Chapter 21
Cameron has been on edge since the dinner party, and tonight it’s worse than ever.
I sit on the couch, watching him do his thing from across the living room floor.
The sharp flick of his lighter cuts through the silence, followed by another inhale, another exhale.
Smoke curls around him like a storm cloud he can’t escape.
He doesn’t drink—I sort of figured that out. But the cigarettes… he only smokes like this when he’s cracking under pressure. And right now, he’s tearing through one after another as if the nicotine is the only thing holding him together.
“Cam,” I say quietly.
He ignores me, eyes fixed on some invisible point on the floor. His jaw is tight, movements rigid, almost like he’s vibrating with nerves.
“That’s your fifth one in less than ten minutes,” I point out. My voice is calm, but inside I’m unsettled.
“So?” he asks like it’s not a strange habit.
“So…what’s going on? What’s with all the cigarettes?”
“It’s all I’ve got,” he mutters, voice low, rough.
I push up from the couch and cross the room, standing right in his path. He stops but barely glances at me. “That’s crap and you know it,” I shoot back. “You only smoke like this when something’s eating you alive. And it started after that dinner party.”
He exhales smoke through his nose, almost laughing, but it’s humorless. “Drop it, Brie.”
Cameron lights another cigarette, the flame flickering across his face before the smoke swallows it. He drags in a deep inhale, holding it like he’s trying to burn whatever’s eating him alive from the inside out. The other one isn’t completely finished yet, but it seems he’s done with it.
I fold my arms, grounding myself because watching him self-destruct is unbearable. “You keep doing that, and you’re going to choke yourself before you ever deal with what’s actually wrong.”
He exhales, a sharp stream of smoke aimed anywhere but at me. “Brie, I said drop it.”
“No.” My voice is steady, but my heart is racing. “You’ve been tense since that party. You barely sleep. You don’t eat unless I shove a plate in front of you. And now you’ve turned into a walking chimney. I’m not stupid, Cameron. Something happened. What the hell happened?”
His jaw ticks. His hand trembles just slightly when he goes to tap ash into the tray, and I notice it, even if he pretends he doesn’t.
“I’m fine,” he mutters, voice clipped.
“Bullshit.” I step closer, close enough that the smoke curls between us, stinging my eyes but I don’t move. “You’re lying through your teeth, and you’re bad at it. So stop trying.”
His eyes flash, sharp and irritated. “Why do you always have to push?”
“Because you won’t let me in unless I do!
” My voice rises, breaking through the thickness of the smoke.
“You keep building walls and pretending you’re invincible, but you’re not.
I can see you falling apart right in front of me.
And I can’t just sit here and watch you self-destruct without even knowing why. ”
He grips the edge of the counter, knuckles white, cigarette dangling dangerously close to burning his fingers.
“You wouldn’t get it,” he says, but his voice is quieter now. Rougher.
I take another step, now so close that I could reach out and touch him if I dared. “Then explain it to me. Make me understand. Because the way you’re acting—it’s scaring me, Cameron. And I don’t scare easily.”
His head turns sharply toward me, and for the first time in days, I see the storm in his eyes. It’s not just anger. It’s fear.
He swallows, throat bobbing, but his lips stay sealed.
“Talk to me,” I plead, softer now, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Please. Don’t shut me out.”
“Why do you care? It’s not your problem,” he says, closing his eyes.
“You’re my husband,” I swallow, “fake or not, we’re stuck together, and I cannot watch you ruin your life like this.”
For a moment, he just stares at me, chest rising and falling too quickly. The cigarette burns down to the filter, and he curses under his breath, crushing it out.
When he finally speaks, his voice is raw, jagged, like it’s being dragged out of him against his will. “Something’s going to happen, Brie. I don’t know when, or how bad it’s gonna hit, but I can feel it breathing down my neck. And I can’t… I can’t stop it.”
The words hang between us, thick and heavy. My chest tightens, but instead of fear, all I feel is relief—relief that he’s finally letting me see the cracks.
I reach for him, my hand brushing his arm. “Then let me carry some of it with you.”
His laugh is low, broken, bitter. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
I meet his eyes, steady and unflinching. “I know exactly what I’m asking. I want the truth. I want you. All of you. Even the parts that scare you.”
Something shifts in his gaze then like the dam he’s been holding back is one second from breaking.
His laugh dies too quickly, leaving silence behind. His shoulders are tense, muscles coiled like he’s ready for a fight he doesn’t want to admit is coming.
“I’m just worried.”
“Worried?” I push gently, my hand still resting on his arm. “About what?”
He shakes his head, dragging a hand through his hair like the motion might shake the thoughts loose.
“I don’t know. That’s the problem.” He exhales hard, leaning against the counter like it’s the only thing holding him up.
“Even before that damn event, I’ve had this…
itch. This feeling like something’s off.
Like something’s about to go wrong and I can’t see it yet.
And I hate it. I hate not being able to control it. ”
The confession makes my stomach twist. Not because he’s saying something specific, but because Cameron never admits to uncertainty. From the little I know, he seems to thrive on control, on being three steps ahead. For him to stand here and admit this? That rattles me more than anything.
I bite my lip, considering him. “So instead of talking about it, you chain-smoke and try to burn a hole in your lungs?”
His glare flicks toward me, sharp. “It helps me think.”
“No, it helps you hide.” My voice rises without my permission. “Don’t twist it, Cameron. You’re not working through anything. You’re burying it, and hoping I won’t notice. But I do notice. I notice everything.”
He goes still, eyes narrowing as if I’ve just crossed some invisible line. His silence presses on me, daring me to back down.
But I don’t. I take another step closer until my chest nearly brushes his. “You think keeping me in the dark is protecting you or me? It’s not. It’s pushing me away.”
His jaw clenches so tight I can practically hear his teeth grinding. “Damn it, Brie, you don’t get it!”
“Then make me get it!” I snap, my voice breaking with the frustration I’ve been holding in.
“Stop assuming I can’t handle it. Stop deciding for me what I can and can’t know.
I’m not fragile, Cameron. And I’m not just some accessory to your life.
I’m in this, whether you like it or not.
It concerns me just as much as it concerns you, don’t you get it? ”
For a long moment, he just stares at me, breathing hard. His chest rises and falls like he’s holding back words—or maybe like he’s holding back the urge to scream.
Then, finally, his voice drops to a low rasp. “There’s been incidents…it’s subtle but it’s there…present enough to keep me rattled and second guessing myself and I am worried that this…whatever this is, would affect––I don’t know––but I can’t stop it.”
His words sink into me, heavy and unnerving, but also clarifying. I soften, just slightly.
“And you think carrying all that weight alone makes you stronger?”
He looks away, muttering, “It’s the only way I know.”
I tilt my head, forcing his eyes back to mine. “Then maybe it’s time you learn a different way.”
His jaw ticks, and for a moment I think he’s going to argue again, maybe shout, maybe throw something. But instead, his lips twist into something dark, dangerous and kind of hot.
“Or maybe…” he mutters, his voice low, raw. His eyes blaze into mine. “…maybe I should just do this.”
And before I can breathe, his mouth crashes against mine—violent, desperate, all teeth and heat. It steals the air from my lungs, steals the ground from beneath me.
I gasp into him, but he swallows the sound, his hands gripping my waist so tightly I know I’ll bruise tomorrow.
My back slams into the wall, the sharp bite of plaster against my spine making me moan. His tongue pushes past my lips, claiming, punishing, needing. I clutch his shirt, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. The latter wins.
“Cameron—” I manage between kisses, but he cuts me off, grinding his body against mine so hard my knees nearly buckle.
“Don’t talk,” he growls, his voice rough like gravel. “Just feel…please.”
His hands roam with no patience, shoving my shirt up, dragging his fingers over my skin like he’s trying to memorize me and erase me all at once.
It’s rough, reckless, like he’s pouring every ounce of his fear into the press of his body against mine.
My pulse hammers as his mouth trails down my throat, biting, sucking hard enough to leave marks that scream possession.
I’m dizzy, but I don’t want it to stop. Every rough push, every frantic kiss makes my blood surge hotter. I arch against him, begging silently, urging him closer, deeper.
When he finally frees me of my clothes, there’s no tenderness, no hesitation.
He takes me against the wall, hard, fast, relentless.
Each thrust is raw, punishing, but I cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders, loving every second.
It feels like he’s unraveling, breaking apart inside me, and somehow that makes me whole.
My cries echo in the room, mixed with his low, guttural groans. It’s rough, almost too much, but I don’t want gentle. Not now. I want this side of him. Wild, untamed and so incredibly hot.