Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
TALLY
The front door clicks open and Cameron comes in. No idea where the fuck he’s been, but I can imagine. No. I actually only have one guess - fucking Willow.
I'm sprawled on the couch, empty tequila bottle on the coffee table.
Last night's bombshell about him buying Willow a ring still burns in my gut.
This morning I couldn't even look at him.
He knew something was up but didn't have the balls to ask, so I escaped to my studio.
Bad idea. I snarled at everyone who walked through the door, but hey—the clients ate it up.
Nothing sells tattoos like an artist with a chip on her shoulder and a middle finger ready to fly.
Now I'm three sheets to the wind with Brinley asleep upstairs.
Mother of the Year, right? If she needed the ER tonight, I'd be screwed.
But fuck it. I've been dry for months, and tonight I earned this bottle.
Problem is, tequila's just making everything worse—like pouring gasoline on my already raging dumpster fire of anger.
Each shot just cranks the dial from pissed to nuclear.
So when Cameron comes home, and I just assume he had been out with Willow, I let him have it.
“Cam,” I slur. "You need to get your shit and get out. Tonight.”
He looks at me with an expression of bafflement and concern. “Why?”
“Because I don't want you here anymore. You obviously don't wanna be with me, you wanna be with Willow, so be with her already! Just be with her! Just put a ring on her, I know you're going to.”
His face drops like a fucking stone, and I spot the bulge in his coat.
Before he can say a goddamn word, I lunge across the space between us, ripping into his pocket like a woman possessed.
My fingers are trembling so hard I nearly drop the tiny velvet box.
Holy shit. Holy SHIT. Inside sits a ring that catches the light like a supernova—platinum band, diamond the size of my knuckle.
Not what I'd have picked in a million years—my dream ring would have rose engravings or black diamonds or something that screams ME—but Jesus Christ, it's stunning enough to knock the breath clean out of my lungs.
I see it and my stomach turns inside out.
Fuck. FUCK! FUCK!!!!! That diamond could pay off my student loans twice over.
I can already picture it sparkling on Willow's perfect little hand with the perfect manicure that she obviously takes the time to get every week.
Of course he'd end up with someone like her.
Little Miss Perfect was written in his stars from day one.
So much for the guy who played Chopin at 2 AM and looked at my mom like she hung the moon.
Looked at me like I mattered. What a joke.
He's running right back to his comfort zone—a shiny-haired brunette who probably has a designer reusable coffee cup for her oat milk lattes and a closet full of beige everything.
Someone he can parade around his fancy doctor cocktail parties without having to explain away her tattoos or her language.
Cameron's face transforms before my eyes as he snatches the ring with shaking hands.
His usually placid features harden, jaw clenching tight enough to make the muscle twitch beneath his stubbled cheek.
His eyes narrow to slits, pupils dilating until they nearly swallow the sapphire irises. The vein at his temple pulses visibly.
His face shows rage. Pure, undiluted rage. His nostrils flare as he takes a sharp breath, shoulders squaring as if preparing to lunge. He looks like he's finally gonna fight back instead of taking my shit like he always does. And I say, bring it fucking on.
Cameron drags both hands through his hair, yanking at the roots.
"What the *fuck* did you think would happen, Tally?
You practically gift-wrapped me for her.
" He stalks across the floor, each footfall like a thunderclap.
"Every goddamn time I said 'I love you,' you froze like a corpse.
Every single time I mentioned marriage, you looked at me like I was speaking fucking Mandarin.
" His jaw clenches so tight a muscle jumps beneath his skin.
"So yeah, I'm asking Willow to marry me.
But don't you dare think I didn't have it all planned for you.
But not this ring—Christ, this ring isn't even in your universe.
I would've gotten you something that would’ve made people's eyes bleed.
Platinum with those twisted roses you worship, like some gorgeous Ed Hardy dream.
A natural black diamond that burns between blood-red, midnight-blue, and poison-green when it catches even a whisper of light.
" His eyes bore into mine like drills. "Silas would've moved heaven and earth to help me get it too, if he didn't think you were absolute fucking venom.
Which he does. And right now?" He leans in, voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
"I'm starting to think he was too damn kind. "
That bastard. The ring he described—black diamond, colors that catch the light, tiny roses wrapped around the platinum band—it's like he reached into my dreams and stole the image right out of my head. He's doing this on purpose, showing me what I could've had if I hadn't been such a coward.
"Get out! Get out! Get the fuck out!" My finger jabs toward the ceiling, toward the attic room where he's kept his duffel bag half-packed for six months. "Go upstairs, get your shit, and get the fuck out now!"
His whole body trembles, face flushed with anger I've never seen before. "Go to hell, Tally. Just go to hell." He storms out the door without another word.
"What about your shit?” I shout after him. "You're just leaving everything?"
"Mail it. I couldn't care less right now."
I slam the door so hard the windows rattle. Upstairs, Brinley wails—probably terrified by the shouting match and the thunder of doors. Some mother I am, screaming like a lunatic while her father peels out of our lives.
Yet somewhere beneath my anger, I feel a twinge of respect. Sweet, gentle Cameron finally showed some backbone. Found his limit.
And damn me for admitting it, but seeing that fire in him just makes his absence sting even worse.