“And Dillon just came running? Doesn’t he have other properties to manage?”
“Not really. He’s pretty much at B&L all the time.”
“That’s convenient.” Cameron moves around me to sit on the couch, his shoulders as tense as his mouth. “First the whole breakfast hero thing yesterday, and now he’s painting reception furniture with you?”
“Don’t be like that. We’re just friends.”
“Dillon doesn’t do friendships with girls. In fact, he’s the one who used to lecture me all through high school that boy-girl friendships inevitably turn into something more.”
I sit next to him, sideways, my right leg bent on the couch so I can get closer. “That was over ten years ago. I’m sure his feelings on the subject have changed.” I take Cameron’s hand. “I promise you. It’s no different from you and Darcy.”
He sighs but seems to acquiesce under my touch. “It feels different.”
“Only because you are on the other side of it.” My voice is teasing, though my tone also conveys an unspoken tension about the subject.
“In that case.” His fingers move to my hair. “We’ll just have to come up with new ways to reassure each other.”
“Do we now?” I don’t even finish my last word before we’re horizontal on the couch, bodies and legs tangled together.
His kiss is deep and demanding, a dance of insecurity that only physical contact can solve. A dance we get so swept up in that we don’t even realize we get company until a gasp and a squeak comes from the other side of the couch.
I abruptly sit up, and Cameron nearly falls to the floor.
“What are you doin—?” He stops when he sees what I do.
Darcy’s standing frozen, her hand covering her eyes. “Oh my gosh . . . I’m so, so sorry. The door was unlocked.”
I smother a laugh. “You can uncover your eyes, Darcy. We’re fully clothed.”
Her fingers split until she’s sure it’s safe to look, and then her arm drops. “You should really have some kind of system to warn unsuspecting visitors.”
“We do. It’s called a door,” Cameron grumbles. “Most people knock.”
“I’ve never once knocked on that door and you know it.”
I pat Cameron’s shoulder and lean in to whisper, “See what I mean. No different.”
He scowls. “It is different.” His focus shifts to Darcy. “Have you ever known Dillon Kyle to have friends who are girls?”
“And it stay platonic?” She pauses. “No.”
Cameron turns back to me and raises a brow. “I rest my case.”
Darcy finds me twenty minutes later in the park outside Cameron’s apartment complex. I’m rocking back and forth on one of the swings, my feet digging into the dirt, when she takes the spot next to mine.
“You didn’t need to leave,” she says.
“I know. I wanted to.” Once all the jokes faded away, I noticed Darcy hadn’t just shown up on a whim. Her eyes and nose were red, her smile halfhearted. She was there to seek comfort from her best friend, so despite both of their protests, I excused myself and came out here.
Darcy gets her swing moving, slow and steady like mine. “My parents are getting a divorce.”
I look at her. “What?”
“That’s why I’ve been so clingy with Cam.” She sighs. “I should have told you earlier, and I’m so sorry if our friendship makes you at all uncomfortable.”
“Cameron said something to you, didn’t he?” I shake my head. “I wish he wouldn’t have.”
“No, he needed to. I just thought with us bonding the other day that you might feel differently.” She says it with an air of sadness, as if this isn’t the first time their friendship has been an issue. “If you want me to stop calling him or coming over when you’re not around, I will totally respect that.”
I smile at her, touched by her willingness to sacrifice. “I’m fine with you and Cameron, really.”
“So there’s nothing you want me to do differently? Because I will.”
Wow. Cameron must really be uncomfortable with Dillon to push his best friend this hard.
“You’re fine. Just maybe one promise?”
“Anything.”
“If you ever start to feel differently about Cameron, you’ll tell me. That way I never have to wonder.”
“I promise.”
It’s odd, because friendships with girls have never come easy for me, but I absolutely believe her. “So, what happened today?”
“What do you mean?”
“My mom’s been through three divorces, and every one of them has been ugly.” And even though she’d never been married to my father, Stepdad #1 certainly felt like a parent. They married when I was only three, and I called him Daddy until the court declared them divorced two weeks after my seventh birthday. “I can’t imagine what it must be like when it’s both of your parents.”
“I always thought that my parents getting a divorce when I was a kid would be the worst possible thing. But I have to say, it’s not any easier as an adult. In some ways, I think it’s harder.” She stares at her feet and kicks the dirt. “They don’t even try to be civil around me. I guess because I’m a grown woman, I’m no longer allowed to be sad that I get to spend the rest of my life doing split holidays. And then Mom asks me today what dating apps are best.” She throws out her arms. “I mean, come on! The woman is fifty-three years old and wears pantyhose.”
“She can try gray-haired-beauties.com. Or hot-silver-foxes.”
Darcy spits out a laugh. “Geriatrics-mingle.com.”
We both giggle at that one.
“The diets will come next,” I say. “And then she’ll be borrowing your clothes. And, well, when she does start dating again, come talk to me. I swear my mom was more emotionally spastic than a seventh-grade girl.”
Darcy rolls her eyes, but she does seem less burdened. “You really have been through this before, haven’t you?”
I shrug. “I’m a pro.” Not really the best thing to add to my résumé.
Darcy twists in her swing, causing the chains to cross and uncross. “Did Cameron ever tell you about Lydia?” she asks, looking up at the pattern she’s making.
“No.” To my relief, Cameron has never asked about previous relationships, and since I have no intention of sharing my history, it feels wrong to ask about his.
“Well . . . she hated me.” Darcy’s voice is thick with exaggeration. “I mean, like, really hated me. She could not accept we were only friends.” She looks over at me. “One day she just said enough and gave Cam an ultimatum: her or me. They broke up that week.”
“Are you giving me a warning?” Because I’m not really sure of the point she’s trying to make.
“Just the opposite. I’m asking you to never do the same.” The unease in her gaze confirms the statement. “For the first time in twenty-nine years, I don’t think he’ll choose me.”
I shake my head, convinced she’s mistaken. “Cameron and I have only known each other a little while. You have a lifetime of history.”
“History doesn’t trump love.”
My hands go cold, but I somehow find my voice. “Well, even if that’s true, which I doubt, I’m not the ultimatum type.” I know Darcy is trying to reassure me, yet it’s done the opposite. My eyes flick to the merry-go-round. “Wanna see how fast we can make it go?”
She abruptly stands. “You better have an iron stomach, because I’m not holding your hair while you throw up.”
“Trust me, if anyone is puking, it’s you.”
“Challenge accepted.”
I race her to the piece of equipment and grab a bar just as she does. We run and push, run and push, until we’re both tucked down and trying not to fling off the platform. It’s a crazy thought, but somehow if I can just keep moving and spinning and going, I can shut out the one word that changes everything: love.
twenty-seven
Consciously, I don’t mean to put distance between me and Cameron
, but subconsciously I can feel myself pulling away. It’s the little things I find myself skipping, like popping my head in to say a quick hello during the day, or texting him when he’s at his second job just so he knows I miss him.
If Cameron’s noticed, he hasn’t said anything. Likely because his birthday is in two weeks, and with every new day his mood seems to worsen. Even tonight, the first night alone we’ve had together in a week, he simply turned on the show and has barely said a word.
The tension is so thick that I’m almost grateful when a fist pounds on Cameron’s bedroom door. “Hey, Cam! Get out here, you lazy bum.”
That is until I recognize the voice. Bryson’s.
Cameron flinches next to me. “Ah, crap. I completely forgot I told him to come over tonight.”
“Why?”
He sighs. “He needs help with his new song, and . . . well, you know how he gets when he wants something.”
I’ve only been around Bryson twice since we saw his band play, and my opinion of the guy hasn’t changed. He’s arrogant, manipulative, and wants Cameron in his band so bad he dangles his success like a golden carrot every chance he gets.
“What kind of help does he need?”
“I don’t know exactly.” Cameron sits up. “He wants more originality in the opening with a little extra spark in the bridge. Strings would be best, but I think I can come up with a guitar riff that’s simple enough for Mason.”
“I thought Bryson was firing him.”
“Not until he can find a replacement.”
Which shouldn’t be too hard, considering Mason can hardly play chords without looking at his fingers. “He’s still waiting on you to change your mind, isn’t he?”
“It’s more complicated than that.” Cameron shuts his laptop and sets it on the desk as he makes his way over to the dresser mirror. He cringes and goes to work taming his hair.
I still have yet to figure out the dynamics between him and Bryson. I know they’ve been friends since they were kids, not quite as long as him and Darcy but close. I also know that Bryson crashed at Cameron’s house his last six months of high school for reasons Cameron wouldn’t elaborate on.
What I can’t seem to figure out is why Cameron tries so hard every time the guy comes around. It’s like a warped hero-worship mentality that has no validity.
I swing my legs over the bed and stretch to standing. At least I now have an excuse to leave. “I guess I’ll head home, then.”
“What? No.” He turns, abandoning his comb and his unnecessary primping. “I haven’t seen you all week.” When I hitch an eyebrow, he comes closer and takes my hands in his. “Come on, it’ll be fun, you’ll see.”
“I don’t consider watching Bryson fumble over music fun.”
“You can’t judge the man after seeing only one performance.”
“It’s been a long week. Go hang out with your friends. I’m good, really.”
Cameron kisses me, sweet and gentle, exactly what he knows will make me cave. “One song? Please?”
I roll my eyes because I really am pathetic when it comes to him. “Ten minutes. That’s it.”
He grins big enough that both dimples appear. “I’ll take it.”
It takes another five minutes before Cameron agrees he’s presentable. The wrinkled T-shirt is covered now by a button-up shirt he pulled from his closet. His hair is gelled into a stylishly messy arrangement versus just being disheveled like before. And even more disturbing is that he straightened the wrinkled comforter as if something nefarious took place while we were watching our show.
Good grief. The most effort Bryson is getting out of me is to not tell him to take a one-way trip to Hades.
“You sure you’re ready?” I tease when Cameron finally grabs the doorknob. “I mean, if you want to toss on some cologne or clip your fingernails, I can wait a little longer.”
He pushes me through the door. “Very funny.”
We walk into the living room and join the three guys already in full music mode. Brian has pulled his keyboard from the wall and is playing with a few chords. Darrel has one leg draped over the recliner chair, his bass guitar cradled in his lap. Bryson is the only one who looks intensely ready to work. He’s on the couch with the coffee table pulled close, sheets of music spread out before him.
He makes eye contact with me, and the contempt is mutual. I’m assuming it’s because he’s figured out it was my influence that kept Cameron from saying yes to joining his band. “Hey, Jan,” he says between strums on his guitar. “You don’t mind if I steal your man for a little while, do you?”
I force a smile, though I fear it’s more of a grimace. “Of course not.”
Cameron leaves me to get his guitar from the corner stand while I take a seat on the carpet across the room. Bryson doesn’t look my way again, but I use this opportunity to analyze one of my boyfriend’s oldest friends. Like always, he’s dressed the part of a rocker. Black jeans, a tight black T-shirt, and combat boots. Across the armrest of the couch lies his signature leather jacket. His face is shadowed with a layer of afternoon stubble, and I guess in some circles he would be considered handsome. Just not in mine, especially since I find him to be a walking cliché.
There’s a shift, though, when Cameron joins him on the couch. Bryson sits a little straighter. Immediately moves several of the sheets to his left for Cameron’s approval. Maybe the hero worship is more than just one-sided.
Cameron plucks a few strings, pauses to draw chords on Bryson’s music sheet, then plays around with the notes again. It’s fascinating to watch him work, seeing the way he can absorb the sound only to turn it back out better and fuller than when it came in. When he finishes, Bryson nods and practices the addition.
I guess the changes don’t affect anyone else because neither Cameron nor Bryson acknowledge the other two guys before counting out the beat.
Cameron is the only one who moves, and the crisp lingering sound of his guitar pulses through me as if I were riding the notes along the page. Listening to him play never gets old. His talent comes naturally, as though he were born to make music and we lesser-talented beings were born to listen to it.
Bryson watches Cameron’s fingers, not even noticing that Cameron’s eyes are closed, already playing the song he just read by memory. After a few more bars, the piano hums and so does Darrel’s bass guitar. Bryson joins in a beat later, and even I have to admit, in this setting, he’s better than I expect. He and Cameron seem to feed off each other’s talents while Brian and Darrel fade into the background, almost as if they’re unnecessary.
The song shifts to the part that Cameron must have added because Bryson stops to listen. The whole room does, because that’s what happens any time Cameron uses the full force of his talents. His eyes open slowly, sensually, and land on mine. Flutters hit my stomach, and I’m taken aback by the immediate physical response: flushed cheeks, dry mouth, elevated pulse. A slow, seductive smile appears as if he can sense I’m under his spell, feeding off the music and him . . . mostly him. Because this man in front of me isn’t my sweet and faith-filled boyfriend. He’s dark and sexy, much like the lyrics that are nothing like the praise music he normally sings. He finally glances down at the sheet in front of him, and I feel my entire body exhale as if it had been a prisoner for those few minutes. No wonder Bryson wants him so bad. On a stage, with a hungry crowd and the right ambiance, I can see how any girl would be helpless under that stare.
The unease I’ve felt all week multiplies. I stand, and even though I promised him a full song, I can’t continue to watch him this way. He keeps on playing, absorbed in whatever world he goes to, while I quietly ease down the hall to grab my purse.
The music comes to a halt, and I hear the guitar being gently laid on the coffee table. At least he’s not completely oblivious.
“Jan?” he calls from the hallway. A second later he’s at the door. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah. I’m tired.”
His brow furrows as
he slides his phone from his pocket to check the time. It’s only eight and I slept in until ten this morning. “Are you upset with me?”
“No. Of course not.” But I am, and I don’t even know why.
“What did you think of the song?”
“I think . . . you change when you sing it.”
Cameron doesn’t take my words as I mean them. Instead, his eyes light up with pride. “I know. It’s like it burrows inside of me. You felt it, didn’t you? That chemistry Bryson and I have?”
I don’t want to admit it, but . . . “I’ll concede that Bryson isn’t a total dud.”
“Not a dud? He’s going on tour. A real tour, with multiple cities and an actual bus.” Cameron stares at his feet. “Bryson’s making it happen for himself, and I’m still standing right here.”
“It will happen for you, too.”
“I guess. It’s just hard not to wonder.” Cameron pulls me in for a tight hug, and for some reason I want to cry. It feels as though a goodbye is just around the corner, like the bubble I’ve been living in is millimeters from a very sharp needle. “Please pray for me tonight. I don’t know if I’ve ever been as tempted as I am right now.”
And with that final statement, the needle makes contact.
twenty-eight
Mrs. Cox is still in the hospital after having two more episodes and a minor surgery she claims was unnecessary but seems to have fixed whatever was causing the fainting. They’re transferring her back to the nursing home in the morning, which thrills me. I know it doesn’t make much sense, but the hospital feels ominous, like at any moment she’ll be hooked up to a million tubes again and fighting for her life. I haven’t run into her daughter since that first day, nor have I inquired as to their relationship. In my mind, I want to believe they’ve reconciled, so there’s no reason to invite any other scenario into the mix.
“Knock, knock, can I come in?” I call. The door to her room is slightly ajar, and I can hear a hum of voices inside. I’m carrying a small bouquet of pink roses and a big Happy Valentine’s Day card with a raised heart on the front.
Love and a Little White Lie Page 18
