care once my father died, but just as my insecurity is about to snuff out all of my false bravado, there's a tick in his jaw. It's so small, had I blinked, I would have missed it; part of me still questions if it was ever really there at all. But then he says, "Get in the car, Cameron."

Without another word, he gets in, and I follow as my heart threatens to explode. His lips said, "Get in the car," but my mind heard, "I don't want you leaving with Parker."

I took a risk. I earned my reward. There's no way I'm not getting in that car.

Of course, I get in, and once again, we're drenched in silence just as we were on the drive over to Connor's. It doesn't help that, sitting in his car, I'm surrounded by the deep, warm, woodsy notes of his scent. He's always smelled so earthy to me, like the salt from the sea and the musk of the woods. It's comforting, and right now, it's too allaying. I can't stay in the confines of my comfort.

"Why did you leave?" I risk looking at him instead of at the nothingness that exists outside of my window.

"Excuse me?" he questions, somewhat confoundedly.

"After Con's wedding, you left. Out of nowhere, without a word, you just left."

His brow slightly creases as he keeps his focus out on the road. "I've been in Boston. That's hardly leaving, Cameron."

I pause, taking a second to consider my next words because they can't be taken back once they're out.

"You know what I mean, Everett." It's subtle, but an accusation all the same, and no one likes to be called out. Now the question is, will he own it? He's quiet, but the way his left hand grips the steering wheel more firmly is an answer, even if he chooses not to use his words. That grip tells me two things. I do affect him, and my heart flutters from the small victory, but it also tells me whatever words he chooses will be more of the same, a web of truth tangled in spin. As the silence stretches, my hurt morphs. It's no longer about where he and I stand. It's deeper than that. He left. "You left, Everett. You left me all alone in an empty house."

I don't say any more. I can't. If I do, I might break. He knows what I'm saying. I have no family. I have an aunt I barely know and a brother who may as well be a stranger. I haven't seen him since I watched my parents' caskets get lowered into the ground. I just don't care. I stopped caring about the people who don't lose sleep over me a long time ago. I had to so that I could stop dwelling on the things I couldn't change. It's the only way I could give myself a shot at shaping my future into what I wanted. So here I am, an orphan of sorts, and he just leaves.

His eyes briefly flick to mine, only to return to the road just as quick when he sees the sadness. "Sometimes an empty house is better than living with the depravity that existed when it was full."

I'm sick of the mind games. I know it's intentional. It's his way of giving me truths, saying all the things he wants to say, things that take weight off his chest but leave me hanging by a thread until he gives me another morsel. His words just now are a truth. The question is who is he referencing. Is he referring to the memories of a failed marriage that haunt the halls, or is it the thoughts of doing wicked things with me that torment him? This is where I would usually give up, telling myself he's not ready but finding contentment with the small gain. In this case, the car ride, but I can't bite my tongue. Not when he's been gone for months, and whatever words and stolen touches I'd normally have saved up in a love jar are depleted, used up, and left void as his absence spoke louder than any small advance.

"Does that mean you left because of me?"

I know he feels my eyes pinned to the side of his face. I know I'm making him anxious, and if history has taught me anything, it's that he doesn't like to be pushed, but that's also why I was careful with my wording. My question was innocent enough. I can spin it to mean something else if I find myself in a situation I need to backpedal out of. However, I don't know that I would because the buzz of electricity I feel now is too intoxicating. Pushing his buttons this way, playing his game and using his own words against him is much more satisfying than taunting him by hanging all over another man ever was.

"Why I left does not matter."

"It does matter if it's because of me, Everett I?—"

"Whatever you were going to say, don't." His tone is sharp. "Wherever your thoughts are leading you, stop. There's no point in pursuing them. It will never happen, Cameron."

Well, that answered one question. I was right. The depravity that haunts him is me.

"Why do you journal?"

He does a double take my way before turning his attention back to the road. I love knowing I'm now fucking with him the way he so easily messes with my head. He was so sure he knew what I was getting at when he delivered those stern words, and now he's wondering if he didn't just give up something I wasn't asking for at all.

Letting out an exasperated breath, he says, "There are many reasons, but mainly to let things go. It's a form of therapy."

Hook, line, and sinker. He not only took the bait but walked right into my next line. "Maybe I'm something you need to get out of your system."