Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Camille
How to Rewrite the Rules
I watch Killion leave, the door closing behind him, the sound of the door being too loud or . . . maybe it’s my imagination. It’s as if the universe itself is throwing a dramatic pause for good measure. Ben, lounging on the couch, lets out a loud, judgmental meow. He’s obviously displeased because nothing is about him at the moment. No one has given him attention in the last thirty seconds.
“Who’s there?” Mom asks.
“Huh?” I ask because I’m not sure if she asking about me or someone in her house.
“It sounds like someone’s coming and going,” she presses. “Are you moving things around? I thought you texted me saying everything was done. Do you need me to come over and help?”
“No, Mom,” I reply, already imagining her showing up uninvited with clothes enough to last her a year and unsolicited advice. “I already moved in. The people we hired set up everything. The door? That was nothing. Just my neighbor leaving.”
“Your neighbor?” Her tone shifts immediately from suspicious to curious. “Is he handsome?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting the urge to groan. “Mom, I don’t need a man. You already have three grandchildren from Karla, and Ken’s wife is pregnant with number five. Isn’t that enough?”
“Yes, but wouldn’t it be nice to have a couple more?” she counters, her voice bright with unwelcome enthusiasm. “Imagine?—”
“Before you start planning my future, you should know that the neighbor you’re so curious about is Killion. Killion Crawford,” I interrupt, knowing well enough they’re not fans of him. Not since he broke my heart .
The silence on the other end of the line stretches out, thick and icy.
“Killion Crawford,” she finally repeats, and the disapproval in her voice sends me back a few years—twenty at least. I just have to remind myself I’m not a teenager and she won’t meddle in my life. “The guy you dated in college?”
“Yes,” I admit. “That Killion.”
“And why,” she demands, her tone rising, “is that man back in your life?”
“As I mentioned,” I say, struggling to keep my tone even, “he’s just my neighbor.”
“You two have nothing in common,” she snaps, as though I’ve just announced I’m eloping with him tonight. “We made sure he was out of your life for a reason.”
That stops me cold. I step out onto the terrace, the cool air brushing my face as I try to process her words. “What do you mean you made sure he was out of my life, Mom?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says quickly, her voice shifting to defensive. “What matters is that you’re a doctor now. Look at your life, Camille. You’re successful. Isn’t it better this way?”
“Mom,” I press, my voice firm. “What. Did. You. Do?”
She sighs, the pause is so dramatic I’m bracing myself for the full impact. “We encouraged him to leave, that’s all. Your father didn’t think he was good enough for you. He said, ‘Can you imagine being tied to someone who smashes his head into people for a living? By the time he’s thirty, he won’t even recognize his own wife.’ We thought it was best.”
“You encouraged him to leave me?” I repeat, the pieces clicking together with a sickening sense of clarity. “You loved me so much that you manipulated him into walking away?”
“Camille,” she says, her tone exasperated. “Focus on the now. The past doesn’t matter. You’re successful, independent, everything we wanted you to be.”
I lean against the railing, staring at the park below. The distant sound of traffic is somehow easier to process than the tornado she’s just unleashed. My parents didn’t just interfere—they sabotaged. And all it did was reinforce every fear I’d ever had: that I wasn’t enough for him or that he wasn’t enough for me.
“How exactly did you ‘encourage’ him?” I ask, my voice colder now. “What did you do?”
Before she can answer, someone clears his throat nearby. I turn, and there he is—Killion, standing on the terrace next door, looking both sheepish and defiant.
“You listened to them?” I snap, glaring at him.
“They threatened my parents,” he says, shrugging as if that’s all the explanation I need. “I was more afraid for them than myself. You told me how your dad could be when people pissed him off. Remember?”
I do remember. He has done despicable things in the name of justice. That’s one of the things my father and I can’t agree with. I stare at Killion, then at my phone, my grip tightening. “You could’ve . . . you could’ve told me.” My voice breaks on the last word, and I hate how raw I sound.
“I thought I was doing what was best for you,” he says quietly, his eyes locking on mine. “And for my family.”
I open my mouth to argue, to say what if you hadn’t left? —but the words don’t come. Because deep down, I’m not sure what would’ve happened if he’d stayed. And that, more than anything, terrifies me.
I take a deep breath, my fingers tightening around the phone. “Mom, I can’t do this right now,” I say, trying to sound calm, even when I’m furious at her and my father. “We’ll talk later—after I’ve had some time to think about everything I’ve learned today.”
“Camille—” she starts, but I cut her off.
“Later, Mom,” I say, cutting her off before she can argue, and hang up. My pulse thunders in my ears, but I can’t tell if it’s anger, confusion, or the past I thought I’d left behind storming back into my life.
Beside me, Killion clears his throat, shifting like he’s unsure whether to stay or retreat. “Uh . . . permission to cross over?” he asks, motioning to the low railing between our terraces. “I could go back through the door, but this seems easier.”
I lift an eyebrow, half intrigued. “Go for it.”
He doesn’t hesitate, swinging a long leg over the glass divider with practiced ease. When his other foot lands on my side, I realize how close he is—close enough to notice the taut set of his jaw, the tension radiating through his shoulders, and the conflict flickering in his eyes.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now. His hands slide into his pockets for a moment, but then, as if deciding against keeping any distance between us, he steps forward. Slowly, deliberately, his fingers tilt my chin up, his touch warm and steady.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rough around the edges. “For listening to them. For walking away. For being a goddamn idiot who thought leaving you was some kind of noble sacrifice.”
I open my mouth to respond, but the intensity in his gaze stops me. His thumb brushes against my jaw, sending a shiver through me, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
“I thought I was protecting you,” he continues, his tone softer now. “Your parents convinced me I’d ruin your future if I stayed. That you deserved better than some guy who spent his days running into people for a living. And I believed them because . . . because my father told me something almost similar. But also, I loved you too much to risk being the reason you didn’t get everything you wanted.”
I don’t know what hits harder—the fact that he left because he thought it was best for me, or the realization that he’s still carrying the guilt.
“You were my everything, Cam,” he says, his voice breaking just slightly. “And I thought walking away was the right thing to do. But I’ve regretted it every single time.”
I swallow hard, my pulse thrumming in my ears. “You should’ve told me. You should’ve let me decide what was best for my future.”
“I know,” he whispers, his forehead brushing against mine. His breath mingles with mine, warm and hesitant, as though he’s treading on fragile ground. “But I can’t go back. I can only fight for you. For us. Now. All I can do is tell you the truth and hope you’ll let me prove I’m not that guy anymore.”
His words hang between us, raw and unpolished, trembling with a hope that feels too fragile to touch. Slowly—agonizingly slowly—he begins to close the space separating us. My heart thrums, erratic and loud, drowning out the warning in my mind to keep my distance.
“Killion,” I murmur, my voice softer than I mean for it to be, betraying the cracks in my defenses. “You can’t just show up, say all the right things, and expect me to forget what happened.”
But even as the words leave my lips, his graze against mine—light, tentative, a whisper of a kiss, as if he’s asking permission with every heartbeat. And when I don’t pull away, he presses closer, his kiss unraveling more emotions between us, drawing me into something fragile, something undeniable, something that’s been here all along .
“I don’t want you to forget,” he says, his gaze locked on mine, unflinching and unrelenting. “I want to show you that I’m still here. That I’ll keep showing up until you tell me not to.”
My chest tightens, my voice barely holding steady. “But I don’t know if I can allow this,” I whisper, the words thick with doubt. “We’re not who we used to be.”
Before I can say more, his lips crash against mine, cutting through my hesitation like a blade. This kiss isn’t soft or careful—it’s raw, demanding, driven by a hunger that ignites every nerve in my body and obliterates the space between us. His hands grip my waist, his fingers pressing firmly, almost possessively, as though afraid I might vanish. Then I feel it—his body closing the distance, his strength guiding me backward until the cool glass wall presses against my spine.
The tension vibrates between us, his desperation spilling into every kiss, every touch. His lips part mine, his breath ragged, his hands sliding down to grip my hips and pull me closer, leaving no room for doubt about what he feels. The glass against my back is cool, a contrast to the heat radiating from him as he presses harder, his body a force that pins me in place.
“Killion,” I gasp between kisses, but he doesn’t stop, his mouth finding my neck, the hollow of my throat, like he’s searching for something he’s terrified of losing.
His voice is low, hoarse, almost broken. “I can’t stop,” he murmurs against my skin. “Not when I’m this close to losing you again.”
The air between us sizzles, heavy with tension as his hands slide from my hips, trembling slightly as though he’s giving me one last chance to step away. But I don’t. I can’t.
His lips crash against mine again, fiercer this time, his fingers moving to the waistband of my leggings. He pauses, just for a breath, his forehead pressing against mine as he murmurs, “Stop me now.”
I should. I know I should. But instead of pulling away, I arch into him, my hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the taut muscles beneath my fingertips. My silence is the answer he needs. With a growl of need, he pushes my leggings down, his fingers brushing my skin in a way that sends a shiver through me.
His own movements are swift but controlled as he pushes his gym shorts down, his breaths mingling with mine, wild and unrestrained. I grasp his shoulders, urging him closer, my nails digging into his skin as I let go of any lingering doubt.
“Killion,” I whisper, not in protest but in encouragement, my voice trembling with everything I’m feeling. And in the next moment, he presses into me, every hesitation replaced with a raw, unspoken need as the glass at my back cools my overheated skin.
His hands grip my thighs, lifting me as he thrusts forward, his body pressing mine firmly against the glass. The air catches in my throat as he fills me completely, the sensation overwhelming and consuming all at once. A deep, guttural sigh escapes him, his lips brushing my ear. “I’m finally home,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion and desire.
The words hit me as hard as the way he moves—fast, powerful, like he’s been holding back for far too long. Each thrust sends shockwaves through me, my body arching against his, craving every inch of him. My nails dig into his shoulders, and I can’t stop the desperate plea that escapes my lips. “Yes . . . please. Don’t stop.”
“You like this, don’t you?” he growls, his breath hot against my neck as his hands tighten their grip. “You want me to take you, make you mine, right here where there’s no escape.”
I gasp, my head tipping back, the words sparking something electric deep inside me. “Yes,” I breathe, barely able to form the word, but it’s all the permission he needs.
His rhythm quickens, each thrust hitting harder, deeper, pulling cries from me I can’t suppress. “That’s it,” he groans, his voice low and rough. “Take all of me. Let them hear how much you want this.”
His hands slide lower, gripping me with bruising intensity as his thrusts grow relentless, each one claiming me more completely than the last. The world narrows to just us—his body overpowering mine, his ragged voice coaxing me closer to the edge with every word. And I give in, at least for now. Later, I’ll think about what this means. But right now?—
“Stay with me, Cam,” he growls, his voice sharp and commanding. His hand cups my jaw, forcing my gaze to his. “Look at me. Don’t you dare close those beautiful eyes.”
I’m barely holding on, every nerve ending firing at once, but he doesn’t let up. His other hand grips my hip, pulling me harder against him. “Now grab my shoulder,” he orders, his breath hot and uneven against my lips. “One hand there, but the other . . .” His voice dips, his words dripping with dominance. “Touch yourself for me. I want to feel you fall apart while I’m buried inside you.”
My hand trembles as I slide it between us, my fingers brushing against where we’re joined, sending a jolt through my already overwrought body. “That’s it,” he groans, his pace quickening, thrusting deeper, harder. “Let me see you lose it. Let me feel you tighten around me while I fill you up.”
My moans grow louder, his words pushing me closer to the brink. His voice is rough, dark, filled with raw hunger. “You’re mine, Cam. Every inch of you. And I’m not stopping until I’ve given you everything—until you’re screaming my name and dripping with me.”
The pressure builds unbearably, and I shatter, my body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash over me. His movements grow erratic, his grip unrelenting. With a guttural moan, he stills, his body pressed flush against mine as I feel the warmth of him spilling into me, marking me in a way words never could.
“Perfect,” he rasps, his forehead resting against mine, his breathing ragged. “You’re so damn perfect, Cam. And now you’re mine. Completely.”