Chapter 14 #2
“Exactly. I’m glad you grew out of it.” Gary’s tone was teasing. “Anyway, don’t stay underfoot too long. Get yourself a place, meet some girls, live a little.”
My throat closed. You don’t know me at all. The words lined up in my throat like notes waiting to be sung.
Gary kept talking, his tone light and easy. “You still sketching? Send Mum something decent for once. No weird abstract stuff, yeah?”
“Sure.” My voice sounded thin, far away. “I’ll send her something.”
“Good man. All right, I’ve got to run. Love you, kid.”
“Love you too.”
When the call ended, the kitchen felt heavier. The hum of the refrigerator filled the space. I stared at the phone for a long moment.
“Yeah, Gary. I grew out of it.”
I slid the phone aside, then stirred my tea.
The front door opened, and Theo stepped in, the smell of rain clinging to his coat. He glanced at me, and his brow furrowed.
“You look like you just lost an argument. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I said quickly. “Just had a call from Gary.”
Theo’s frown deepened. “Is there anything wrong?”
I reached into the fridge for the milk. “No, he was only checking in.”
Theo peered at me. “And you look checked out.”
I shrugged. “He thinks I’m still sixteen.”
“That’s what brothers do.” Theo’s tone was mild. “He’s probably relieved you’re not getting into trouble.”
I gave a small laugh. “Oh, I’m definitely not getting into trouble.”
Theo paused mid-motion, as though he’d read something in my voice, but had decided not to ask. “He’s protective,” he said instead. “It’s not a crime.”
“It’s just…” I let the fridge door close softly. “He talks as if he knows me. But he doesn’t, not really.”
Theo hesitated. “Most people don’t know their families half as well as they think.”
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Know yours.”
Theo spooned coffee into a mug. “We’re good at polite conversations. That’s about it.”
I gave a half smile. “I guess we both grew up in houses full of people who didn’t really see us.”
Theo looked over at me then, his eyes unreadable. “Maybe that’s why we both draw attention in strange ways.”
I huffed a breath. “You make it sound deliberate.”
“Everything’s deliberate.” Theo closed the cupboard door with quiet finality.
Silence fell. I leaned back against the counter, watching him.
I could still feel Gary’s words echoing—meet some girls, live a little—and the weight of all the things I’d left unsaid.
Theo’s profile, calm and intent as he wiped condensation from a jar, didn’t make it easier.
I ached to tell him. You’re the reason I’m still a virgin. You’re the one I’ve wanted since I first knew what it meant to want someone.
I wouldn’t be here for much longer, and he did not need to hear that.
“Thanks for letting me stay.” And the clock is ticking.
Theo gave me a small, distracted smile. “It’s not charity, Cameron. You’ve been helpful.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Helpful. That’s a glowing review.”
Theo’s mouth twitched. “Don’t get used to it.”
The almost-laugh we shared pulled some of the tension out of the room. But as Theo turned to head over to the armchair, I kept watching his small movements, his measured calm, and thought how strange it was to feel seen and yet be invisible at the same time.
Theo looked up, caught my gaze, and for a second neither of us moved. Then he glanced at my sketchbook. “Have you been working on something?”
Before I could stop him, Theo flicked the book open—and froze.
Theo
I gazed at the page.
It was me.
Not a portrait, not exactly, more the shape of me, the rhythm of movement. My hands raised in direction, the curve of my spine caught mid-gesture, shadows and lines that somehow sounded like music. The sketch vibrated with life, all precision and chaos at once.
I stared. “You drew this tonight?”
“After rehearsal.” Cameron finally met my gaze. “You looked different up there. Alive.”
I couldn’t find my voice. The drawing wasn’t flattering or romantic. It was true. Every line felt like being seen way too closely.
Cameron tilted his head. “Do you mind?”
“No.” My pulse told a different story. “It’s good.”
He chuckled. “You’re a terrible liar.”
I looked away, pretending to study the lamplight instead.
The air felt thick, and even the quiet between us seemed to hum.
I noticed things I shouldn’t, how calm Cameron’s breathing was, the small rise and fall of his chest, the warmth radiating from him.
I wanted to say something ordinary—Goodnight, or Nice work—but the words caught in my throat.
Why does it feel as if everything ordinary has stopped fitting between us?
Cameron shifted from one foot to the other. “You’re staring again.”
I forced a faint smile. “It’s an occupational hazard.”
“Of what? Conducting or denial?”
“That’s enough.” I aimed for sternness, but the words came out gentler than I’d intended.
Cameron sighed. “You make it very hard to behave.”
My heartbeat stumbled. “I’m going to work for a while.” I picked up the laptop.
“Yeah, me too,” Cameron said, his voice almost a whisper. “Goodnight, Theo.”
I nodded without turning back. “Goodnight.”
I left the room before my resolve could fracture, before I could do something stupid like stay another minute in that charged stillness.
But when I reached my doorway, I caught myself glancing back at the glow of the lamp on Cameron’s bent head, the slow movement of pencil over paper.
I told myself it was nothing, merely observation.
I put the mug on the bedside table, then closed the door and sat on my bed. I opened my laptop, not to work as I’d told Cameron, but to find an old folder I should have deleted years ago. I clicked through the neatness I’d built around myself—clients, arrangements, rehearsal notes—until I saw it.
/archive/LK/
The letters made my shoulders climb toward my ears. I exhaled and opened the folder.
There was a recording named Trust_rough-mix.wav. I didn’t play it. I didn’t need to. I could hear it anyway, still hear Luka as he sang it that first time.
The first song.
I clicked one file deeper to an old PDF of a lead sheet. The notes sat patiently on lines, right where I’d left them. That neatness used to be enough.
Now the sight made my teeth ache.
The bedside lamp pooled a clean circle of light over my hands as I deleted the /LK folder. The machine asked if I was sure. I clicked Yes and sat very still while the progress bar crawled across the screen. When it was done, nothing on the surface had changed. I didn’t feel triumphant.
Just… quiet.