Chapter 25 #2
I swallow, nodding like it’s nothing. “It was what it was. I got used to packing up, moving on. You stop expecting people to keep you, and you learn to keep yourself. Simple survival mode, you know?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just studies me, and it’s unnerving how steady his gaze is. Like he’s peeling back layers I’ve spent years building.
“You must’ve hated it,” he says finally.
I let out a small laugh, sharp and humorless. “Hated it? I don’t know. Sometimes. Sometimes I was just numb. Sometimes it felt easier to not feel anything at all.”
His jaw works, like he’s holding back words. Then, he softly speaks, “And here I was thinking you just hated me.”
I can’t help my smile, weak but real. “Well, that too.”
It earns me the ghost of a smirk, but it fades quickly, and when he speaks again, his tone has shifted. “Is that why you agreed to all this? The… arrangement?”
I freeze for a moment, then nod slowly. I point at him. “You were supposed to be out after seven days, remember?”
He laughs, leaning forward. His eyes stay on me.
I widen my eyes at him. “What happened to that?”
He leans back, huffing. “I was never going to move out in seven days.”
“What!”
He laughs. “When I mentioned the arrangement, I meant how we’re pretending to be married.”
“Ah,” I click my tongue. “Well, if we’re talking about that end of the deal… I mean all of it is kind of crazy…” I point at him again. “I can’t get over the fact that you were never going to move out. Are you serious?”
He nods, shrugging. “Landlord is double-dipping.”
“Asshole,” I say loud enough for anyone else to hear. “Did you ever call him?”
“No.”
I sink into my chair. “Neither did I. Wait, why didn’t we call him?”
A slow smile spreads across his face.
I point at him again. “I trusted that you were going to be out in seven days, and then it turned into this.”
“I misjudged you,” he says quietly. “I thought you were in this for selfish reasons. I thought…” He shakes his head. “Hell, I didn’t think you’d survived my life’s bullshit. You’re a lot tougher than I gave you credit for.”
Something in my chest loosens at his words, a tight knot I hadn’t even realized was there. I blink, suddenly aware of the burn in my eyes, and look away before he can notice.
“Don’t go soft on me now,” I manage, my voice unsteady.
His lips twitch, and for a second, I almost expect him to laugh. But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans across the table, his hand brushing mine briefly before he pulls back. “Not soft,” he says. “Just… sorry.”
And for reasons I can’t explain, that apology cracks something deeper inside me than anything else could.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The air feels charged, as if the candles themselves are holding their breath. His eyes linger on mine in a way that makes my pulse skitter, and for a second, I almost believe he’s about to say something more; something that would change everything.
But instead, Cameron pushes back his chair and stands. The scrape of wood against the floor breaks the spell. He circles the table slowly, and I tilt my face up toward him without meaning to. His hand brushes my shoulder and then he leans down, pressing a soft kiss against my cheek.
The touch is fleeting, almost chaste, but it leaves my skin burning.
“You should get some sleep,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost rough. “I’ve kept you up long enough. I’ll clear the dishes by morning.”
I want to argue, to tell him I don’t mind, that I’d stay here all night if it meant keeping this fragile honesty alive between us. But the words don’t come. I just nod, watching as he straightens and steps back.
“Goodnight, Brie,” he says, and there’s something in the way he says my name that makes my chest ache.
When he disappears down the hall, the silence he leaves behind is deafening. I clear the table, blow out the candles one by one, and finally retreat upstairs.
But lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I can still feel the warmth of his lips against my cheek. The conversation replays over and over in my head. My past laid bare, his quiet apology, the way he looked at me like he actually saw me.
Sleep refuses to come. All I can do is toss and turn, caught between the comfort of his presence and the danger of what it might mean if I let myself want more.
The first thing I see when I finally roll over and reach for my phone is the glow of a new message. My eyes sting from lack of sleep, but when I swipe it open, the grogginess vanishes in an instant.
It’s a picture. Miranda and Jack. They’re standing close together on a dimly lit street I recognize. It’s just a few blocks from here. The timestamp is from last night.
My heart lurches. My fingers tighten around the phone so hard I’m afraid I’ll crack the screen. Who sent this? Why?
I don’t even think. I throw on a robe and hurry down the hall, my bare feet cold against the floor. I pound on Cameron’s door once before pushing it open.
He’s half-asleep, hair tousled, sitting up against the headboard with a frown. “Brie?” His voice is rough with sleep. “What’s—”
I shove the phone into his hands. “Look. Just look at this.” My pulse is hammering in my throat. “Do you see what I’m talking about now? They’re working together, Cameron. I knew something was off.”
He blinks at the screen, squints, then exhales and tosses the phone onto the nightstand. “It’s a picture. Two people standing near each other. Could mean a hundred things.”
Frustration spikes hot in my chest. “You’re not listening. My gut has never been wrong about people, and I’m telling you—Miranda and Jack are plotting something. Why else would I get this sent to me anonymously? And look where they are? Near our house.”
He rubs a hand down his face and sighs, still sounding half-asleep. “Brie… maybe you’re overthinking it. People talk, people meet. Doesn’t mean there’s some grand conspiracy.”
I stare at him, stunned by how easily he brushes it off. My hands clench at my sides. “Overthinking?” My voice rises despite myself. “Cameron, someone went out of their way to send me this. Doesn’t that at least bother you?”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer right away. He just leans back against the pillows, gaze drifting away from me like he’d rather not deal with this at all.
The silence between us stretches, sharp and bitter, until I feel it cutting into me.
I stand there, my chest heaving, waiting for him to argue again, but instead Cameron exhales hard, dragging a hand over his face. The fight drains out of his shoulders, leaving him looking… tired. Not careless, not cold—just worn down.
“Look,” he mutters, softer now, “you’re wound up, and I get it. But you’re not going to solve this tonight.”
I open my mouth to snap back, but the words catch. He isn’t dismissing me—not this time. He’s trying, in his own way, to steady me.
His gaze flicks to the clock, then back to me. “You won’t sleep in your room if you’re this rattled.” He pats the edge of his bed, not meeting my eyes. “Stay here. You’ll crash faster if you know I’m right next to you.”
My lips part in surprise. “What?”
“It’s just sleep, Brie,” he says, and for once, there’s no teasing edge to it. No smirk. Just plain sincerity. “I’d rather you rest than pace a hole in the floor all night.”
For a second, I hesitate—my heart fluttering for reasons I don’t want to examine—but eventually I nod. “Fine. But only because I don’t feel like arguing anymore.”
“Good,” he says simply, tugging the blanket down for me.
I slide in cautiously, keeping to my side of the bed. The sheets smell faintly of his cologne and soap, a detail I wish I hadn’t noticed. He stays perched on the other edge, broad back propped against the headboard, scrolling absently through his phone like none of this means anything.
But when I close my eyes, the tension in my chest finally loosens, just a little. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the exhaustion, but knowing he’s right there makes it easier to breathe.
The last thing I hear before sleep pulls me under is Cameron’s quiet sigh, like he’s carrying the weight of both of us and in this moment, I truly wish he’d hug me.
26
Keith comes by the house and insists we go out. He takes the liberty of analyzing my looks and says I look like a vampire holed up in my room all day.
He’s not wrong.
It’s our first real day off in weeks, no drills, no coach breathing down our necks, and the idea of doing nothing feels like a trap. My head won’t stop buzzing with the thought of the pregame tomorrow.
So yeah, fine. Ice cream. Something normal. Something stupid and light.
We’re standing in line at this little place near my place, the kind with sticky counters and too many neon flavors nobody actually orders. Keith keeps bumping my shoulder like he’s trying to jolt me back to life.
“You’re gonna go for chocolate again, aren’t you?” he says, smirking. “You’ve got zero imagination, man. Live a little. Try pistachio.”
“Chocolate works,” I mutter.
Keith groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’ve got one of the biggest games of the season in a couple days, and you’re acting like the world’s about to end.”
I don’t answer, because maybe it is.
We grab our cones and step outside. The late afternoon air has that weird edge to it, crisp but carrying the smell of exhaust and hot pavement. We lean against the railing, watching cars pass. For a moment, it feels normal.
Then I hear the sound of the one person I dread the most…after my father.
“Well, if it isn’t our golden boy.”
The voice makes my teeth clench before I even turn my head. Jack’s striding up with that smug grin plastered on his face, the kind that says he’s already won something I don’t know I’ve lost yet.
Keith sighs audibly. “Not today, man.”
Jack ignores him. He stops right in front of me, eyeing the ice cream in my hand. “Chocolate? Figures. Safe choice for a safe player.”
I narrow my eyes. “You got nothing better to do?”