ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟙𝟛
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I was finally able to get my car about after nagging Cameron about the unnecessary towing bills popping up on my phone every morning.
He argues we shouldn't have to worry about the bills, and that we're rich enough to pay them, but I told him that was a stupid argument.
We went first thing in the morning, so we haven't really started the morning yet.
He's in the restroom, brushing his teeth shirtless. Once he spits and washes the paste out, he turns to the closet, looking for a shirt.
"Where are you going?" I ask, throwing a sweater over my bra.
He turns to me before putting a striped shirt, layered by a jacket. "My buddies want to get brunch."
Right. He always had somewhere to go. I don't say anything, and I guess that's what sparks the footsteps I hear coming my way. He wraps his arms around my stomach, hugging me from behind.
"Are you fine with that? You wanna come?" He asks, his voice quiet even though we're the only two people in this room.
I don't answer right away, mostly because I'm still half awake. Partially because his touch is warm, and weirdly comforting, and I haven't decided yet whether I want to lean into that or elbow him for being so close. His hands rest low against my stomach, fingers loosely intertwined.
I stare at us in the mirror.
He's annoyingly put together for someone who literally just rolled out of bed not too long ago. Then my eyes go down to my stomach. I didn't like how much it was sticking out. Maybe I was the only one who saw that.
"No." I exhale finally.
His chin rests lightly near my shoulder. "No, you're not fine with it, or no, you don't wanna come?"
"Do you find joy in being annoying?" I narrow my eyes at his reflection.
"Very much." He follows my glare.
I sigh, leaning back against him for half a second before catching myself and straightening. "I meant no, I don't want brunch."
"Why not?"
I'm about to answer his question when I feel my body tensing up again. "Cameron let go of me."
"Are you okay?" He asks, loosening his grip but not letting go. I genuinely don't understand how I ended up married to someone who can look this calm while actively testing me. As if I wasn't already irritated.
"I said stop." I say, and he quickly let's go. He looks back at me trying to read my face, but I avoid his gaze. "I'm making coffee."
"You hate coffee." He follows me to the kitchen.
"I know."
"Then why are you making it?"
"Because clearly I like suffering." I say sarcastically. The real answer was because I needed something to keep me upright.
I move straight for the coffee machine, because if I was going to be abandoned for "brunch with the boys," as childish as that sounded in my head, then the least I deserved was caffeine.
"Dixie, are you sure you're fine?" he says, quietly. I don't answer.
I've learned that sometimes if I stay quiet long enough, Cameron starts second guessing himself, and for whatever reason, that tiny, harmless power is one of the few joys I have before nine in the morning.
The first one I make is absolutely terrifying. I quickly spit it out in the sink, washing the dark substance immediately.
"Here, I'll make it for you." He offers, grabbing another cup.
I sigh sharply, finally turning around. "Why do you care so much?"
His eyebrows furrow immediately, "What?"
"Why does it matter if I go or not? Go eat brunch. Have fun. Talk about whatever it is you all talk about."
"Why are you saying it like that?" He leans one hand on the kitchen island, studying me in that infuriatingly calm way.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm leaving you for war."
I laugh. "Please. If it were war, at least that would make sense for you."
His jaw tenses slightly. He sighs quietly, shaking his head. I must've hit a nerve, but not enough for him to quit.
I hear him moving closer. "Move."
I blink. "What?"
"Move," he repeats, gentler this time. Before I can argue, his hands lightly grasp my waist, shifting me a step to the side.
He picks up light roast coffee beans, dropping them into the burr grinder. I stare at the back of his head in genuine offense.
This man.
This deeply, aggravating, man.
When he's done, he pours it all into an antique cup, pushing it over to my side. "Try it."
I push it back, careful not to spill the liquid. "I never asked for this."
"Good thing I wasn't waiting for permission."
Cameron leans against the counter across from me, arms folded now, watching. I look at the cup in front of me, narrowing my eyes at it before finally picking it up with the caution of someone diffusing a bomb.
I bring it to my lips, taking a sip. It's somewhat electrifying. It wasn't bitter or weirdly acidic. It was smooth, slightly nutty and sweet. Just how I like it. To be fair, Cameron did always make my coffee the way I liked it, but no way I'm giving him that.
Cameron smiles just a bit. "Well?"
"Were you expecting me to give you the satisfaction of your 'amazing' coffee?" I say sarcastically.
He raises his brows before chuckling. "Yeah, dunno what I was expecting."
I set the cup down, really staring at him. He leans further against the counter, staring right back at me.
"I should head out," he says, "Are you sure you're okay here by yourself?"
I nearly scoff. "Cameron."
"No, I'm serious."
"I am a grown woman." I don't let go of the mug. Instead, I hold it tighter.
"I know."
"Then why do you ask me things like I'm a toddler you're leaving unattended?"
His brows lift slightly.
"That is not what I was trying to say."
"It's what you implied."
"I implied nothing."
"You implied concern."
He stares at me for a long second. "...Are you hearing yourself?"
I open my mouth but realize I have nothing to say.
"Dixie."
"What?" I exhale.
"You know I'm just making sure."
He exhales through his nose, clearly fighting a smile now.
"I'm fine," I mumble.
His face softens. "I know you'll be."
I look away first, taking another sip solely to avoid talking. He pushes off the counter then, grabbing his keys, wallet, and phone.
"Okay leave now," I push his chest a bit.
Instead of walking towards the door, he comes closer to me. Wrong direction.
"Cameron."
"What?"
"You're supposed to be leaving."
"I am."
"Then why are you approaching me?"
"Because," he says simply, stopping right in front of me, "despite your truly radiant personality this morning, I'd still like to kiss my wife goodbye."
I stare up at him blankly. His cologne is strong, but also sweet at the same time. I suddenly feel like a desperate middle school girl who's just had her first crush.
"Move your coffee." He says, voice low.
I blink. "What?"
"Move. Your. Coffee."
I look down to realize I'm still holding the mug between us like some weird shield, and begrudgingly lower it to the counter.
"Happy?"
"Very."
His hands find me- one at my waist, the other cupping lightly at the side of my face. Cameron had mastered the art of sincerity, and it made me annoyed.
He kisses my forehead first, then my temple. He pauses, eyes flicking to mine before his lips brush mine. I freeze so hard I may as well have turned into structural decor. He pulls back just enough to look at me.
"Are you good?" he asks quietly.
I stare at him. "I hate you."
"No, you don't." His grin widens. He says it with so much confidence it almost makes me believe.
He kisses my forehead one last time, squeezing my waist. "Text me if you need anything."
"I won't."
He laughs under his breath, grabs his keys properly this time, and heads for the door.
"Finish your coffee," he says.
I roll my eyes. "Go."
"Eat something too."
"Goodbye Cameron."
"Bye Mrs. West."
The door shuts behind him, as I lock it.
I stay where I am for a moment, fingers curled loosely around the mug Cameron made. The steam is thinner now. I take another sip just to prove I can.
I set the cup down on the counter before making my way upstairs. I pause when I get to the bedroom. It's sitting slightly open on the armchair like it's been waiting there.
I don't remember leaving it like that. I don't remember much of anything from earlier anymore except coffee and arguments and him leaving...
I snap out of my thoughts when I see something black peeks out from the side pocket. It's small, sharp-edged.
My stomach tightens before I can think. I remember it too well. My fingers are already pulling it free- Judge Johnson. His business card sitting in my purse.
My grip tightens before I even realize it. And suddenly it's just that moment again. When he told me he was the judge of that case. My case.
My loss.
My failure.
My pulse ticks once, hard. I sit down without meaning to, the card still in my hand. I don't want to think about Justin Deyes, and I really don't want to open that file in my head again. That file never closes cleanly.
My thumb runs over the edge. I should put it back.
"I just need details," I say under my breath.
Ha, like that changes anything. Like "details" is a harmless word when it's really not.
I stare at the card, my reflection faintly showing in the glossy surface.
"I'm not reopening it," I tell myself, but my hand is already reaching for my phone.
Because that's the lie, isn't it? The one lawyers tell themselves the most comfortably.
"I'm just looking."
I unlock the screen, fingers trembling. My thumb hovers over the number. I dial. It rings thrice. With each ring, something in my chest tightens, like my body already knows this is a bad idea even when I'm pretending this is pure curiosity.
"Judge Johnson." My grip tightens on the phone.
My eyes flick to the empty hallway like I suddenly expect Cameron to walk back through the door and catch me in the act of whatever this is becoming.
He didn't know about this, did he? He was in the car the time Judge Johnson came by me.
I swallow and force my tone steady. "Let's make this quick."