Chapter Twenty-Three
Camden
Soot bumps her forehead against my chin and purrs—again. She’s been doing this for two weeks straight, like she’s trying to cheer me up. It’s sweet. But it’s not working.
“Hey,” I croak. I pet her back, and Soot’s purr intensified. I’m glad one of us is happy. I’ve been dragging myself through the last few days, and my mood shows no signs of improving. How could it? I love the girl of my dreams.
The condo feels too big without her in it.
The fridge hums loud enough to fill the silence, and every time the AC kicks on, I think it’s her laugh for half a second before the air cuts off again.
Soot’s fur smells faintly like her lotion—something soft and citrusy—and it makes the ache in my chest twist even tighter.
I keep petting Soot while I zone out, staring at the wall while imagining my depressing, loveless future unspooling before me.
I’ve been doing this on repeat for days—staring, replaying, rewinding.
Opening our old messages to see her name pop up, like the ghost of a conversation that doesn’t exist anymore.
I scroll through until I hit the picture of the dogs asleep on her lap and then throw the phone across the couch before I can break something more important than the screen.
I rake a hand through my hair, wishing there was some kind of reset button for the whole week.
Eventually, I’m jostled out of my doom spiral by a buzzing from a few feet away. I have to shift around to reach my phone, which disturbs Soot. She slinks off with a snitty twitch of her tail.
“Sorry,” I call after her. Seems like I’m always driving women away. I press the phone to my ear without checking the ID. “Hello?”
“Camden Beck, legendary sad sack. Are you alive or just answering from the grave?” Geo asks.
“About the same,” I admit.
“Are you at least wearing a different shirt than last time?”
“Uh.” I look down at the practice jersey Viktor had printed for me. “I plead the fifth.”
“My guy, I need you to take a shower and put on some fresh duds.”
I snort. “Who says duds? Have you taken up polo since the last time I saw you? Are you British now?”
“I’ll have you know that I am a classy guy who uses classy words—”
“To describe the clothes you bought at Kohl’s.”
“You get me,” Geo says. “So, how are you doing? Penny for your thoughts?”
“They’re not worth that much.” I hesitate, running a thumb over the seam of the cushion. She would’ve told me to talk about it—to stop bottling things up. But if I start talking, I might not stop.
“Cam…”
“I’m good. I’ll just lie here.”
“Are you at least going to come to my show tonight?”
I groan and roll face down onto the sofa.
“But I left tickets at will-call.” I can hear the pout in his voice.
I roll my head to one side so that I can speak without a mouthful of cushion. “Tickets? Plural?”
“Well, you know. For when you and Dot get back together. Laughter is a great aphrodisiac.”
“It’s not going to happen, Geo. She doesn’t want me.
I’m alone.” I curl into the fetal position.
“I’m going to be alone forever. I’ve loved her for so long that I can’ imagine being with anyone else.
I don’t think I can give anyone else a chance.
It’ll be me and my cat and hockey until the day I die. ”
“Unlikely.” Geo sounds perfectly cheerful. “If you don’t get your act together, the Venom will let you go. And then how will you pay for Soot’s cat food?”
I turn back to the pillows and let the stuffing swallow my answering groan.
“Sorry for raining on your pity parade. Come to the show. You can heckle me as revenge.” He hangs up before I can tell him no. It’s a very Geo move.
I lie there for a few minutes, marinating in my self-pity.
The thing is, Geo has a point. My deep funk—and my career—won’t be improved by lying here and letting my depressing thoughts cycle on loop forever.
Besides, he always makes me laugh, even though I seem to end up as the butt of his jokes during a suspicious percentage of shows.
“Fine,” I tell Soot. “We’re going.”
From her perch on the cat tree, Soot blinks down at me like she knows I’m lying to both of us.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “That’s what I thought.”
* * *
I’m alone at a two-top near the front, nursing a soda like a divorced dad at a kid’s talent show. Beer felt like a bad idea. So did living, frankly, but here we are.
The lights drop, and Geo struts onto the stage in his usual black tee and jeans. The crowd cheers. He looks loose, confident.
“Good evening, Las Vegas! Everyone looks hot tonight. Some of you… in a felony way.”
The room laughs. Geo shades his eyes, scanning the crowd. “Sir, in the button-up—yeah, you—did you iron that shirt with a panini press? Respect.”
Another laugh. He paces. “Who’re you here with?”
The man points to a woman.
“Your wife? Nice. Way to bring sand to the beach, my man. How long have you been married?”
“Ten years,” the man answers.
“Ten years! That’s not marriage, that’s hostage negotiation. Blink twice if you’re safe.”
He kills for a few minutes, working the room with his warm grin and mean streak perfectly balanced.
Then his eyes land on me.
“Oh-ho. Well, look who crawled out of his emotional support blanket fort—my buddy Camden Beck! Give it up for Cam!”
A spotlight swings straight into my face. I raise one hand, mortified. The audience applauds.
Geo grins. “Cam’s had a rough couple of weeks, everybody. You can tell because he’s drinking soda at a comedy show. Nothing says I’m spiraling safely like a Diet Coke and tears.”
The crowd laughs again—until my phone starts ringing. Loud.
Geo freezes mid-punchline. “Is that… you, Cam?” He squints. “Buddy, what are you doing? You don’t leave your ringer on at a comedy show. Hand it over. Respect my art or feed me content. Those are your options.”
“I’ll mute it,” I start, but he’s already holding out his hand.
“You know the rules. You ring it—you wing it.”
I surrender my phone. Geo answers it with an exaggeratedly deep voice. “This is Camden Beck.”
A crisp voice on the other end: “Hello, Mr. Beck, this is Gemelli’s. We’re calling to confirm your reservation for tomorrow evening—two guests at seven?”
Geo’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wow. That flew by fast, huh? Time sure does march right along when you’re emotionally unavailable.”
The crowd laughs. My face burns. I mouth cancel it.
Geo gives me a sly grin. “We’ll be there with bells on,” he says cheerfully.
The crowd roars. I drop my face into my hands.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Geo says, tossing me back my phone. “I worked my ass off getting that reservation for you. If she doesn’t show up, I’ll go. Two dudes, one cheese board, emotional closure. Vegas will write songs about it.”
He keeps the crowd rolling, tossing in a few jokes about dating apps, hockey players, and emotional constipation. I’m half-listening, half-stewing in regret, when the chair across from me scrapes against the floor.
Dot.
There she is. Not just the girl I love—but the one I’d recognize in every lifetime. She could’ve walked into this room on fire, and I’d still know her by the sound of my pulse slamming in my ears.
Chairs scrape. Murmurs rise. The whole room holds its breath.
“Hey,” she whispers. “Can we talk?”
“Uh.” I glance toward the stage. “Now’s… not the best time?”
Geo notices her instantly. “Well, well, well. Vegas, give it up for the plot twist!” He leans toward the crowd. “For those just joining us, that’s Camden’s ex. Or current. We don’t know yet. It’s like a Hallmark movie, but with dimmer lighting.”
Laughter ripples through the room.
Dot blushes, clutching her small purse. “Please, Cam.” She reaches across the table for my hand.
Geo fans himself dramatically. “Oh, this is juicy. Ma’am, are you trying to steal my spotlight? Because it’s working.”
“Sorry,” Dot says. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
“You already did,” Geo deadpans, and the audience cackles. Then, softer: “Nah, you’re good. You clearly have main-character energy. Want a mic?”
Dot hesitates—but Geo extends it. “C’mon. Might as well tell him whatever you came here to say. Everyone loves a public apology. Normally, a man has to grovel, but in this case…”
“Fine,” Dot mutters, taking the mic. It squeals as she fumbles it. “Sorry!”
Geo to the crowd: “She’s sorry! For the feedback and, I’m guessing, other things.”
More laughter. Then Dot steadies herself, takes a breath, and looks right at me.
“Camden… I know I told you we couldn’t be together.”
A sympathetic ohhh ripples through the audience. Someone boos.
Dot points at the heckler. “Relax, buddy. My mom just died, my dad’s recovering from third-degree burns, and this guy blindsided me with feelings.”
That earns her applause. Geo claps from the stage. “See? Accountability. I love that for you.”
Dot exhales shakily. “I panicked, Cam. I’ve been drowning in guilt, grief, fear.
Losing someone you love is awful—but losing someone you never really understood?
” She swallows. “That’s worse. Not only is there no closure, there’s no hope for it.
So you’re not only grieving the person, but the relationship that will never be. ”
The room goes quiet. Geo steps back a few paces, lowering the mic stand like he’s giving her the stage.
Dot presses on. “My mom and I… we missed each other our whole lives. I thought that meant something was broken in me. That I didn’t deserve love. So when you told me you loved me, I pushed you away. Because I was scared that someday you’d realize I wasn’t enough.”
My chest tightens. I can’t get a breath, can’t look away. The words hit like shrapnel—she’s naming all the things I feared were true.
Dot’s voice trembles. “But tonight, at her tribute concert, I heard the song she wrote for my wedding. And I realized she wasn’t running from me—she was running from her own fear.
Just like I’ve been doing.” She wipes her cheek.
“When I pictured that day, standing there in white, there was only one person I could imagine across from me.”
She leans forward. “Camden, it’s you. It’s always been you. I love you. And I’m sorry I didn’t believe I was lovable before. But I want to try now. With you. Forever.”
The crowd erupts—cheers, whistles, applause echoing through the club.
Geo takes the mic again, blinking fast like he’s covering emotion with sarcasm. “Okay, okay, everybody calm down before someone proposes. Jesus, it’s like The Bachelor if they had health insurance.”
The audience laughs through their sniffles.
I stand, a bit stunned. “You really mean that?”
Dot nods, tears catching the light. “I do.”
I lift my wrist. The cheap bracelet she bought in Reno glints under the spotlight. “I never took it off.”
Dot lets out a watery laugh and pulls its twin from her purse.
Geo groans theatrically. “This has officially become the sappiest set in Vegas history. Drinks are on them, people!”
The house goes wild—half for the booze, half for us.
I step forward, wrap my arms around Dot, and kiss her like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this exact second.
She melts against me like she never left.
My hands find the zipper right between her shoulder blades—and I swear it’s a religious experience just to touch her again.
The crowd’s gone. The lights blur. All I know is her mouth and her breath and the way she clings like she means it this time.
The crowd cheers, Geo mutters, “Guess I’m opening for love now,” and the lights flare white-hot. “I may or may not have had a hand in making this happen tonight.”
And for the first time in weeks, the noise in my head quiets. For once, I don’t have to imagine the future. She’s right here, in lace and hope and wild courage. And I’m not letting go.