Chapter Twenty-Seven Cameron
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cameron
Days seemed to drag for me.
After Sloane’s breakdown on the hospital rooftop, everything felt fragile, as if she had taken a very slow step forward or maybe stopped moving forward altogether. She grew withdrawn, burying herself in her work, and I often caught her slipping away to find a moment alone, lost in thought.
The only hopeful thing was that she kept fighting, even when every step was so heavy for her. And all I could do was stay by her side.
She continued with her therapy, and I continued with mine.
Her father remained in the hospital for seven days, but she never once went to see him.
Her parents didn’t reach out either, and I knew it was their pride keeping them away from their only child.
That was something I could never understand.
How could they turn away so completely, as if she meant nothing?
In the end, maybe it was better that way.
It was best if they never found their way back into her life again.
Maybe their absence was a gift in disguise.
It was safer for her to build a life without them, one where their voices and their judgments no longer reached her.
It hurt to think that parents could abandon their child so easily, but if cutting them out meant she had a chance at healing, then maybe that was the best thing that could happen.
And when it came to my relationship with Sloane, it had not unfolded the way I once hoped it would. I was still firmly in the friend zone, standing in the same place as Gabriel or Lina—people she trusted and leaned on—but nothing more.
The difference was Harper. She was the bond that held us together in a way no one else could. When the three of us were together, we were a family.
Sometimes I wondered if she truly understood how much she meant to me, or if to her, I was only another constant presence in the chaos.
I tried to believe that staying by her side was enough, that protecting her and Harper was enough.
But deep down, I wanted more. I wanted her to see me differently, not only as someone she could rely on but as someone she might love again.
But for now, I had to accept it, carrying the ache of wanting something that might never return to me.
The days kept moving. One month slipped by, then another, and then another.
During my session, I told my therapist how I felt now that Sloane had improved so much, only to be struggling again.
He listened quietly, then asked, “Do you ever find yourself worrying that she might return to the way she was before?”
I hesitated before nodding. “Yes. All the time. Every setback makes me afraid it could be the one that undoes everything. I’m scared of losing her to it completely.”
“And if that were to happen,” he continued gently, “how do you imagine you would respond? What do you think it would mean for you to stay by her side in that situation?”
I drew in a sharp breath. “I want to believe I could handle it. I want to believe I would always be strong enough. But if I’m honest, the thought of watching her fall apart again terrifies me. I’m afraid of not being enough for her if it happens.”
He gave me a moment before asking, “Do you think part of that fear is about being hurt yourself? About being put through that pain again?”
I sat back in the chair, my eyes fixed on my therapist. “All I’ve cared about is making sure she’s okay. That she doesn’t feel alone the way she did before.”
He tilted his head slightly. “But where does that leave you? If all your energy is spent on her, what happens to you?”
I held onto my conviction as I answered, “If she’s safe, that’s enough. And happy. That she found peace, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
My therapist leaned back, thoughtful. “Cameron, you’ve told me before about the times Sloane pushed you away. The harsh words, the moments where you felt shut out, even when you were trying to stay close. That hurt you deeply.”
I nodded slowly.
“And when the weight of that pain became too much, you said you stepped outside the relationship. That you cheated. Not because you stopped loving her, but because you felt you couldn’t breathe anymore. You were desperate for relief.”
The shame burned hot in me.
My therapist leaned forward slightly. “That doesn’t mean you’re beyond repair, Cameron.
It means you were carrying more than you knew how to hold.
We’ve established this before. And now you’re here, trying to face it instead of running from it.
That matters.” He paused before adding, “But let me ask you this. If it ever happened again, if Sloane pushed you away and the pain built up like before, how would you respond? What would you do differently this time?”
I met his gaze without hesitation. “I wouldn’t run this time. Never again. I’d face her, tell her the truth, even if it hurt. Because losing her, losing her trust, cost me everything. And I won’t let myself make that mistake again.”
“Hey.”
I jumped when Sloane’s voice cut through my thoughts.
“I saw you standing here, thinking hard.” She leaned against the railing, mimicking my posture as she looked down at the busy lobby.
The funny thing was, it was usually her in this position and me pulling her out of her thoughts.
“Yeah.” I gave her a small smile. “Just taking a break before my next surgery in…” I glanced at my watch. “Five minutes.”
“What are you thinking?” she asked softly.
I stared at her. It struck me that this could turn into the deepest conversation we’d had in months, even if it lasted only five minutes.
“A lot of things,” I said slowly, letting the words hang between us.
“Tell me,” she whispered.
“You,” I breathed, barely audible. “I cannot stop thinking about you. I am always thinking about you.”
“What about me?” she asked, her voice just as soft.
“That I’m worried about you,” I admitted, my throat tight. “That I miss you. And how much I want to be with you.”
Her gaze softened. “I miss you too.”
Our eyes met, speaking all the words we could not say.
I let my eyes take her in—the beauty in her gaze, the softness of her skin that never needed much makeup, the thick, unruly hair I used to run my fingers through. God, what I wouldn’t give to kiss her right now.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, studying her face, looking for any hint that she might be struggling.
“I’m fine, Cam,” she said, her smile gentle. “You ask me that several times a day.”
“It’s too much, isn’t it?” I admitted, wincing. “I can’t help it.”
She shook her head and said, “Keep doing that.”
I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“I want you to keep doing that. Ask me every single day.”
A slow smile spread across my face, wide enough to crack my cheeks. “Okay.”
“Okay.” She nodded, grinning so beautifully it gave my heart a pinch. “I have to go now. See you tonight, Cam.”
She hurried down the hallway, probably to see a patient, and I stayed where I was, watching her back. My chest felt full of emotions, and my smile stretched wider.
It hadn’t even been five minutes, but that was already the best conversation I had ever had with her in months.
Harper ran as soon as Sloane opened the front door.
“I have to pee!” she shouted, dashing toward the small guest bathroom downstairs.
Sloane chuckled, her eyes following her daughter.
“She’s been holding it in the whole way here,” I said, laughing. “Before we left Mom’s house, I asked her if she needed to use the bathroom, and she said no.”
Sloane chuckled again, a light, airy sound. I noticed something different about her—a subtle ease in the way she carried herself, as if the storm that had weighed on her for so long had finally passed and she could breathe a little easier, move a little lighter.
“It’s nice to hear you laugh,” I said, my gaze softening as I looked at her. My heart and entire body felt like they were softening too.
She turned to me, her expression mirroring mine, and said, “Would you like to come in?”
I looked at her, momentarily stunned. She had surprised me a few times today, and all of them had been good.
“Of course,” I said, smiling happily. “Thank you.”
I stepped inside and took off my coat and shoes while Sloane closed the door.
“Have you had dinner yet? I just made lasagna,” she said. “It’s still in the oven, probably needs another five minutes.”
I had just finished dinner with Harper at Mom’s house, but all I could say to her was, “I’d love that, thank you.”
I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything in the world.
She walked to the kitchen, and I followed, Harper already finished and joining us.
“Something smells delicious! What are you cooking?” she asked her mom.
“Lasagna,” Sloane replied. “Want some?”
“No, thanks, Mommy. Daddy and I already ate at Grandma’s. She cooked lasagna, too.”
Sloane turned to me quickly, brows raised, her eyes full of questions.
“I wasn’t eating that much,” I started, then trailed off. “I can still eat some more.”
“But you had two plates, Daddy?” Harper asked, blinking at me, her tone innocent.
“I’m a big guy. I can handle a little more, baby,” I told her.
My daughter narrowed her eyes at me, unconvinced. When I looked at Sloane, she was grinning.
“Can you grab the wine?” she asked. “I have one in the fridge.”
“Sure,” I said quickly, relieved the conversation had shifted. I went to the fridge and pulled out the bottle.
“I’m going to bed,” Harper said, yawning loudly. “I’m sleepy.” I looked at her and knew she was faking it, just like I had been faking hunger.
“Come here and give me a kiss first,” Sloane said. “And don’t forget to brush your teeth.”
“Yes, Mommy. Love you.”
And then another surprise. “I love you too, baby.”
I froze, the bottle still in my hand, completely stunned. There was no trace of tension in her expression, no heavy breathing, nothing of the strain I had seen before. She said it with complete ease.
My chest filled with pride. Sloane was a fighter, through and through.
Harper ran over and wrapped her arms around my waist. I kissed her forehead and whispered goodnight before she darted upstairs to her room.
And then it was just the two of us.
My heart raced in my chest.
The last time I had a moment alone with Sloane was when we talked in front of her bedroom, sitting on the floor, spilling out the truth.
This time, I hoped with everything in me that it could be the start of a new beginning for us.
The oven dinged, and Sloane moved to take out the dish while I set the table. Everything was still in its old place, so it was easy to find what I needed.
We stayed quiet as we sat across from each other and began to eat. I was still fairly full, and I was grateful that Sloane had given me only a small serving. And all the while, I was thinking hard about what to say.
“It doesn’t have to be this awkward, Cam,” Sloane said, and I lifted my head to look at her. She laughed when she caught my expression. “You look really nervous.”
I laughed too, trying to sound at ease, but the sound gave me away. “I don’t know why, but I am nervous.”
“You don’t have to,” she said. “Because it’s me, Cam. And I’d like to think this is the better version of me.”
I looked at her and felt myself melting. In her eyes, I could see the desperate hope that I had noticed how hard she had been trying. “I’ve learned something, Sloane,” I said softly. “No matter what version of you there is, I’ll always love you.”
She let out a small sigh, her shoulders easing as if in relief.
And then, as if she hadn’t finished surprising me today, she said, “You know that I love you, Cam.”
I searched her face, almost bracing myself for the shift I had come to expect. But it never came. I just kept staring at her, unable to believe it.
And she noticed. “I’ve been practicing,” she said softly. “Saying it when I was alone and in therapy. I want to be able to say it without flinching, without the fear.” She paused, then added with a shy smile, “I think I’m doing a good job, aren’t I?”
My eyes grew warm. “You’re doing more than a good job, Sloane. You’re incredible. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you.” Her smile widened as she turned back to her plate, and I caught the faintest blush on her cheeks. Sloane never blushed. “You have to know I’m doing this for you, too.”
“I know,” I said, my voice catching. “That means everything to me.”
Her gaze dropped to her plate. “Let’s finish eating.”
We continued eating, and afterwards we slipped into the rhythm we used to know so well, especially on our good days—clearing the dishes, wrapping up the leftovers, and tucking them into the fridge.
It felt easy, like no time had passed at all.
Then we poured ourselves some wine and sat across from each other at the dining table.
The conversation started light, circling around Harper, but slowly drifted into heavier things—stories about our patients and the weight of our days. At one point, she told me she wanted to go on a holiday. I didn’t dare ask if that holiday included me.
When her yawns grew more frequent and her eyes lingered shut between blinks, I knew it was time for me to go. She walked me to the front door and opened it, and every part of me resisted stepping outside. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay.
We stood there, facing each other, our eyes holding more than words could say. Then, without hesitation, she rose onto her toes, her hands resting lightly on my shoulders, and pressed her lips to mine. And lingered.
I froze, stunned, caught between believing and doubting, afraid it might vanish if I moved too quickly.
“Good night, Cam,” she said gently, pulling away. “Tomorrow night I’m making Ranch Grilled Chicken Burritos, your favorite. Don’t eat dinner at Anita’s, okay?”