Chapter 2 Katie
KATIE
The thin walls of the trailer keep no secrets. I lie in my tiny bed, listening to the silence from my mom’s room, a silence that’s gone on for well over a week now.
Cameron sleeps on the couch most nights or doesn’t sleep at all.
I know because I hear his movements and map them in my mind like a cartographer creating a cherished map.
Sometimes I torment myself by imagining the two of them together.
I don’t know why I do it. I’m almost completely sure they’ve never had sex.
But even the thought makes me want to cry—to run to him and throw myself in his arms and show him that I’m the one he belongs with.
Cam is different from all the slugs my mom’s dated.
They were parasites, drenched in laziness that clung to them like rancid cologne that soaked into every surface.
Cam smells like work and ambition. He doesn’t lounge around waiting for Mom’s welfare check to clear; he gets things done.
There’s always this potential energy that radiates from him, like he’s a second from springing into action.
I know his schedule by heart. In ten minutes, his alarm will go off.
And I’ll be awake, waiting. I’ve got goosebumps as I lie on my back, wearing nothing but the shirt I stole from him and a pair of panties, soaked through with my own arousal.
My legs are spread, and my fingers dangerously close to my center.
I should not be thinking what I’m thinking right now.
My hand inches closer and closer to where it should not be. Cam’s my mom’s boyfriend, for Christ’s sake! Why would he ever want me?
Suddenly, his alarm chirps, jolting me out of my dreamlike state. Water runs in the bathroom, the coffee maker gurgles to life, and my heart jumps. Every sound is like forbidden foreplay.
I slip out of bed, my bare feet moving silently across the cracked linoleum.
His T-shirt reaches about mid-thigh on me, and I have been telling myself for weeks now that it’s good enough.
I blame the fact that I’m wearing it on my mom not doing laundry, but the truth is that I wear it because when I breathe deep, ghostly hints of his scent sweep into my nostrils, filling me with a feeling of comfort.
He stands in the kitchen with his back to me, tight and rigid, like a man at war with himself. I’ve noticed whenever I enter a room lately, he makes distance between us. It’s like I’ve got an invisible force pushing him away.
The floor creaks under my foot, and he looks over, his fierce eyes burying deep into me. “You should be asleep.”
“So should you. You got home at midnight.”
“Overtime at work,” he replies.
Mom never believes his explanation about working extra hours, saving money, his plans to open his own garage. She sees the whole world through a warped lens of despair and failure and projects that on to everybody—even me.
But Cam is not lying. His hands are callused and rough, his knuckles split with dirt and grease embedded so deep beneath his nails that no amount of scrubbing can get rid of it. He needs a full manicure, but we all know that will never happen.
I saw his notebook in his back pocket once, filled with all kinds of numbers, plans, and calculations. A pad full of dreams, drawn by an ambitious man.
“Help yourself to coffee,” he says, turning away from me.
I don’t even like coffee, but I pour myself some, just to be close to him. I add a ton of sugar, causing him to shake his head.
“How long until you can open the garage?” I ask. He flinches.
“You and your mom been talking?”
“My mom doesn’t know anything about you,” I snap. “She thinks you’re just another loser. Don’t you see that?”
A hint of a smirk comes over his lips, causing me to warm inside.
He turns slowly, and the full weight of his attention hits me like a hammer to the chest. In the dim, morning light slanting through the kitchen window, his eyes are dark and unreadable.
But I can see something there, something animalistic, something focused.
“Maybe she’s right.”
“She’s not.” I shake my head, instantly embarrassed. I’m too emotional. Revealing too much. “You have plans. Good plans. You’re not just a lazy mooch.”
“Lazy mooch?” He almost chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee. “Good plans don’t make a good man, Katie.”
The way he says my name makes my pulse pump hard. His throat flexes as he swallows like it was tough for him to say. Like he just gave confession. I take a step closer, expecting him to move back, but this time he doesn’t.
“Well, what makes a good man then?” I ask.
The kitchen suddenly feels small as his eyes focus on me, his jaw clenching like he’s chewing on his teeth. So many unspoken things conveyed. “Staying away from something he should not want.”
His words carry a force with them, like a wrecking ball threatening to smash the trailer into bits.
“But…what if the thing he wants doesn’t want him to stay away?”
Silence stretches taut like a piano wire, threatening to snap.
I see his hands gripping the counter edge, his knuckles white. There’s a battle playing out across his face. Has he been losing this battle since he first looked at me, or am I just imagining things…?
I remember the first time he gave me the look.
Mom had passed out early with a glass of wine beside her, and I was reading on the couch.
Cam had just come in from a late shift and he looked exhausted.
But when our eyes met, it was like something fundamental shifted, like the entire foundation of the universe had moved.
Before I could speak, he shook his head and scolded me like a child. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, little girl.”
Little girl!? That’s what I wanted to say, but I stayed silent as he went into the back.
I do know what I’m getting into!
I’ve seen what happens to trailer park girls who aren’t careful. Pregnant at sixteen with some guy who doesn’t love them, trapped into aluminum boxes and abusive relationships for the rest of their lives—and that’s if they’re lucky enough to have a man who sticks with them. Lucky, I guess…
Sometimes I think about applying to college—study business or something that could take me away from here. But that requires money. Money I don’t have.
I’ve watched my mom cycle through men with a new one almost every season, each one taking a piece of her with them, until now she’s nothing more than red wine and bitterness.
But Cam is something else entirely. He’s controlled, contained, with a vision for life so sharp it could cut through steel. And he looks at me like I’m precious and terrifying at the same time.
“I saw your notebook,” I tell him. “I know how close you are.”
His eyes narrow. “How in the—”
“I pay attention,” I reply, proud of myself, stepping even closer now. His eyes track my every move like I’m prey and he’s a predator. “You need fifty thousand for your down payment on the garage.”
He braces himself. “So you’ve been going through my things?”
“You leave your notebook out sometimes.” I shrug. “Can’t blame me if I pick it up.”
I take another step. I can smell him now. Manly soap, coffee, oil, and of course that underlying scent that’s just him. “I see you working sixteen-hour days, eating peanut butter sandwiches and driving that old beater truck to save money.”
“Katie.” He shakes his head. “Stop.”
I should, but I can’t. I’m blinded by his presence, and the words just continue to pour out of my mouth.
“I saw your blueprints. Your plans. You’re going to make it happen, Cam. I know you are.”
My excitement is unstoppable, like this unquenchable thirst inside—a desire so hot it burns like the sun. I want to reach out and touch him. Throw myself into his arms. What would it feel like to have him holding me against his body? The broad muscles of his chest heaving against my breasts?
And for a brief moment, from the way he’s looking at me, I actually think he’s going to act. Going to snatch me up like I belong to him and take me away, far away from here.
But then, in a flash, he spins away from me, gripping the counter like he’s about to snap it into dust. “I’m dating your mother, Katie,” he says simply, as though that ends the conversation.
“We both know you’re not here for my mother,” I reply. “You never were.”
My center tingles with excitement. I shift side to side ever so slightly and become aware of just how soaked I am. My arousal is dripping down my thighs. Cam might just see how turned on for him I am—if he doesn’t already know.
I let my eyes flicker down for the briefest of seconds and see the swollen knot between his legs, a massive bulge held back by the button fly of his jeans. He just absolutely oozes masculinity, dominance, and sex. And his restraint is killing me.
“I’m still your mother’s—”
“What? Her boyfriend?” I ask bitterly. “Have you two ever even touched each other?” His silence speaks volumes. Thank God. I was right. “I see you, Cam. Who you really are.”
He shakes his head. “You see me as your way out of here.”
“No!” I snap, snatching his arm. “I see you. And the way you look at me—”
“Stop it,” he growls, pulling away. It’s like a vacuum forms between us. “I have to go to work.”
“Cam—”
“Lock the door behind me. And stop going through my things. I’m not right for you, Katie. You deserve someone…better.”
I open my mouth to reply, but before I can, he’s gone.
Better? There’s no way he believes that. For some reason, he’s trying to resist, and he thinks putting distance between us will help. He thinks he’s being noble, doing the right thing. But since when has torturing yourself been the right thing to do? I should know, after all.
I hear Mom moving around in the back. In a few minutes, she’ll stumble out and demand some of the coffee Cam made, then say it tastes like crap.
But for now, in this brief moment, I let myself imagine a different future. One where Cam’s projections for his garage work out. Where I stand beside him as he opens the doors to new customers, ready to support him in ways my mom could only ever dream of.
My coffee grows cold in my hands, but I don’t care. All I can think about is how long it will be until he’s home again. Until we do our little back-and-forth dance again, every interaction stripping away another layer of his self-control.
He thinks by doing what he’s doing he’s protecting me from himself. What he doesn’t know is I’d gladly let him destroy me in any way he wanted.