31. Cam
thirty-one
Cam
F uck.
I throw my phone at the mattress so hard it bounces off the surface of the bed sheets and lands on the floor beside the bed. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
She doesn’t want me. She doesn’t want this. Us.
I thought I’d felt heartbreak before. I thought my heart had broken at sixteen when I saw Cathy Torres kissing Landon Jacobs after agreeing to be my date to Homecoming. I thought I’d felt it at twenty when I failed a checkride and convinced myself I’d never be a pilot.
I thought I felt it when Romany Gill told me she couldn’t handle me being away so much, and she ended our seven-month relationship three days after I told her I was in love with her.
But nothing— nothing —compares to the way this hurts in my chest, in my stomach, in every single bone of my body. Nothing has ever hurt this much.
I meant it when I told her there’d been no one else. That she’d ruined me that night in Singapore. Since then, all I’ve seen when I close my eyes is her. And now, I see the two of us. And Maisy, too.
At least, I did.
I thought she wanted me too. I’ve never known elation like the way I felt when she opened for me, showed me how turned on she was just at the idea that I wanted her. I’ve never felt such an uncontrollable rush. And when she fell apart for me, yelling my name, that was my undoing.
Maybe we undid too much.
Fuck, I’ve loved her for so long, I can’t even remember a time when I didn’t. Maybe it’s foolish to believe I fell in love at first sight, but something tugged in my chest the moment I saw her, even in profile. Something drew me in, had me enraptured and enchanted, ready to fall. And the more I learned about her, the more determined I was to give her everything.
Waking up alone hurt. I knew we’d had something very real, and the scent of her perfume lingered on my skin, seeping from my pores as I worked hard in the gym, berating myself more with each treadmill mile for not getting her number, or even her last name.
I’ve wanted her ever since. Not just in a biblical, primal sense, although it’s always been her name on my lips with my cock in my fist. But the way it felt to talk to her, to learn about her, to just be in her orbit—it’s a feeling I’ve missed for four years, and it’s something I finally got back in Santiago. And it’s something that grew immeasurably, exponentially with every passing day, every bedtime story, every nighttime chat. Every smile, every brush of our hands.
I let myself believe just for a moment that she wanted me too, and in showing her my cards, I gave her the key to total my heart and crash it right off a fucking cliff.
“How’d you do it, man? How’d you know?” My arm wavers as I hold the phone above my face, my other arm slung across my eyes. The eyes that burned from lying awake all night, tossing and turning and replaying every second of the last three months in my mind. The eyes that were heavy and bloodshot when I stared at my reflection in the mirror this morning.
“How’d I know what? Jake, stop running in the house. What’s going on, dude? You look like lukewarm shit.” Gray pauses mid-conversation to chastise his youngest son, before turning back to me.
“Lina. How did you know you were ready to settle down?”
“One look at those baby blues and I was fucked, man.” The motherfucker offers a cheesy, shit-eating grin, and I groan into my arm. Of course it was that fucking easy for him. “You think you’re finally ready?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like, I’ve never been there before…”
“Yeah, why is that?”
“ You know, Gray,” I say pointedly.
“Don’t be telling me it’s because of your dad, because I got a text from Carla yesterday and it sounds like Alan is healthier than you and I put together.”
“Why is my mom texting you?” I scrunch my face in confusion. It’s not Gray’s birthday, or Lina’s, or either of their boys’.
“Because even Mama Whitehouse can’t resist Graham Gavin. Back to you, Camden. ” He puts extra emphasis on my full name. “What bullshit excuse are you gonna give me this time for your lifelong phobia of commitment?”
I groan and drag myself into a sitting position, settling back against the pillows. “This job—lifestyle—I’m never home. It hardly lends itself to settling down. ”
“And mine does?” Gray asks with a raised eyebrow. “I’m at the mercy of Uncle Sam here, man. But if Lina’s taught me one thing in the last seventeen years, it’s that you can’t wait until the perfect time. There’s never a perfect time. I could get sent to fuck knows where and shot at tomorrow. Look what just happened, man. I know it’s too soon, but you gotta hear it. Your plane could go down. Amie’s plane could go down. There’s no perfect time, Cam, there’s just the time you have.”
“Fuck, why you gotta be so profound?” I drag a hand down my face. I haven’t shaved for four days, and my face itches, although I’m not so sure it’s just from hair growth.
“One of us has to be the smart one, and it sure as shit ain’t you.” Gray chuckles at his insult, then immediately sobers. “What’s really going on, man?”
“We broke up.” I shift my eyes to the tiny screen to see Gray’s reaction. His jaw ticks, and his lips twitch just the tiniest bit.
“’Broke up’ implies you were together to begin with.”
“We weren’t… not together. I mean, we weren’t. But now we’re… really not.”
"Can't break up if you're not together." He raises an eyebrow.
“I’ll spare you the sordid details.”
“Please,” he sighs and clears his throat before launching into one of his should-be-patented pep talks. "What did you do this time?"
"What makes you so convinced I did something?"
"Cam, my guy, I've known you since we were six years old."
"Fuck you, Gavin."
“You wish, Whitehouse. Look. For what it’s worth, she’s good for you. If you want her, fight for her. You’ve got a fucking kid with her, man. Together or not, you’re bound to her for the rest of your life. Fight, or let her go. Either way, you gotta get out of your own fucking way.” He turns his head away from the phone. “Jacob, stop running . Man, I gotta go. Good luck when Maisy turns six, I’m pretty sure that’s when they become actual spawns of Satan.”
He hangs up, and my ears ring loudly in the silence of the room.
Cam
fuck amie I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you
should I still come to New York?
Are you still coming to Phoenix for Christmas? Mom and Dad would love to see you and Maisy.
I toss my phone to the other side of the bed before I can overthink my messages any more. Standing and stretching, I brush my teeth and swap my pyjama pants for swim trunks before grabbing a fluffy towel and padding out of the bedroom, barefoot .
I stayed at my parents’ house last night. I told my mom it was because I missed her cooking and the pool outside, but really, it’s because I couldn’t bare being alone. I couldn’t trust myself.
It’s not that I think I’m a danger to myself. I just don’t trust that I won’t do something dumb, like buy myself a plane ticket and hop on over to London to plead my case. I’m not above begging. Not for Amie.
I cross the pool with long, steady strokes. The pain of Amie’s words was dizzying, and to think of them even now, a full twenty-four hours later, is enough to throw my rhythm. I hit the side of the pool a full second before I expect to, and I grunt as I collide painfully with the tiles.
I twist in the water, shaking out my arms and rotating my aching shoulder, before pushing off again and swimming back in the other direction. I continue swimming mindless lengths for over an hour before Mom starts watching me suspiciously from the kitchen window.
I stop on my way back to reassure her that yes, I’m fine, I just missed having a pool to myself, and yes, I’d love a sandwich for lunch, before I return to the guest room with my towel slung low on my hips and beads of water trailing down my chest. I pick up my phone and hold my breath when I see Amie’s name on the screen.
Amie
Come to NY. There are two beds.
Maisy misses you.
I’m sure we can be grown ups.
we’re looking forward to seeing them too.