19. Family Saving Throw
Chapter nineteen
Family Saving Throw
Ronan
There are significantly worse things to be thinking about on Christmas Eve than what is underneath Cami’s sweater.
Unfortunately, knowing that doesn’t make the thought go away.
The sweater is cream-colored and soft-looking, with a neckline high enough to cover the faint marks I know are still visible near her collarbone. There are more underneath it, and since I am responsible for putting every one of them there, I know exactly where they are.
I also know that if I let myself continue down that particular mental path, I will arrive at my parents’ house with an entirely different problem than the one currently making my stomach hurt.
Cami catches me looking, and the slow curve of her mouth tells me she knows precisely what I’m thinking.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“I didn’t say anything.”
Micah meets my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Do I want to know?”
“No,” I answer at exactly the same time Cami says, “Yes.”
His eyes move between us in the rearview mirror, then he follows my gaze to someplace below her neck, and understanding settles into his expression.
“Micah.”
He laughs quietly. “I didn’t say anything either.”
Cami slides her fingers along my forearm where it rests on the center console, slow and deliberate enough that I can track the movement from the first point of contact.
She has become exceptionally good at that in a short amount of time.
The contact sends my thoughts directly back to the place I just ordered them not to go.
We’ve spent considerably more time in the basement recently.
Not always for hours and not always with elaborate plans, but often enough that I have learned the difference between the sounds Cami makes when she’s trying very hard to obey me and the ones she makes when she has stopped remembering there are rules at all.
She no longer looks at the table with nervous curiosity, either.
Now she looks at it with an anticipation that makes planning anything for her significantly more enjoyable.
Last night, while I was putting away restraints after one of those sessions, she asked when Micah was going to join us.
I told her eventually.
The answer was accurate, but it has become profoundly unhelpful now that the person in question is sitting three feet away from me.
Micah’s eyes meet mine again, and I deliberately return my full attention to the road.
Christmas brunch. My parents. My family.
Ben.
That line of thought is considerably more effective at addressing the erection problem.
Mostly.
Cami’s fingers tighten gently around my forearm, and because she knows me too well now, I know she recognizes exactly what changed.
“You okay?” she asks.
“I'm fine.”
She waits without saying anything else.
I sigh. “No. But I will be.”
“Better answer.”
“Micah is rubbing off on you.”
“Micah rubs off on lots of—”
“Cameron.”
Her laugh breaks through some of the pressure gathering in my chest, and Micah groans from the back seat.
I can’t help the smile as I say, “I hate both of you.”
It’s almost enough to make the drive feel normal.
Then my parents’ house comes into view, and Cami goes quiet beside me.
The change isn’t dramatic. Her hand simply stops moving on my arm, but I feel it.
The last time she was here, she left alone in my car after my brother backed her against the refrigerator in the garage and put his hands on her.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel before I consciously tell it not to.
Preparation helps. It does not give you advantage on walking back into a place where someone you love was hurt.
My brain immediately offers the scene again—Ben’s hand around her arm, the expression on her face when I found them, all the places where I should have noticed something sooner.
I stop the loop before it gains momentum.
The facts do not change because I replay them. I cannot retroactively make myself walk into that garage one minute earlier, and I cannot construct some alternate version of the afternoon where Ben made different choices.
What I can control is what happens now.
Cami is here.
Ben is not.
And he will not be anywhere near her while she is here.
Micah reaches one arm over the console, palm up. He doesn’t say anything, and after a moment, Cami threads her fingers through his.
The tension across her shoulders eases enough that I can see it.
I park in the driveway, and we all take a collective breath.
My mother opens the front door before we have a chance to knock and immediately wraps her arms around me.
The instant contact is unexpected, but after three decades my nervous system has had more than enough practice at categorizing Norma affection. I hug her back without needing to think much about it.
“Merry Christmas,” she says against my shoulder before releasing me.
“Merry Christmas, Mom.”
Her attention shifts toward Cami, and there is a split second of hesitation before she moves.
It isn’t reluctance.
She’s waiting.
She’s giving Cami a choice.
She wants to hug Cami, but she’s making sure Cami wants to be hugged first.
That distinction matters enough that I feel some of the tension in my chest ease.
Cami closes the distance herself and wraps both arms around her.
“I’m so glad you’re here, sweetheart.”
“Thank you for having us.” Cami’s voice is quieter than normal.
My father appears behind her and shakes Micah’s hand before pulling me into a one-armed hug. Margot comes from the kitchen a few seconds later and, thankfully, makes considerably less ceremony out of greeting any of us.
She hugs Cami first. “Hi.” That’s all she says.
There is no meaningful expression, no apology, and no careful question about whether Cami is okay. Margot simply greets her the way she would have before any of this happened.
Cami visibly relaxes. “Hi.”
“I brought emotional support mimosas,” Margot finally says.
I look at her. “That implies brunch requires emotional support.”
She returns my stare without blinking. “Does it not?”
Fair.
We follow everyone farther into the house, and the first thing I notice is not who is here, but who isn’t.
There is no Mike. No kids. No Sarah or Theo. No Tori or her girls.
No Ben.
Just Mom, Dad, Margot, and the three of us.
I knew this wasn’t the full family Christmas gathering. My mother told me when she invited us that they were doing their usual dinner tonight, and I knew this brunch had been arranged because Cami and I would not attend anything where Ben was present.
Knowing that intellectually and walking into an edited version of my family are different experiences.
My mother has made too much food, because apparently even a fraction of the usual guest list requires enough breakfast to feed a minor military operation. There are cinnamon rolls, eggs, bacon, fruit, some kind of baked French toast, and enough coffee to medically concern Griffin if he were here.
Christmas music plays from speakers in the living room. The tree lights blink in an inconsistent pattern that I dislike almost immediately, and a cinnamon candle is burning even though there is already enough actual cinnamon in the room to make the artificial version unnecessary.
The smells of bacon, coffee, cinnamon, and something else Mom has baking in the oven overlap heavily.
None of those things are individually a problem.
Micah pulls a chair out for Cami at the table and takes the seat beside her without discussing it. I sit across from them, relieved that he understood exactly what I needed him to do.
If I spend the entire morning monitoring Cami, I will not be able to deal honestly with whatever comes up with my family. Micah knows that. More importantly, Cami knows it too.
Her hand moves beneath the table. Micah glances down, and his mouth softens slightly before he looks at her.
She’s grounding herself against him.
Good.
That means I can focus elsewhere without wondering if I’m neglecting her.
“Is anyone else coming?” Cami asks gently after Mom starts pouring coffee.
My mother hesitates just long enough that my stomach tightens.
“Mike took the kids to his parents’ this morning,” Margot answers first. “They’ll meet me back here later.”
“Sarah and Theo are coming for dinner,” Mom adds.
Cami nods.
I set my coffee mug down. “And Ben?”
Dad’s eyes move to me.
Mom’s shoulders lower. “He’ll be here tonight, too.”
There is nothing surprising about the answer. I already knew he was going to be here.
It still pisses me off.
I look around the table again, taking in Mom, Dad, Margot, then Cami, and Micah.
“You’re having the actual family Christmas dinner tonight.”
Mom nods carefully. “Yes.”
“And this is our Christmas.”
“Ronan—”
“No, I’m just clarifying.”
Margot leans back in her chair, apparently deciding to stay out of it for now.
My mother sets the coffee pot down. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
I believe her. That’s part of what makes this more difficult.
“I said Cami and I would not attend family events where Ben was present,” I remind her. “I didn’t say we wanted to be separated from the rest of the family.”
“You aren’t being separated.”
My jaw tightens.
Dad speaks before I can respond. “Son, your mother is trying to make sure she gets to see all of her children for Christmas.”
“I understand what she’s trying to do.”
Mom’s eyes are already starting to shine with tears.
I hate that.
I hate making my mother cry, and I hate even more that some old, deeply trained part of my brain immediately interprets her tears as evidence that I have done something wrong.
I haven’t, and I know that.
Two things are capable of being true at the same time. My mother can be genuinely hurt by this situation, and I can still be right about the boundary I set.
“I wanted you here,” she says quietly. “I wanted Cami here. I wanted Micah here, too. But I also wanted your brother and his family here.”
“I understand.”
“I didn’t know how to do both.”
I hold her gaze. “So you moved us.”
She flinches.
Across the table, Cami’s eyes find mine, while Micah stays very still beside her.
Mom shakes her head. “That’s not how I meant it.”
“I know it’s not.”