Zero F*cks: a standalone novel

by LK Collins

  “Hey, Con.”

  “What’s the matter?” he asks, alarmed.

  “Nothing, why?”

  “Cam, don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not, I’m good.”

  “What did he do?” he asks.

  “Who?” I ask him.

  “Nixon, is he still there? I’ll kill him.”

  “He’s not here,” I tell him and wonder how he would know he was.

  “He was there last night; I talked to him.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did he say?” I ask him.

  “He feels bad for what he’s done and thinks you’d be happier with someone else. He’s got a lot of regrets over the past.”

  “We all do.”

  “Cam, he’s not the same guy he was when he left. He went through some crazy shit out here, not to mention what he had to do. I don’t want to see you end up hurt."

  “What happened?” I ask him, needing to know what Nixon’s gone through to make him the way he is now.

  “Well, his bunk mate took a bullet to the head right in front of him, pieces of his scalp landed all over Nixon. Not to mention the missions he was on had him taking people’s lives. It fucked him up. You don’t forget the things that happen here, Cam.”

  Conner’s words sicken me, but make everything click into place. That’s why Nixon is the way he is now. He’s covering the pain and regret, for so much more than I could’ve ever imagined. Here I am only thinking about myself, when he’s lived through hell.

  “Thank you for telling me, Con.”

  “Of course, I love you both.”

  After we finish our video chat, everything makes so much more sense. All of Nixon’s crazy behaviors have a reason. But I still have so many more questions. Like what was he doing here last night? Grabbing my phone from my purse to call him, there are a slew of messages from Luke. He’s pissed, but I can’t deal with him right now.

  Sending him a text to ease his worrying mind, Sorry I bailed last night. I got sick in the bathroom and had to get home, if you know what I mean. Clearly, I drank too much.

  I hate lying to him in general, but what can I do? I don’t want to hurt him, but I’m so confused about everything.

  It’s all right, I’m just glad you’re okay. We still on for dinner tonight?

  Sure. I text him, knowing that after I handle shit with Nixon, that Luke and I can figure our stuff out too.

  Going into my contacts, I know Nixon programmed his number, he told me the other day and I laugh to myself when I read how he programmed it into my phone. Big Cock Nixon, I go to edit it, but can’t—it’s the truth. Dialing his number, it rings and rings, then goes to his voicemail. “Hey, Nix, it’s me, Cam. Uh, I’m not really sure what happened last night. I mean, I am and I’m not. I don’t know what I’m saying…but I need to talk to you. Please call me, it’s important.”

  I’m not sure if he will call me back or not. Looking outside, I decide to hit some waves. It always helps me clear my mind and put things into perspective. Putting on my swimming suit, it’s been too long since I’ve been in the water. I brush my teeth and grab a bottle of water and my surfboard. Walking out back, I see a few surfers out and don’t feel like dealing with anyone right now, so I strap my board to the roof of my car and head to my favorite beach. It’s always private.

  As I make the trip north, my phone rings—it’s Nixon. My heart immediately races and I about pull my car over just to answer it.

  “Hey,” I say quietly to him and I can tell that he’s been sleeping.

  “Hi, everything all right?”

  “Yeah. I…I’m sorry about last night.”

  “No, it’s all good, don’t be sorry.”

  “Thanks. Do you think we could talk, in person?”

  “I don’t know, Cam. Might be better if we keep our distance.”

  “I promise, I’ll behave.”

  “You wanna meet somewhere?” he asks.

  “Where are you?”

  “Home.”

  “I’m out, going to Jensen Beach. I could swing by your place first?”

  “Sounds good, I’ll text ya the address.”

  We hang up, and I’m not sure what my plan is when I get there. I don’t know what I’m going to say or anything like that. However, Nixon was at my house when I got home last night for a reason and I need to know why.

  Chapter 12

  Nixon

  “Did you buy this place?” Cameron asks me as we walk through my house.

  “No,” I tell her. “It’s my aunt’s. I’m renting it from her. I needed somewhere close to the water, with…”

  “The best waves,” she finishes my sentence for me, still knowing me so well.

  “You want coffee?” I ask her and she shakes her head.

  “I talked to Conner,” she tells me as I pour myself a cup. I set the pot back in the machine, my back to her as she sits at the kitchen island. “Yeah? What did he have to say?”

  “He told me what you’ve been through, in the Navy. I had no idea.”

  “What the fuck did he tell you?” I ask, looking at her, trying to get a read on her.

  “That your bunk mate was killed in front of you.”

  “That’s all?”

  “He also said you’ve hurt people.” She swallows and I don’t like the direction this conversation is headed. This is the last shit I want to be talking about.

  “Hurt?” I ask.

  “Killed,” she affirms, and I sip my coffee, keeping those times, those things, the noise of it all, at bay.

  “What else?”

  “That’s all.”

  And I guess that is the important stuff. What more is there to say? Exhaling as she comes and stands in front of me, I can’t look at her. She cups my cheek, her warm hand trying to settle my fears, but I won’t let her, it’s not her place. She shouldn’t even know what she does. Taking her wrist, I pull it away, needing to keep our distance. I don’t deserve her. Even if she now knows what I’ve gone through and done, she’ll never fully understand.

  “Don’t push me away again.”

  I look into her eyes filled with tears and hate that I’m again the cause of her pain. “Don’t cry, please.”

  “You know you can talk to me, right?”

  “I appreciate that, but I’m done talking. They made me do that shit in the Navy and look where that got me.”

  “I see exactly where it got you. It’s made you put on this fake persona and pretend to be someone you’re not.”

  “Cam, this is who I am now.”

  “Why? You don’t need to be.”

  “I don’t know how else to be. This works; it gets me through the days.”

  “Okay, then why were you at my house last night?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t. Don’t start evading questions.”

  “Then stop fucking interrogating me,” I snap and she steps back.

  “I’m not interrogating you. I just think you were there for a reason. I didn’t remember at first if I’d called you, then it hit me. I remember you helping me up when I fell out of the cab and carrying me inside.”

  “So? A stranger would do that.”

  “Would strangers do what we did?”

  “You’re my weakness. You always have been, and you always will be.”

  “Then why stop and why leave?”

  “Because you were drunk.”

  “So if I was sober you’d feel differently?”

  I want to tell her that I would, that I could fuck her right now, like any useless whore that I bang, but I can’t…I won’t, not her. “No, I’m sorry, Cam, I wouldn’t.”

  She looks at me, hurt, and then gets up silently and grabs her car keys walking to my front door. I hate to see her leave; it fucking kills me. “I was gonna head out back and surf, if you wanna join me?” I ask her seeing her board on the roof o
f her car and she looks back at me. Her eyes spark in the light coming in from outside.

  I’m not sure why we play these games, this back and forth, but we do. At the end of the day, all I know is I want to protect her…plain and simple. But at the same time, I can’t fucking let her go.

  “Sure, let me grab my board.” I follow her to her car, helping her take it off. Then as I carry it inside she asks me, “Can I use your restroom?” I show her where it’s at and sneak off to take a few shots of vodka. I’m excited to hit some waves with her, just like the good old days. As I’m changing into a fresh pair of board shorts, she hollers out, “Who’s Amy?”

  Sonofabitch!

  “You know, I don’t remember,” I tell her and pop my head in. She’s sitting on the toilet staring at the lipstick written message that’s on my mirror.

  Taking a towel, I try and rub off the message, but it just smears everything making the mirror red and smudged.

  “Do you sleep with a lot of women?” Cameron asks me, and the question not only makes me uneasy, but I can see the resentment and the disconnect that comes across her face. How do I answer a fucking question like that?

  “No way,” I tell her, knowing it’s pointless to go into depth about the random women that I bring home from the bars. “If I did decide to hook up with someone, I always use protection and they don’t mean shit to me. Not the way you did.” She waits for me to leave before getting off the toilet, and then meets me at the backdoor of my house and we each grab our boards.

  Walking outside in the heat of the day, I can’t help myself from looking at Cam. She pulls her sunglasses down from the top of her hair and is observing the waves. “It’s gorgeous here,” she says.

  “It is. I hoped when my aunt said I could stay here, that I’d be able to show you one day,” I confess, the alcohol giving me the courage to be honest.

  “You did?” she asks surprised.

  “Yeah, I knew you’d love it.”

  She smiles and I hope she believes me, because it’s the truth. I think about her more often than she can imagine. Whether I was across the country or down the road, a day wouldn’t pass where Cameron didn’t cross my mind.

  She takes off her shorts and tank top, her body fucking smokin’ in her skin-tight bikini. We both strap our boards to our ankles. Walking into the water as far as we can, we get up on them, belly first, and paddle out. “You good?” I ask her and she splashes me in the face. I smirk and we both turn once we are far enough out in the water waiting for the right wave. “You wanna go together?” I ask her.

  “Sure,” she says and I tell her, “I hope you don’t like your sunglasses too much.”

  “Shit,” she complains and takes them off.

  “Here, toss ‘em to me.”

  She throws them over, and I put them in one of my pockets then zip it up. Looking back as a heavy wave rolls in, she paddles into it and I watch her, not able to go along with her. She digs deep and the second it caps, she pops up, balancing like a badass. Her skills are natural and so much better than mine. Fuck, she’s sexy, her swimming suit barely covering her ass, and she’s such a boss turning into the wave and riding it.

  She lasts for about ten seconds before gliding down, and I see my opportunity pushing forward. The cool saltwater rushes beneath my fingertips and I can sense her eyes on me as she paddles back out. Then the moment that I stand up, I last a few seconds before I eat it.

  We keep riding for God only knows how long and then she asks me, “Wanna make a bet?”

  “Fuck yeah. What are we betting for?”

  “Twenty bucks.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you can come up with?” I tease her.

  “You want the bet or not?”

  “Absolutely.” The truth is, I miss being competitive with her. We always used to make bets and shit, and even though I always lost…I loved making her happy.

  “Okay, let’s catch the next wave together and see who can stand up the longest.”

  We look back, waiting for the perfect one, and once we spot it, we don’t even have to speak. I paddle hard, putting everything I can into it, then as soon as I pop up, my ears are plagued with the awful sound of her scream. I search wildly for her and see her get toppled by another oncoming wave, it silences her and I unstrap my board. Diving in, not even sure how deep it is, I have to find her. Opening my eyes, the saltwater burns. Swimming in the direction that she fell, I spot the water turning pink and when I make it to her, I can see her leg is gushing blood.

  Fearful for what happened, I have to get her out. Taking her board off, I grab her body and swim as hard as I can. She is in pain, clinging to me as we make our way out of the water. “What the fuck happened?” I ask her.

  “I don’t know, there must be a reef out there.”

  Blood is streaming down her leg as I run across the sand with her in my arms. Taking her inside my house, I set her on the kitchen island and inspect the huge gash on the side of her calf as she heaves in pain. “Fuck, Nixon, make it stop,” she begs me and I tell her, “I will, just hang on.”

  Her face is all twisted up as she breathes through the pain. Putting pressure over her leg with a towel, she lies back on the island and I hold still, praying that I can get it to stop bleeding.

  “Why does it hurt so bad?” she asks.

  “It’s the salt water. Keep pressure on this and I’ll grab my kit.”

  “Kit?” she questions me.

  “Will you fucking hold this!?” She takes the towel from my hand and I run into my bathroom, getting my survival kit. As a Navy SEAL, we were never supposed to find ourselves in trouble we couldn’t get out of. This kit was my lifeline and I never imagined in a million years that the one time I’d use it would be on Cameron’s leg.

  Walking back out to her, I see she is looking at the gash. “Did it stop bleeding?” I ask.

  “Uh huh, for the most part.”

  Fuck, it looks terrible. “Can you fix it?” she asks.

  “Yeah, of course, unless you’d rather go to a hospital?”

  “No, I want you to do it here.”

  There is a knock on the back sliding door, and I look to see a dude I surf with every now and then. I nod him in.

  “Nixon, bro, everything okay?” he pops his head in.

  “Yeah, my girl just hit a reef, but all’s good.”

  “I brought your boards up, they’re out here leaning on the deck.”

  “Thanks for grabbing them, man.” I look down at Cameron’s leg, not able to focus on anything else.

  “For sure, catch ya later.”

  I nod as he leaves. I want to help her, but I worry that I’ll hurt her and I’ve already done enough of that in my life. “You sure you want me to clean it up?” I ask her again and she nods abruptly.

  Opening my kit, I grab what I need to clean the wound and as I do, she sits still, trusting me, letting me help her. She really should go to the hospital, but looking into her eyes, they encourage me on.

  Chapter 13

  Cameron

  “Here,” Nixon says and hands me another beer. I take it from him, looking up into his bright blue eyes that glimmer in the reflection of the fire. After I hurt my leg, I’ve stayed at his house all day. There has been no talk of our past or what the future looks like, and I’m okay with that. It’s nice to just hang out.

  Sitting out back of his home, the waves are nonstop, crashing against the shore. Such a blissful sound, and I’m so full from the amazing dinner he grilled for us.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks me, sitting down in a chair next to me. My leg is sore and the blood pulsating won’t stop, but being here with him is the best, just like the old days. I wouldn’t change a thing…my leg included.

  “I’m good…perfect.”

  “Yeah?” he asks, looking down at me as I stare up at him. It’s true—I couldn’t feel more complete than I am when I’m around him.

  “Uh-huh.”


  I yawn, the amber embers from the fire tiring me out. My cell phone rings. It’s Luke…again.

  “You better answer that.”

  “Hey Luke?” I answer reluctantly and can’t help but yawn.

  “There you are. I’m at your place. Are you gonna let me in?”

  My eyes get wide and I think of how to respond. “What? Why are you there?”

  “We have plans tonight, remember?”

  “We do…” I trail off and mouth to Nixon, “He’s at my house.” He gives me that look, the one that says, I can’t help ya.

  “Uh, I…I’m out for a run on the beach, and I’m really far away. I won’t be home for a while.”

  “So what, you’re just bailing?” he scoffs at me.

  “I’m sorry, I guess I am, Luke.”

  “Fine, I guess I’ll…,” he hangs up on me, before finishing his sentence.

  “Jesus! What did he say?” Nixon asks me as I stare at the blank screen of my phone.

  “He’s pissed that I bailed on him.”

  “Why didn’t you still meet him?”

  “Are you kidding me? We finally have some alone time where shit seems normal. I’m not gonna change that for Luke.”

  “But you could fuck him again,” he tells me and my face turns red…how does he know? “What, you don’t remember telling me last night?”

  “I told you?”

  “Oh, yeah…”

  “Christ, what else did I say?”

  “You really want me to tell you?” I shake my head, burying my face in the palms of my hands. “But Luke…really?”

  “I was drunk, it was a one-time thing.”

  “Clearly, he doesn’t think that. He likes you.”

  “Nixon?” an unfamiliar voice calls out interrupting the conversation and I glance up at him, then notice a girl peeking her head around the corner of his house like a weirdo. “Uh, I’m kinda busy here,” he rudely tells her. She doesn’t seem to care as she comes fully into view, dressed like a whore in a skin-tight, hot pink dress. She’s clearly drunk as her body sways back and forth.