by Taylor Hart
Cameron smiled. “We can stop the breathing. I’m okay now.”
She turned, feeling out of sorts. This had gotten too intense for her. “I’m going to go.” She stumbled and the heel on her shoe broke. Her ankle twisted, the kind of twist that yanked her tendons. She fell to the floor, crying out.
Cameron was immediately beside her. “Are you okay?”
The crowd that had gathered around them was coming closer.
All she could focus on was her ankle. “I sprained it. I know I did.”
Cameron focused his eyes on her ankle and asked her, “Can I touch it?”
She nodded, forcing back tears because the pain was still flaring through her.
He put his fingers on her ankle and gently pushed it. “Here?”
One of the cruise staff approached. “Are you okay, ma’am?”
Tears trickled down her face. Angrily, she wiped them away. “Yes.” She flinched as he touched different parts of her ankle. It was already swelling.
Cameron frowned. “It looks to be an exterior sprain. Probably needs ice and rest for a couple of days.”
“No,” she said, thinking of her list. She tried to stand, but then fell back.
“Do you want me to get the ship doctor?” one of the staff asked.
“Yes,” Cameron said, waving him off. “Have the doctor go to room two eighteen.” As the staff guy ran off, Cameron asked her, “Can I carry you to your room?”
“No.” Sweat had broken out on her forehead, and she tried to push herself up, again. This time she kicked off her other heel. Cameron tried to support her, but she pushed him away. “No.”
She got her balance and tried to walk. After one step, she crumpled again and would have fallen from the pain, but Cameron was there, stabilizing her.
“I’m fine,” she said, more tears leaking out. She waited.
“Dang, woman.” Cameron bent, and before she could protest, he swept her up in his arms and carried her out of the dining hall like she weighed nothing and he was some kind of prince.
It was all new and distracting—the feel of strong arms carrying her, the smell of something she’d noticed earlier. Something expensive, she imagined. It smelled spicy, like cinnamon and pine.
“What?” he asked, staring down at her.
His lips were close. Kissably close. “Nothing,” she said, not sure whether she should be happy that he was carrying her to her room.
He didn’t ask if she was happy or not. He was just efficient. He rushed down the deck, down the flight of stairs, and down the hallway to her suite. “Code?”
“1518.”
He punched it in and pushed the door open.
When he got inside, she said, “You can just put me down.”
He was already setting her gently on her bed.
She leaned back, grateful she hadn’t had to walk on it.
“I’ll be right back.” He rushed out.
She watched him go and wanted to call out to him and ask what he was doing.
In less than ten minutes, he was back with ice, wraps, ice packs, and a doctor. “I brought him so he could assess you properly,” Cam said, taking off his dinner jacket. He wore a white button-down shirt underneath, and she couldn’t help but notice how good he looked in it. She had to focus on something else.
The doctor was an older gentleman. “My name is Dr. George Foreman.” He put up a hand. “No need to make any jokes.”
She wouldn’t have, but then she remembered the infomercial of the actual George Foreman selling his grill thing.
Cameron glanced at her. A smirk flitted across his face.
She resisted smiling. It made her feel like they were sharing an inside joke. “Thank you for coming.”
The doctor nodded and inspected her ankle. “Too much dancing, I hear.”
“No, I was clumsy.”
“I should have caught you,” Cameron said.
“No, I was the clumsy one.” Why was he trying to take the blame?
The doctor assessed her. “Sprained. Possibly a tendon tear.” He let out a breath and put his things away. “I think ice, compression, and elevation. It looks like your man here has it handled.”
“He’s not my man,” she said quickly.
“I’m not …” Cam said, trailing.
The doctor shrugged and started out. “Got other emergencies, but I’ll check back on you tomorrow.”
Cameron didn’t wait for her to say anything. He took one of the towels from the bathroom and put it on her ankle, adding ice and compression.
Stupid, annoying tears fell down her cheeks. No. She was here to do these excursions. She couldn’t be stuck inside.
After Cameron finished, he turned to her. “Why are you crying?” It was said with a bit of confusion. “You’re going to be just fine.”
She couldn’t stay in here. She had the list to think about. “Please leave.”
Cameron didn’t move for a bit, and she stared out the window, which only showed part of her balcony and the sky. The sun was starting to set. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “It isn’t permanent.”
She didn’t answer him.
“This isn’t something to cry about. I would think you would get that after losing—” He caught himself.
“Go!” she shouted at him. “You don’t understand anything! I have a list of excursions to complete, and you just don’t get it!”
He threw a hand into the air. “I don’t understand, so explain it.”
“Go! Just go!”
He didn’t budge. His eyes were focused on her, laser-like, and she knew she looked crazy.
“Please,” she said. It came out like a whisper. She leaned back, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry, I just … please just go.”
She wasn’t sure how long he stood there in some kind of trance before he walked out, letting the door fall shut behind him.
Lying back into the pillows, she slammed her fists into the bed and wished, for the thousandth time, that she had been the one to die.
Chapter 7
Cameron changed into shorts and a T-shirt and running shoes. What he needed right now was a physical release.
He rushed out of his room without glancing at the room next door, then raced up the stairs and down the deck to the twenty-four-hour gym. Fortunately, it was so late that it wasn’t crowded. One other person was doing weights, so Cam went to the treadmill and pushed the speed up to eight-point-oh. He needed a full-on run.
His mind replayed the day. The happiness he’d felt at Dunn’s River with his sister and nephews and her husband. The idiot Hawaiian shirt guy and the way Isabel threatened to cause him bodily harm. It made him smile. Dancing with her. Laughing with her. The way she smelled like tangerines. Why had he noticed that? He seethed in frustration; he didn’t want to notice those things. Her sad eyes resurfaced in his memory.
He cranked up the speed again, pushing himself hard and fast. She’d been right that morning at the river. His face was a bit hollower. He had lost weight.
He thought of her willowy body. Did she ever eat? She wouldn’t be a runner. He thought of how her slender body would look in yoga pants. Stop it! He rubbed his eyes as if he could erase the mental image. No. He had a wife. He’d had Kat.
At the end of his run, he jumped off the treadmill, sweating profusely. But he didn’t want to stop. He went to the weights and lay down on the bench press. Fifty pounds were already loaded on each side. He pushed a couple of sets out, then got up and did some push-ups and triceps curls.
No matter how much he pushed himself, he couldn’t get away from the fact that he was invested in this woman now. He wanted to know how her son and husband had died. He wanted to help her.
Realizing that surprised him. Rushing from the gym, he went back to the deck in full sprint mode. He got to her room and knocked on the door. He could punch in the code, but that didn’t seem right. He knocked again.
Abruptly, she swung the door back. She was still in her dress. Her face was tear
-streaked, and her hair was a ratty mess. The compression and ice pack were still on her ankle. “I told you to go away.” She turned away, letting the door drop.
He put his foot in and followed her without asking. “That’s not fair.”
She sat on her bed, propping up her foot, and gave him a long-suffering look.
“I want to help.”
She sucked in a breath and released it slowly. “Cameron, thank you for helping me. Thank you for dancing. Thank you for getting my mind off of my problems for a bit, but I realize now this whole thing is a mistake. I shouldn’t have come on this cruise. I shouldn’t have thought this could fix me.”
He didn’t understand. “I’m not leaving.”
“I told you to go.” Tears fell down her cheeks.
“Why won’t you let me help?”
She scoffed. “It’s a long story, and believe me, I’m kinda messed up. You don’t need this with … your stuff.”
She was right, he didn’t, but he found himself sitting at the chair next to her table. “I have time.”
Shaking her head, she said, “No, I’m sorry. “
Without thinking about it, he scooted the chair next to her bedside. “C’mon.”
“No.”
His heart pounded inside his chest. Why was he even here? What was he even doing? He got up and moved to the door. Then he thought of how she’d threatened to knee that guy, and he found himself needing to stay. She’d been through a lot and she was still strong.
More awkward silence.
Finally, he turned back to her and told her the story only his sister Alicia knew. Not the press version. This was his version. “December tenth of last year, my wife was hit by a truck and killed.” Saying it made him angry, but anger had been his companion for what seemed like forever, so he kept it at bay and focused on her. “I’ve been a wreck. I … I’ve been so angry, not just because …” He felt emotion in his throat. “I’ve been a wreck because we don’t know who it was. For the last year, I’ve hired dozens of PIs. I’ve literally spent hundreds of hours looking at the footage the police got. There’s a guy in a black shirt with his hair buzzed who gets out for a second from a stolen black Ford. He goes to my wife, checks her pulse, runs off back to the truck, and is gone. Poof. Can’t find him. No matter how many times I watch.”
Her head turned to him, and her eyes met his. She didn’t speak.
“The guy took off, and maybe …” He threw a hand in the air. “All year, my thoughts have focused around the fact that if he would have stayed, helped her, done CPR, or called 911, she would have lived. But we’ll never know, because he left. Just left her to die in the cold.” He swallowed and focused. “I’ve been completely obsessed. I punched a paparazzi guy three weeks ago, and he sued me.”
She still said nothing, no change in expression.
He gestured to her. “This morning, you mentioned your therapist. Well, the judge ordered me to do me therapy sessions for twelve weeks, to start immediately after the court date. The only reason I’m here is because my sister, the busybody, took matters into her hands and insisted, begged the judge to allow me to come. To give me a break from mandatory therapy so I could come on this. Note, I didn’t want to come. At all. And I told you she’s taken away my phone so I can’t check it every second.”
“So you’re thinking that helping me will do what for you?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t know.” Despite his annoyance, he chuckled. “But my sister did tell me it’s Christmas and I should be helping someone.”
A small smile played at her lips. “Sounds like we have the same sister.”
He was gaining yards, and he didn’t know for what, but it felt good. “Sounds like we do.” Warmth filled him, and he knew this was the right course of action. “So, let me help.”
Isabel didn’t speak for a long time. Then she let out a long breath. She reached out her hand, and he saw tears in her eyes.
This connection was already breaking his heart. He moved to her and took her hand.
“I’m so sorry about your wife.”
How many times had he heard that exact line over the last year? How many times had people apologized? It was far, far, far better than telling him nice little platitudes about being in a better place or the blessing of not leaving any motherless children behind. “Thank you.”
After a moment of silence, she said, “Okay, I’ll tell you.” She exhaled, and her expression settled into calm. “It’s stupid, but Rick, my husband, always wanted to go on this cruise. He had it mapped out. We didn’t have money, and he talked about bringing Sam, our son, and going on these excursions.” She nodded toward the table. “He had a list.”
Cam moved to the table and picked up a very extensive handwritten list.
“I have to start at the beginning. I’m thirty. It’s not relevant, but I met my husband, Rick, as a freshman in college. We got married young, and we were pregnant the next year. I had Sam right before I turned twenty. It was rough, and it was a lot to handle.
“Rick and I had problems. He didn’t want me to do school or work; he wanted me to focus on Sam and having more kids. But the kids didn’t come, and I loved being a doula. Rick didn’t think that was a good profession for me. I … wasn’t happy. He would get so angry at times. Yell and yell and yell and …” She exhaled, clutching her necklace. “Anyway, I was going to divorce him. When Sam turned five, I finally gained the courage. I decided I would tell him while we were hiking in Estes Park. That way, Sam would be distracted and it was easier.” Her words were soft, and she twirled the necklace. “It was a mistake.”
He waited.
“We were hiking, and Sam kept running between us and the river. I kept telling him to stay close, and so did Rick. But—” Her voice broke.
Cam blinked and stood, wanting to act, to help, to rush forward and do something to prevent what he knew was coming.
She sucked in a breath. “One moment he was there, and I started telling Rick I wanted a divorce. He freaked out. Then Sam was gone.”
Cam could see it clearly. His heart thudded dully.
“We were yelling for him when I saw him down the river.”
The Snake River in Jackson, Cam thought. The same one he’d been on with Kat and almost died in on that day so long ago.
“Rick jumped in, and then I jumped in. We tried to catch up with Sammy.” More tears rolled down her cheeks. “Rick told me to go back because the current was so strong. I didn’t want to, but Rick yelled at me, ‘Get back!’ And I knew I couldn’t catch Sam, but Rick could, so I did what Rick said, but I yelled at Rick and said, ‘Don’t come back without him.’”
She blinked and let out a strangled sob, turning to face Cam. “Neither of them came back alive.”
Cam found himself stepping closer to her, wrapping her in an embrace.
She cried harder. “Doing the list was how I was going to somehow, someway … heal.”
Chapter 8
Isabel woke with a start. She didn’t know how long it’d been, but she could hear the hum of the ship.
“Hey.”
She jolted, seeing Cameron’s profile on the bed a few feet from her. “You’re still here?” Her head hurt and felt foggy, but she remembered telling him everything. Remembered him coming over to her and holding her. Remembered how she’d calmed and focused on him stroking her head. Awkwardly, she diverted her gaze to the clock. It was two in the morning.
He turned onto his back and let out a long sigh. “I didn’t know if I should go, but I didn’t want to leave with the ice still on your ankle.”
She didn’t know what to say. Part of her was so embarrassed by her breakdown, and the other part was mystified this man was still here. “Oh.”
He got up, pulled back the blanket from her foot, and took the ice off of it. “I didn’t want to disturb you, but I’m glad you woke up, because you don’t want to freeze-burn your skin.” He let out a light sigh. “I’ve done it before, and it hurts.”
&nbs
p; She turned and met his eyes.
“Sounds stupid, right?”
“No. It doesn’t.” She didn’t know how she should feel right now. “Thanks for staying to check on me, but you can go.”
He moved to the window, looking out into the darkness. “I have a solution to your problem.”
“What?”
“I want to do the list with you.”
His words sent a bolt of panic coursing through her veins. “No.”
“It’d be fine, we could—”
“No.” It would be wrong to pay homage to her husband and son with this gorgeous guy.
“I’ve thought it all out, and I could—”
Her heart raced. “No!” she shouted, though she internally winced at her volume.
He moved toward the door. “I’ll check on you later.” And he was gone.
Chapter 9
Cam went to his room and slept for a few hours, waking to the antiquated alarm clock next to his bed. But it worked: he didn’t have a phone. His first thought was of Isabel, but he had to deal with his sister first.
He freshened up quickly and put on his swimsuit. His mind had been buzzing with everything he could do to accommodate Isabel and make the list work.
When he arrived at the place they’d agreed to meet, Jon and Paul rushed him. He laughed and took both of them into headlocks at his waist. “Can’t take down the old guy yet, boys.”
Craig followed them, grabbing Jon and pulling him away. “I got this one. Let me rough him up.” He tickled him.
Meanwhile, Cam tickled Paul.
“Stop.” Alicia looked perturbed. “We have to go so we don’t miss the shuttle.” She glared at Cam. “You’re late.”
“Okay,” Cam said, letting go of Paul.
They all ran off the boat. Once they reached the Uber, she relaxed. “Ready, Cam?” she asked, all happy and hugging him.
All he could think about was the excursion list he’d seen on the table. He stopped. “Alicia, I’ll meet you there.” He turned back, dashing away.
“Cam!” she called out. “You promised!”
