Chapter 27 #3
‘You know what would have really happened. We would have gone for breakfast and I would’ve eaten like a pig, then we would’ve gone back to your place, or my place.
Maybe we would have done that for a while, but at some stage one of us would’ve left.
The relationship would have inevitably ended.
It would never have worked between us; we’re too . . . too . . .’
‘Like petrol to a fire?’ he offered.
‘Explosive. Competitive. Argumentative. Volatile. Take your pick,’ I added.
‘Volatile, I’d say. You tried to kill me the other day.’
‘Oh please, I think you’re being a tad dramatic. I was just trying to choke you a little.’
‘Until I lost consciousness?’
‘You would have come round in a minute or so. It’s not like I knocked you over the head or anything; just a little tug on the carotid artery, that’s all.’
‘That’s all? That’s all?’ Cam moved closer to me and something in his eyes changed. The very serious conversation we’d just been having seemed to have been tossed out the window, and now something else was happening. The same thing that usually happened.
‘It’s nothing you wouldn’t have done to me!’ I accused him.
He looked like he was thinking about this for a moment, and then he started nodding. ‘Perhaps. But perhaps not.’ And then something flashed over his face as he looked down at my exposed neck.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, even though instinctively I knew. His approach was an upcoming attack, so I backed away, readying myself. Then—
‘What the . . .!’ I spluttered as my entire body was thrown backwards into the water. When I came back up, he was standing there with a fat smile on his face. I slapped the surface in front of me, sending droplets flying into his face, but this only made him laugh.
‘Is that all you have?’ He smiled, beckoning me with his hands, in that way we’d done with each other a million times before on the wrestling mat.
‘No, I have much more. Much more. Question is, can you take my more?’ I got into a combat pose.
‘Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth . . .’ Cam said.
‘Cameron, Cameron, Cameron,’ I echoed.
‘Calling each other by our full names now, Elizabeth Edna Brown?’
‘How do you know my middle name?’ I asked, totally embarrassed. Edna had been my grandmother’s name, and I hated it, not to mention went to great lengths to conceal it.
‘I know everything about you, Lizzy. And yes, I’m also probably the only person in the world who can take your special brand of more.’
I thought about his statement for a second before nodding my head. ‘That’s true, and you never went easy on me.’
‘I would’ve been doing you a disservice if I had. I mean, look at you now. I’m not going to lie, I feel a flicker of pride deep inside.’
‘Pride! Well, that’s not patronising at all, implying you had something to do with my “creation”.’ I gestured the quote marks.
‘Didn’t I?’
‘You’re just saying that to rile me up.’
‘It’s so easy to do. I’ve always known what buttons to press when it comes to you, sweetie.’
‘Swee—’ I started, but quickly stopped. ‘No. I’m not falling for that.’
He laughed. ‘See, that’s what I mean.’
‘Are you saying I’m predictable?’
He shook his head. ‘No, you’re anything but predictable. Trust me, I’ve never met anyone less predictable and more challenging than you. Ever.’ And then he did something completely unexpected. He thrust his hand into the space between us.
‘Truce?’ he asked.
‘Truce from what?’
‘From this, you and me always fighting each other.’
‘Um . . .’ I scrutinised his hand for a moment. ‘How do I know this isn’t another trap? The second I put my hand in yours, you toss me over your shoulder or dunk me.’
‘How do I know you’re not the one planning to do that to me?’ he asked.
‘I kind of was.’
He laughed. ‘I know you were. But how about this time we don’t?’
I looked up at him and shook my head. ‘And how do I know the second I agree to that you won’t attack me anyway?’
‘I guess you’re just going to have to trust me, and I’m going to have to trust you.’
‘Trust?’
‘Trust,’ he repeated softly.
I reluctantly started inching my fingers towards his. I still wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t attack me the second I placed my hand in his. And because it was all I was thinking about, I’d already planned my retaliatory move: grab his hand, twist and lock him into an armbar.
Cam burst out laughing. ‘You’re trying to figure out how to armbar me, aren’t you?’
‘The thought had crossed my mind.’
‘But you’re not going to do it.’ He sounded strangely confident.
My fingers stopped inching, and hovered only millimetres from his, twitching as if they had a will of their own, no longer attached to me or my brain. They were operating independently now, as the tips reached out further and brushed against his, feathery soft.
That one touch, so simple, so small, changed everything.
The world around us seemed to shrink and fold in on itself, getting smaller and smaller until it felt as if our touching fingertips were the only thing that existed in the entire universe.
My hand tingled, the tingle moved up my arm, into my shoulder and neck, and soon it spread all the way through me. Slow. Warm. Very disconcerting.
But my fingers still lingered there, caught somewhere between the need to retreat and the impossible pull of staying where they were.
And then they slipped into his. The moment felt painfully intimate.
More intimate than it should have been, and definitely more intimate than I ever wanted a moment between us to feel again.
His body stiffened, and he clamped his fingers over mine.
For a second I almost took that as my cue to pull away.
Almost. But instead, my fingers also tightened.
‘See,’ Cam said, his voice going all soft and whispery.
I looked up and our eyes locked.
‘Nothing dangerous is going to happen,’ he said.
But those words couldn’t have been further from the truth. Because something about this moment felt more dangerous than any other kind of physical threat.
I was very much in danger right now . . .
I’d imagined her hand in mine like this so many times before.
In quiet, simple moments mostly. Sitting in a restaurant, walking through a mall together, on the couch watching TV.
Her hand felt like it fitted perfectly in mine.
Like it was meant to be there, and we hadn’t taken some stupid six-year detour to figure out that we were meant to be together and always should’ve been.
I’d imagined something else too, many times before. I flashed back to that moment six years ago, right after sex, lying in bed together for the first time. I’d played it over and over again in my head . . .
‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you,’ I told her. ‘Something I should’ve said a long time ago.’ And I’d been totally ready to say it. I’d been ready for almost two years.
But I didn’t.
‘That bridge-and-roll you do when you’re pinned – you need to work on that. You’re leaving yourself completely open.’
Fuck. What the hell had been wrong with me? It had been the perfect moment, the right moment, and I had totally chickened out. Made one of the biggest mistakes of my life.
I love you. That was what I’d meant to say. What I should have said.
I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.