Chapter 5 Cam
CAM
Yeah, okay. I fucked up. Bad.
I hadn’t meant a word I said, but I said it so nothing more would happen between us. How do I explain having feelings for my sister's best friend? Or my best friend's little sister? When Wren and Reed got together, I basically threw a bitch fit. How would it look if I went and did the same thing?
And yeah, I was staring while Harper was typing her email.
I could tell she knew it, but I just didn’t care enough to stop.
Not when she looked like that—curled up in her hoodie, face bare, her pink curls soft and pulled back into a low ponytail.
She constantly dolled herself up, never having a hair out of place.
But this? This version of her? Now there was no armor or sharp edges.
Just Harper, tired, beautiful, and trying so damn hard to keep it together.
God, I was being weird. No, it was more than that. I was being such a fucking asshole. Wren had told me about Harper’s house and what happened, and I still said that to her.
I dragged a hand over the back of my neck and leaned deeper into the couch, letting the sound of the game play in the background while my brain refused to shut up.
A soft sound in the kitchen pulled me from my thoughts.
“You good?” I asked.
There was the sound of a chair moving, and then footsteps. Wren poked her head into the living room. “Me? Yeah. Why?”
“You’re being a bit too quiet.”
Wren looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “You tell me to shut up at least three times a day. You like it when I’m quiet.”
“Yeah,” I said, deadpan. “But your silence makes me incredibly uneasy.”
She rolled her eyes and smiled as she walked back out of the living room.
I gave her a lazy smirk, but inside, I was still somewhere else.
Back in the hallway, I knocked on the door to the room she was staying in.
Thinking about the way Harper looked when she opened the door and walked down the hall.
How the light caught the magenta in her hair.
The way the hoodie almost swallowed her, sleeves past her hands, hem hitting mid-thigh.
Those damn shorts. Her long, bronze legs.
Jesus.
I sat up and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and let out a slow breath.
I really needed to apologize to her. When I found out that she was staying here, my first thought was to make things easier for her, and here I am doing the exact opposite.
It’s hard not to, honestly. The number of fights and bickering we have done in the past few years alone was enough for a lifetime.
I was going to get my shit together and fix this. Even if it meant biting my tongue or getting on my knees to beg for her forgiveness.
* * *
Wren had said goodnight over an hour ago. Probably closer to two, if I were being honest. I stayed on the couch long after the game ended, mindlessly scrolling on my phone. The screen lit my face in the dark, like a pathetic nightlight.
It was just past eleven thirty when I finally gave up, deciding to get some damn sleep.
The hallway was quiet, and everyone in the house settled in for the night. Wren’s room was at the front right of the hallway, a little light from her bedside lamp still visible under the crack of her door. She’d probably fallen asleep with it on again.
My room was at the very end—the last door on the left. But it was right across from where Harper was sleeping.
I had one hand on my door, twisting the knob, when I paused. I swear I heard something. Soft. Muffled. I held still, breath caught, listening hard.
There it was again—just the faintest sound.
Crying.
Not loud. Just soft and raw, as if she didn’t want anyone to hear it. And that was the part that got me. She didn’t want anyone to hear. There’s no way in hell that I could walk into my room and pretend I didn’t.
I crossed the hall before I could think better of it. I knocked gently, barely more than a tap.
“Harps?” My voice was low. Careful. “You awake?”
No answer. But the crying stopped.
I rested my forehead lightly against the door and closed my eyes.
“Can I come in?”
Because no matter what it was—stress, grief, that damn storm messing up her life—I wasn’t about to let her carry it by herself.
Not while she was under my roof, tucked into the room she helped create.
Not when I’d already decided I’d do whatever it took to make her feel safe here.
Even if she didn’t ask. Even if she didn’t say a word.
Even if I fucked up so badly, she couldn’t forgive me.
Still no answer.
I stood there a second longer, jaw tight, hand hovering near the doorknob like I could will it to open just by standing close enough. But I wasn’t walking away. I couldn’t. Not when I knew she was in there crying.
“C’mon, trouble,” I said, voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’m here for you. I mean it. Open the door.”
Quiet. Then a sigh. A soft shuffle of her feet against the floor. The unmistakable click of the lock. The door cracked open just enough for me to see her standing there in the warm glow of the room.
Her eyes were puffy, cheeks streaked with dried tears. Her nose was a little red. She’d taken out her contacts and was wearing those tortoiseshell glasses I secretly thought were adorable. One sleeve of her hoodie came up as she wiped at another tear trailing down her face.
The fairy lights behind the curtains made the room glow like a dream. Soft and safe. It looked like her. Even like this.
She didn’t say anything, just turned and trudged back to the bed. Harper sat on the edge of it like she didn’t know what to do with herself anymore.
I stepped in without hesitation, closing the door gently behind me.
I sat next to her slowly, careful not to crowd her. Legs stretched out just a little in front of me, hands resting on my thighs, body angled toward her but not fully turned. She needed space, not pressure.
“When you’re ready,” I breathed.
That was all it took.
Her entire face crumpled, just as if she’d been holding everything back with tape and string, and I’d just snipped the last thread.
“I feel so broken,” she whispered between sobs.
“I—I have had the worst fucking year of my life. My dad’s dead, and I never got closure.
My house is fucked. My trust fund is basically gone.
Now I’m living here, trying not to get in the way while I—” She sucked in a breath.
“While I watch my best friend fall even more in love with my brother and eventually leave me behind.”
That part hit differently. She wiped her eyes again, but tears just kept falling.
“It sounds selfish. I’m not mad. I love them both and want them to be happy. But I feel like I’m losing her. And I don’t have anyone to talk to.”
I stayed silent. I just let her get it all out, the words tumbling over each other in waves. All the things she’d clearly been holding in for way too long. I could feel the weight of her words. I could hear the exhaustion in her voice.
“And honestly?” Her brown doe eyes met my icy blue ones.
“You’re a fucking asshole. You led me to believe something more was going to happen between us, Cam.
I’ve waited a fucking year for you, and you tell me it’s a mistake?
” She dried her tears with her hoodie sleeve and continued.
“Fuck you, dude. You did this shit when I was clearly not having a great day and honestly… You should go.”
I sighed. I wasn’t going to leave her in here alone to sort through her feelings.
“It’s all valid, Harps,” I reassured. “All of it. You’re not selfish for feeling like this.
You’re human. And you’ve been carrying way too much on your own.
” I ran a hand through my hair, letting it land on the nape of my neck.
“You’re right, I am an asshole. I said that shit because I am having a hard time with the whole wanting you thing. ” Her eyes narrowed in confusion.
“Shit, no, that came out badly. Fuck. Well, when your brother and my sister got together, I didn’t give them an easy time, and I worry that if there was to be an us, a lot of shit would change.”
“So… you made me wait a year to say you’re a pussy? Am I missing something?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, basically. I’m sorry, Harper.
I am sorry I wasted a year of your time.
It wasn’t fair, and I should’ve spoken up sooner.
The kiss wasn’t a mistake. I am so happy that you caved and did it before I took matters into my own hands.
” A small smile tugged at her lips. “Could you ever forgive me?”
She looked up at me, eyes red and glassy, and said, “Can you just hold me for a minute? Let me consider forgiving you. I need some time.”
God.
“Yeah,” I said. My voice came out lower than I meant it to. I cleared my throat. “Of course.”
I scooted back on the bed, settled into the headboard, and pulled one of her pillows under my arm. Then I patted my chest. “C’mere, trouble.”
She didn’t hesitate. She crawled up to me and curled against me, face pressed into my chest, hand resting just above my ribs as if she belonged there.
I felt her fingers curl slightly into the fabric of my shirt.
I didn’t move, but I wrapped my arm around her, anchoring her to me, hoping I could carry even a fraction of what she’d been holding alone.
She cried, and I held her. And I didn’t say a single word.
She didn’t need solutions right now. She just needed me.