Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
CAMERON
Saturday
Cameron’s Apartment
Brooklyn, New York
The sun was going down when I shut the apartment door behind me with a soft click, and catch my breath from the climb up the stairs.
My suitcase, too big and too heavy, was like a physical manifestation of everything I haven’t unpacked yet.
With a dull thud, I slump it against the wall and kick off my shoes.
“So you’re not going to say hi to me?”
I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Jesus, Riley!” I spin toward her voice. She’s leaning casually against the hallway wall, thumb scrolling on her phone like she hadn’t just almost shaved a year off my life. “I didn’t know you were home.”
“Oh, I’ve been here,” she sings, glancing up with a slow, dramatic smirk. She shuffles toward the kitchen in joggers and an oversized tee, fully committed to the bit. “I’ve been very much here. While you’ve been mysteriously silent in California.”
I collapse onto the sofa with an exaggerated groan, my spine finally giving up the fight. “I haven’t been silent.”
Riley opens the fridge, then shuts it like she’s personally offended by its contents. “You sent me one text. One. And it just said, ‘Alive. Will explain.’ That’s not communication, Cam. That’s a hostage update.”
“I’ve been quiet because I’ve been…” I trail off, tilting my head like I’m considering my words carefully. “Busy.”
She pokes her head around the corner, eyes immediately narrowing. “Busy how?”
I shrug, doing my best impression of innocence. “You know. Stuff. Life.”
“Oh no,” she disagrees, pointing at me like she’d just cracked a case. “Absolutely not. While you were gone, I’ve been maintaining a very emotionally fulfilling bi-continental romance, and I refuse to carry this burden alone. So, I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
I laugh. “So now we’re kissing and telling?”
“Mmhmm.” She flops onto the armchair opposite me, tucking one leg under herself. “Spill. Did you two,” she raises her eyebrows obnoxiously, “behave?”
I snort. “What am I? A child? Define behave.”
Riley gasps loudly, her hand flying to her chest like she was auditioning for community theater. “You didn’t! Cameron Hayes!”
I grab the nearest throw pillow and launch it at her. She catches it midair without looking, grinning like she’d trained for this moment her whole life. Then she scoots over and drops onto the couch beside me, clutching the pillow to her chest.
“Tell me everything,” she demands.
I smile, shaking my head. Resistance was certainly futile. “We had a really good time.”
Her smile sharpens immediately. “Uh-huh. And?”
“And,” I continue, staring up at the ceiling like the answers might be written there, “I showed him around the city. All the touristy things you’re supposed to hate but secretly love. He took approximately a million photos like he’d never seen fog before.”
Riley hums approvingly. “Cute, cute.”
“I even went golfing with him,” I add. “And one of his investors.”
“Oh, aren’t we fancy,” Riley teases. “How was that?”
“Oh I was fine. But Gregg is awful!” I laugh. “He tore up the green like he had some sort of vendetta.”
“A businessman who’s bad at golf? I find that hard to believe. Isn’t that a trait they all have? Are you seeing him soon?”
“That’s what I said. And he actually wants me to go with him to Scotland,” I say, still half disbelieving the words as they leave my mouth. “I think I’m gonna try and get on the flight to Edinburgh tomorrow.”
Riley let out a sound somewhere between a squeal and a gasp and kicked her feet against the edge of the couch like a teenager finding out her crush likes her back.
“Shut! Up!” she cries, grinning so hard it looks like it hurt. “You’re serious?”
“I’m serious.” I chuckle, rubbing my palms together like maybe grounding myself would make this feel real. “He was so casual about it too. Like, of course I’d come with him. No pressure. No drama. Just… Scotland.”
She clutches her chest dramatically. “I hate him! I love him! I want to be him!”
“Oh! And here’s the best part…”
“Oh god,” she says immediately, sitting up straight. “Here it comes. I need to brace myself!”
I take a breath. The good feeling faltering, just slightly.
“Marc showed up,” I say. “At Fisherman’s Wharf.”
The air shifts instantly and Riley’s smile vanishes, replaced by something sharp and dangerous.
“You’re kidding,” she states flatly.
“I shit you not,” I say, running a hand down my face. “Right there. I mean, the layover hotel was nearby, but he was awful. And he said some really nasty things.”
Her jaw clenches. “About you?”
“About me. About Gregg.” I exhale. “He was trying to provoke him. You could tell. Like he wanted a reaction.”
“And?” she asks tightly.
I pause, then snort. “Gregg punched him.”
She blinks once. Twice. “He what?!”
“Hard,” I add. “Like, full-on. No hesitation.”
Riley’s mouth falls open, then slowly curls into something feral. “Punched him?” she repeats. “Fuck. That’s so hot.”
“Riley—”
“No,” she interrupts, pointing at me. “You don’t get to shut this down. A man defending you? Throwing hands for you? That’s not violence, Cam. That’s Shakespearean.”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “He said something unforgivable,” I go on, my voice quiet now. “And Gregg just… snapped. I had to pull them apart!”
Riley leans back, crossing her legs like a judge delivering a verdict. “I mean, okay, yes, in a perfect world we don’t punch people. But also,” she shrugs. “Slay, King.”
I roll my eyes, but my cheeks are warm. “And there’s one more thing.”
Her head snaps up immediately. “Okay. Here we go.” Riley leans forward, elbows on her knees, eyes glittering with anticipation. “Spill it.”
I know there would be no hiding it from her. I never could. She’d read it all over my face the second she walked into the room.
“And yes,” I say finally, my voice drops as heat floods my cheeks. “We fucked.”
She freezes for exactly half a second then screams.
“I knew it!” She leaps off the couch. “I. KNEW. IT! You don’t look like that unless you’ve been absolutely ruined!”
“And it was so amazing,” I admit.
Riley snorts. “I would hope so.”
“No.” I laugh softly. “I mean, like it felt different. Like it meant something.”
She turns onto her side to face me, propping her head up on her hand. “You sound like you’re phrasing that like a question.”
Her tone is gentle now. Curious but careful.
I breathe slowly. “Because I’m scared to say it like a statement.”
“Okay,” she says. “Try me.”
I roll onto my side, clutching a pillow to my chest like a shield. “I don’t know. Well, no, that’s a lie. I do know.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Know what, Cam?”
I open my mouth then close it. God, I hate this part, the moment where the truth is already fully formed in my chest but refuses to pass through my throat without a fight.
“Gregg told me he loved me,” I say quickly, yanking the pillow up over my face.
“Okay, WAIT. Stop!” Riley bolts upright and rips the pillow away from me. “I am absolutely gagged! You do not get to bury that!”
I groan. “Riley—”
“No. Nope. Context. Immediately. Now. Where were you? What was happening? What did you say back?”
I feel heat rush up my neck, my heart is pounding like I’d been caught doing something illicit instead of profoundly human. “We were in bed,” I explain. “He was falling asleep. He had his arm around me. It was quiet… very intimate.”
Her expression goes soft, but she waves for me to keep going.
“And I think it just… slipped out,” I continue, “like, he didn’t even realize he’d said it at first. It wasn’t some big declaration. No dramatic pause. It just happened.”
Riley presses a hand to her chest. “Jesus.”
“I didn’t say anything at first,” I admit. “I kinda froze. I was trying to decide if I should pretend I hadn’t heard it or—”
“Cameron.”
“I know.” I sigh. “I know.”
She leans back against the cushions. “So? What did you say?”
My throat is tight. “I told him I couldn’t say it back.”
The words landed heavy out loud, even now.
Riley’s face changes instantly. No judgment, no surprise, just understanding. “And that’s okay.”
I nod. “He said that too. He told me there was no pressure. That he didn’t need anything from me that I wasn’t ready to give.”
“Of course he did,” she says softly.
“He meant it,” I add quickly, like I need her to believe me. “You could tell. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t get quiet. He just… held me a little tighter.”
Riley reaches out and squeezes my leg. “That’s a good man.”
“I know,” I whisper.
Silence settles between us and I stared at the far wall, at anything in particular, letting the moment replay in my head.
“I know I’ve said this before,” Riley chimes eventually, nudging my foot with hers. “And at risk of sounding like a broken record, but you have every right to feel joy again. You don’t have to rationalize it.”
I smile, small but real. “I know. I think I’m actually starting to believe that.”
She studies me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Because the part of me that’s scared? It’s definitely still there. Loud as ever, but there’s another part now.”
“And what does that part want?” she asks.
I swallow, my heart open and warm.
“I think I might want to say it back,” I admit. “Not because I feel obligated or because I owe him. Just because… when I imagine a future version of myself who isn’t afraid anymore? That version already has the words on his tongue.”
Riley smiles a little emotionally. “That version is coming, Cam. You don’t have to rush him. Just don’t shut the door when he knocks.”
Her expression is tender and proud, but mine fades slightly, and my shoulders sink. Riley notices immediately.
“What’s that look for?” she asks, squinting at me. “Did something else happen?”
I don’t answer right away. I lean my head back against the cushion and trace a hairline crack in the ceiling plaster.
“Yeah,” I admit finally. “Kind of. And it’s been sitting with me.”
She turns fully toward me, tucking her legs beneath her. “Tell me.”