“You’re here to look at the roof,” I repeat, causing Cam’s eyebrows to shoot upward.
“Yes. Trisha sent me. Said it was an emergency.”
Trisha. Maybe not so much has changed after all.
I inhale a deep breath, hoping to send enough oxygen to my brain cells that they’ll start functioning normally again. It helps, a bit.
“When she said handyman, she didn’t really specify which handyman,” I say, and he makes a face like I punched him in the gut. Elizabeth, get it together.
“I see.”
“Not that I mind that it’s you,” I continue, figuring I already dug myself a hole, better to just toss myself in it already. “It’s really nice to see you, Cam.”
He doesn’t say anything. I can tell it’s not nice to see me.
“Where’s Helen?” he asks, looking around the dark and dusty sitting room.
“Golden Acres Assisted Living,” I tell him, and his face falls. “Dementia.”
I don’t know why I tell him that last part. I guess some part of me must still trust him, not that he’d ever given me a reason not to. He also knows Gran better than most.
“Show me where the leak is at,” he says curtly, not making eye contact. I turn around to go back up the steps, gesturing for him to follow me.
“I’m doing swell, thanks for asking,” I mutter, just loud enough so he can hear me. I hear him snicker between the loud thuds of his shoes on the staircase. When we get to the top landing, I spread my arms wide toward the ceiling. “The leaks. As in, several of them.”
He gets to work inspecting them, brushing past me like I’m some sort of obstacle in his way. He grabs a roll of measuring tape off of his tool belt and takes measurements of the stains on the ceiling, not saying a damn word.
“So, you work construction now?” I ask, trying to make conversation. He snorts.
“I own a contracting business in town,” he says, still focused entirely on the ceiling.
“That’s great,” I say, and I mean it. Growing up, Cam always wanted to make his own way in the world. By the looks of things, he’d accomplished that.
“It’s no swanky office job in the big city, but I get by,” he says, and it hurts exactly the way he intends it to. When I look to the floor, not saying anything, he adds, “I’m sorry about Helen. I know she loves you very much, even if she has a funny way of showing it.”
You loved me very much too, once.
The thought hits me unexpectedly, and I recoil visibly. Cam just shakes his head, laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, annoyed at how defensive I sound. Why does he still make me feel like a nervous teenager?
He whips out his cell phone and starts snapping pictures of the leaky ceiling. “I can just see you still live inside your head, is all.”
I take it as a challenge.
“We should grab drinks sometime,” I say, channeling my fiercest badass so that I don’t head screaming for the hills. “Catch up.”
He pockets his phone, snorts a laugh, and then heads downstairs. Confused, and honestly a little bruised in the ego department, I race after him.
“Or would your girlfriend mind?” I ask, and when he doesn’t respond, add, “Or wife?”
He messes with his phone again, quickly typing what appears to be a text message with the photos of Gran’s ceiling attached.
“Boyfriend?” I ask skeptically, and he finally whips his head up to meet my gaze. His denim blue eyes burn as they bear into my own, boiling over with an emotion I can’t quite place. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he’s in pain.
“No,” he says, his voice as sharp as a knife. In an instant, the distance between us shortens by a good six inches, and he’s right in front of me. I don’t know who moved, him or I, but it doesn’t matter. I suddenly can’t breathe, and want to kick myself over how awkward it would be if I just passed out in front of Cam right here, right now.
“No girlfriend. No wife,” he says, and is it just me? Or does his suddenly sound huskier? I can feel my cheeks flush, and he smirks. “No boyfriend.”
He takes a giant step backward, opens the front door, and steps out onto the porch.
“I’ll have one of my guys come over and assess the roof when it stops raining,” he says. “He’ll determine if it can be patched, or if it needs replacing.”
“One of your guys?” I ask, still a little breathless and scrambled in the brains. “Not you?”
“I have a business to run. That’s why I pay my crew, to work.”
It makes sense, but for some reason my mouth still wants to protest.
“Is that a no to drinks, then?” I ask.
His face reveals absolutely nothing.
“I’ll send someone over first thing in the morning, weather permitting,” he says. “Have a nice life, Lizzie.”
I watch him dash out into the rain and climb into his black Ford pickup truck, not bothering to take even one more glance my way. For reasons I can’t quite make heads or tails of, I feel like I’m going to cry.
ROCKY POINT, MASSACHUSETTS. May 2010
10 years earlier
Something has felt off all day, but I know something is wrong when Cam doesn’t show up to our spot at Java Point after school. I type out my billionth text in the last ten minutes, fingers trembling, and hit ‘send’.
Pls talk 2 me Cam. Where r u?
In my gut, I know why he’s ignoring me. After class, I had excitedly told Ms. Sable, our graphic arts teacher, about how I’d gotten into N.Y.U.’s Advertising Program after being waitlisted. She’d written me a recommendation, so I had to thank her, obviously. When I left, though, I noticed Ainsley Wells creeping by the door, listening to every single word we had said. I watched her eyes light up, the way any mean girl’s does when they’re about to ruin someone’s life. When she slithered off, I knew it wouldn’t be good.
I haven’t told Cam that I’m leaving yet. I figure Ainsley took care of that.
To be fair, I only just decided to go to N.Y.U. I have been trying to figure out how to tell him for like four days, and had been planning to today at Java Point over a caramel frappe. Until Ainsley ruined everything.
I jump as my phone buzzes, whipping it out of my pocket, eyes glued to the screen. It’s him!
Be there soon.
Well, it’s better than nothing, I think.
Those three words would normally set my heart galloping at light speed. Just the thought of seeing Cam generally made me feel a mixture of nervousness, giddiness, and desire like I’d never felt with anyone else. I never wanted to be with someone the way I wanted to be with Cam. Today, though... the thought of him walking through the door makes me feel like I want to hurl.
I purchase two caramel frappes, grab our usual seat by the window, and wait, my leg bobbing nervously up and down. By the time Cam arrives, I’ve already sucked down 90% of my frappe and I feel on the verge of tears.
Cam strolls into Java Point with his most laid back, cool-guy-face on. It’s the same expression he wears when he’s out with his football team, or getting lectured by his teacher, and only I know that it’s a façade. I know that it’s Cam’s way of hiding his feelings, whether he’s sad, or mad, or disappointed, to just pretend like he doesn’t care. This is the first time he’s ever used that face with me.
He’s wearing his Rocky Point High football t-shirt, which declares him the team Captain. His dirty blond hair is messy and adorable, curling up at the nape of his neck and around his ears. His blue eyes look directly into mine, and I can see the sadness in them – the sadness I caused.
“Cam,” I start, reaching across the table to grab his hands in mine. I’ve always been more of a visual person, and words haven’t always come super naturally to me. Right now, they are failing me. “I got into N.Y.U., they took me off waitlist.”
He takes a moment before saying, “That’s great, Lizzie. I’m happy for you.”
His tone is halfhearted at best. “It doesn’t sou
nd like you’re very happy for me,” I say, and he shakes his head.
“I am, really,” he says. “I’m just disappointed you’ll be so far away is all. And I’m pissed I had to hear it from Ainsley, and not from you.”
I lean back and fold my arms across my chest. “You weren’t supposed to hear it from Ainsley,” I seethe. “She overheard me talking to Ms. Sable, and probably figured this was her chance.”
“Her chance to what?”
I roll my eyes because it’s so obvious. “Steal you away, duh.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Ainsley isn’t trying to steal me away from you, Lizzie. She was trying to be a good friend.”
“Right, she’s always just trying to be a good friend. She just always happens to get involved when she should mind her own business.”
I know for certain that Ainsley Wells doesn’t care about being a good friend. If I had to guess, Ainsley cares about three things, tops: boys, makeup, and making everyone around her miserable. Cam has always been blind to Ainsley’s mean girl ways, though. As head cheerleader, Ainsley has always thought that Cam is hers, and hers only. So, when he started dating me, a quiet, definitely-not-popular girl, it drove her absolutely crazy. I’m pissed that she still is trying to get between us, even with high school being practically over.
“Still, you should have told me first,” he says. I can’t fault him there.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t get why N.Y.U. is so important. Can’t you major in advertising at like, any school?”
“Because if I want to be somebody in advertising, I have to go somewhere like N.Y.U. I can’t do that in Rocky Point,” I explain, for what feels like the millionth time. “I know you’re happy to stay here and go to trade school, and that’s fine! But that’s just not what I want. I need to go make something of myself.”
“You don’t think I’ll make something of myself staying here?” he asks, the hurt slicing through his voice like a blade.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I backtrack. “I just mean... you know what happened to my parents. I can’t let that happen to me.”
“Yeah, because all people who don’t go to college turn into felons and drug addicts. Come on, Lizzie.”
I bite back tears, the curt words about my mother and father feeling like knives ripping at barely healed scabs over deep, dark wounds. We sit in silence for a few minutes, Cam sipping at his now melted drink while I stare out the window. Finally, I murmur, “What about a long-distance relationship? We could make it work, Cam.”
“I don’t know, Lizzie. You’re going to meet all new people, have a whole new life. You’ll forget about me,” he says.
“No I won’t!” I insist, wanting to launch myself across the little table and into his arms. “I couldn’t forget about you Cam.”
He lifts his eyes, now cold and hard as steel, to mine. “It’s not going to work, Lizzie. If you’re going to N.Y.U. then I think...”
“You think what?” I’m crying now, more because his face lacks any trace of emotion than because of what I think he’s implying.
“If you go to N.Y.U., then I think that’s it.”
Ice courses through my veins. He’s not even willing to try? He’s going to give me an ultimatum, just like that? I resolve to myself that, if he cared for me at all, he wouldn’t make me pick between him or my dreams. He would do everything he could to make this work, from wherever either of us ended up. If he’s not willing to do that, then he must not care about me at all.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth, standing up from my chair and pushing it in gently. “Then I guess that’s it.”
He doesn’t look up at me, instead keeping his eyes fixed on the wall across from him. I grab my backpack off the floor, using every ounce of willpower I have not to beg him to change his mind, not to throw myself at him and cry into his shoulder like I so desperately want to. Instead, I turn around and walk out of the coffee shop, waiting until I’m at least a few blocks away before I let myself cry.
I don’t look back.
Chapter Three
Cameron
WHAT. THE. Fuck.
I sit in the driveway of my house, truck still running, waiting for my pulse to slow down and my breathing to get back under control.
She’s here. Like, here. In Rocky Point. Ten years without a word and suddenly she shows up out of nowhere, like she was just willed into existence. When Trisha asked me to do her a favor and head over to a house nearby to check out their leaking roof, I couldn’t have imagined that would mean running into Elizabeth Quinn again. Honestly, I hadn’t even seen her grandmother since Elizabeth left town, the woman mostly kept to herself. Rocky Point isn’t the biggest town in Cape Cod, but it isn’t so small that you can’t be anonymous if you want to. I should know, seeing as I spent a good few years keeping to myself after...
Shit.
And the way Trisha said it, like she felt sorry for me or something. It’s Helen Quinn’s house. Just so you know... Lizzie is there. I thought you should know.
The pity in her voice, like she was worried I might crumble at the news, killed me. What was worse? I very well might have. It took every ounce of willpower, the strength of every fiber of every muscle in my body, to remain emotionless at the sight of Lizzie Quinn.
Lizzie had looked beautiful, too. Her blonde hair was shorter than she’d worn it in high school, falling just below her shoulders in perfect, golden waves. Her jeans still hugged the generous curves of her hips and thighs, driving me absolutely, categorically insane. The only difference was the dark circles under her amber eyes, like months of stress and sleepless nights were weighing on her. The stress of her grandmother’s illness must be taking a toll, even though she and Helen have never had that close of a relationship. What really did me in, though, was the way she looked at me. The surprise in her eyes – Trisha obviously hadn’t told her who she’d called – mixed with the slightest hint of... excitement? Was I making that up? She had asked if I wanted to catch up sometime. And like an idiot, I blew her off.
It would be a bad idea, anyway. What would be the point? Our paths diverged a long time ago, no sense in trying to force anything.
I shut off my truck and climb out, realizing that there’s another car in my driveway. I had been too wrapped up in my thoughts when I pulled in to see it earlier, but the shiny red SUV tells me that my mother has stopped by to pay me a visit. As I amble up the walkway to my front porch, I can see her sitting on the porch swing, her little Shih Tzu, Bella, vibrating anxiously on her lap. She stands when she sees me and leaves Bella on the swing, wrapping me in a hug.
“Hey, mom.”
“Cameron, my favorite son,” she says with a wink.
“Don’t let Gray here you say that,” I chuckle. Grayson, my baby brother, has always maintained that he is my mother’s favorite son. I think, secretly, she tells us we both are.
“If Grayson was so concerned about being my favorite son, he wouldn’t have moved to California.”
“You’ll feel differently when he’s famous,” I say, causing her to smile. After my dad died of a heart attack a few years back, Gray moved to Los Angeles to pursue a career in acting. Mom hadn’t wanted him to go so far away, but I knew he needed to go in order to heal. For me, healing meant taking over the family business and fulfilling dad’s dreams. For Gray, it meant getting out of dodge.
“So, to what do I owe this surprise visit?” I ask, opening the front door and ushering mom and Bella inside. I fill up a small bowl with water and set it on the ground for Bella while my mom takes a seat at my long, farmhouse-style kitchen table. She smooths her hands over the freshly stained wood, something I just got around to doing last week. I’d refinished both the table and the six chairs that came with it after finding the table sitting carelessly on the side of the road, worn and scratched and headed for the dump. With a little love, it turned out to be the perfect addition to my large, eat-in kitchen that I’d finished renovating a
few months ago.
“I’m glad you finally have a kitchen table, sweetie, but don’t you think this is a bit big for one person?” she asks. I narrow my eyes at her. Where is she going with this?
“I think it fits the space perfectly,” I say. “The dark, natural finish on the wood complements the stark white cabinets and quartz countertops, don’t you think?”
The kitchen is actually the part of this house I’m most proud of. I bought the house just over a year ago during a foreclosure sale. The place was a wreck, but slowly I’d renovated every single inch of the place. I’d saved the kitchen for last, since I rarely spent time in the kitchen anyway, but had been extremely proud of how modern and inviting it had turned out.
“It’s a beautiful kitchen,” she agrees. “Just seems like it might be missing a woman’s touch, is all.”
Ah. There it is.
My mother has been not-so-subtly dropping hints about her feelings toward my love life, or lack thereof, since I bought the house. Recently, she’s started to up her game by complaining about her lack of grandchildren, and her years of being able to spoil them slowly wasting away.
I roll my eyes at her. “Mom, we’ve talked about this. No amount of guilt-tripping is going to make me married with kids any faster.”
She gasps, a hand flying to her chest while mischief dances in her eyes. “I’m hurt! Do you really think I’d guilt trip my own son into getting married so I can have lots of grandbabies to keep me busy? The thought!”
“Uh huh.”
She crosses her arms, the twinkling in her eyes only growing stronger.
“Well from what I hear, I may not have to guilt you. Fate might do that for me.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I take in my mother’s sly smile.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask, the gruffness in my voice no deterrent to her meddling.
“I heard that a certain someone is back in town.”
So much for anonymity.
“How’d you hear that? I only just found out myself,” I say.
Second Chance Girl Page 2
