by Darcy Burke
Chapter Eighteen
Cam finally relinquished the sleeping Ripley to his father. “Kyle, he is one cute kid. You sure he’s yours?”
Kyle smacked him in the arm. “Don’t be a douche bag.” But he was smiling. In fact, Cam hadn’t seen him not smile in the hour he’d been at the hospital visiting.
Cam waggled his eyebrows. “It’s part of my charm.” He leaned toward Kyle. “And yours too, unless you’re going to get all responsible and normal and shit.”
Maggie cleared her throat from the hospital bed. “He already has. It was called marrying me if you recall. You might consider it.”
Cam peered over at her, marveling at how together she looked despite giving birth the day before. “What, marrying you? Last time I checked, bigamy was against the law.”
Maggie looked at the others in the room—Bex and Hayden. “Will somebody please throw something at him now that he’s not holding my son anymore?”
“Hellooooo!” A singsong voice carried through the doorway as Maggie’s mother came in. Cam had met her only a couple of times, but she was incredibly distinctive with her henna-tattooed arms, long flowing skirt, and lack of bra. He hated that he noticed that, but it was hard not to.
She waved at everyone. “It’s a party! But then I expect nothing less with so many of you Archers.” She turned to Cam. “But you’re not one of them.”
“Nope, just a friend.”
“Hey, we’re related by marriage,” Kyle said. “You’re much more than a friend.” His eyes conveyed gratitude and camaraderie. Yes, Cam supposed they were more than friends.
Cam clapped Kyle’s shoulder. “Ditto, bro.” He turned and went to the bed to kiss Maggie’s cheek. “Good job, Mama, he’s gorgeous.”
She clasped his arm briefly. “I’m serious. You need to settle down. Or at least get a girlfriend.”
“He has one,” Hayden offered. “Kind of.”
Cam inwardly groaned. Just what he needed—everyone weighing in on his recently resurrected and still feeble love life. “And on that note, I’m out of here!” He waved to everyone in the room and took his leave.
Hayden caught up with him in the hallway. “Sorry, dude. I’m just really happy for you.”
Cam looked at him askance. “We only started dating like a week ago. Not even.”
Hayden shrugged. “I guess it seems longer since you guys have been dancing around it for weeks. You seem pretty smitten.”
Smitten. Hadn’t he used that same word? He didn’t respond.
They got to the elevator, and Cam glanced at Hayden. “Are you following me?”
“Just walking you out.”
Cam pressed the Down button and exhaled. “What do you want?”
“I want to know what’s going on. You went to the beach, you came back with a shit-eating grin. I haven’t seen you like this since…” He shook his head. “Nope. Haven’t ever seen you like this. Dopey almost. Did you get any work done yesterday? I think I saw you puttering around the tasting room about ten times.”
He had been distracted. And yeah, dopey wasn’t the worst word to describe him.
The elevator arrived, and he stepped inside. Hayden joined him. “So spill. You gave me such a hard time when Bex came back to town.”
Cam pushed the button for the lobby. “Yeah, because I didn’t want you to get your heart broken again. I’m a cynic, remember?”
Hayden studied him a moment, crossing his arms. “You were a cynic. I think that’s changed.”
It had…but how much? Cam thought about what Hayden had just said—that he didn’t remember seeing Cam like this. And he was right. Cam had never felt like this. Maybe it was his age and experience compared to what he’d felt for Jennifer, maybe it was that Brooke was just completely different. Jennifer had never been The One, no matter how much Cam had thought so at the time. Brooke, on the other hand… Could he let himself go down that path? Damn it, he just felt good, and he wanted it to continue.
“Okay, I’ll admit my cynicism has lessened.” He cracked a smile at Hayden.
Hayden dropped his arms with a laugh. “There you go. That’s a step in the right direction. Would you guys be up for a double date, maybe next week?”
“Sounds fun. I’ll check with Brooke, but I think she’ll be fine with that.” They’d been very up-front with each other, and they were definitely dating. Exclusively. His heart skipped a beat. “I think I have a girlfriend.”
The elevator doors opened, and he didn’t move.
Hayden clapped him on the back and steered him into the lobby. “Yes, I think you do.” The grin was evident in his voice.
“I gotta go.” Suddenly, Cam was desperate to see Brooke. To hold her. To call her his girlfriend and see if the light burning inside him was reflected in her eyes.
“Take her flowers,” Hayden called after him.
That was a good idea. Cam stopped at the florist before heading to her loft. Armed with a dozen red roses and one white one, he buzzed up to her.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Hey, it’s Cam. Can I come up?”
“Um, sure.” She sounded a bit hesitant, but maybe he’d caught her getting out of the shower or something. He hoped he’d caught her getting out of the shower.
The buzzer sounded, and he let himself in. A minute later, he was stepping off the elevator and striding to her loft at the end of the hall.
She opened the door just as he got there. She was dressed in khaki shorts and a dark red tank, and her feet were bare. He clutched the flowers and smiled at her. “You should consider taking a shower right before I get here. It’s worked well for me.” He looked at her suggestively, but she didn’t respond. Her gaze was fixed on the flowers.
“You brought roses.”
“Yes.” He held them out. “For you.”
“Red roses.” She took the bouquet, her brow creasing. “What’s the white one?”
“Friendship. I love that we’re friends, and I hope we always will be.”
She blew out a breath and looked at him, but only briefly. “I hope so too.” She turned and walked down the short hall to her kitchen.
He closed the door and followed her. Her demeanor was not what he was expecting. Every muscle in his body tensed. “Is everything okay?”
She set the flowers on the island and turned to the sink, where she bent down and opened the cupboard to pull out a vase. Setting it in the sink, she filled it with water. “I’m okay. Why’d you bring me red roses?”
He heard the shakiness in her question, and his skin turned glacier cold. “Why do you think?” Because he was falling in love with her. And he’d allowed himself to let that stupid emotion rule his brain. He should’ve gotten all white roses.
“I can guess.” She set the vase next to the flowers but didn’t put them in the water.
He reached for the roses. “I’ll take them back.”
She didn’t stop him. “You can, if you want. It’s just… You’re throwing me for a loop here. I thought we were going slow.”
He picked up the bouquet and clenched it in his fist. “I get it. I fucked up. No red roses.” Right now, he wasn’t sure he wanted anything with her. Her mood, her detachment was all too reminiscent of the day Jennifer had shown up at his apartment and told him about Aaron. Her fiancé. The guy with the house in Eastmoreland, a BMW, and a rock the size of Gibraltar that he’d put on her finger.
Cam hadn’t thought the horrible shock of that day could be repeated, but he now realized it could. If this went bad…
He coughed. “What’s going on here?”
She met his eyes, but only briefly. “I’ve been thinking about…us, and while I really like you, it seems like it’s moving too fast, whether we want it to or not. I mean, you brought me red roses.” The bridge of her nose scrunched up. “Yesterday you asked if I wanted kids, and I kind of brushed you off. I don’t want kids. Does that change how you feel about me? And please don’t lie, because I can see that you love children.”
God, he’d suspected this, but hadn’t really considered how he might feel. It was as if he’d been punched in the gut. Hard. He managed to find his breath. “I do love kids. I haven’t thought about it that much because I didn’t expect to get married.” He hastened to add, “Not that we’re talking about marriage here.”
No, right now, he wanted to pretend he’d never met her. It was going to be Jennifer all over again—precisely what he’d been afraid of and what he’d tried to avoid. It would serve him right. First time he let down his guard and bam.
“No, we’re not.” She sounded so distant, so unlike the fun and warm person he’d come to know.
“So tell me what you’re saying here.” He tensed and prepared himself for the worst.
Her gaze found his, but it didn’t carry the warmth he’d grown accustomed to. “I don’t want to keep doing this. I don’t see a future, and the longer we continue, the more awkward things will get.”
He could say that he’d prepared himself, but the truth was that there was nothing he could’ve done to deflect the agony that was now tearing through him. Not just at her, but at himself for being such a colossal fool. “You think things are going to get awkward?” His voice climbed. “They’re going to be fucking impossible, Brooke. I can’t work with you anymore. Hell, I don’t even want to see you anymore, and you live right across the goddamned street.”
She flinched. “I’ll find someone else at Willamette to take over the account.”
“I don’t care about the damn account.” He threw the flowers on the counter and turned away from her. He wiped a hand over his face. This couldn’t be happening again.
He told himself he hadn’t been about to propose, that this wasn’t as bad as Jennifer. Except it was. He’d finally let someone in, and she was the wrong one. His desire to trust withered and completely died. He apparently didn’t know how to pick someone who wanted him forever.
He spun around and glared at her. “Thanks for doing this now. No, really, I mean it. Yeah, I’m mad and hurt, but it could’ve been a lot worse. So thanks. Just have the new rep e-mail me. I do care about the account—and it can’t be you.”
Her gaze was steady, but her throat was working, the muscles contracting. “I understand.”
“See you around, I guess.” He turned and left, silently vowing to never open himself up again.
Brooke heard the door close and went to lock the bolt. She placed her hand on the wood. If she opened the door now and called his name, she could ask him to come back, tell him that she loved him. Because she did.
Straining, she listened for the elevator. When it was gone—when he was gone—she just stood there, numb, for what could’ve been an hour but was probably only a minute or two.
What had she done?
Legs shaking, she turned and went back to the kitchen. Her gaze fell on the roses. God, he’d brought her red roses.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she covered her mouth with her palm. Pain and regret tore through her. She could go after him, but to what end? It didn’t change the facts. He wanted children. She couldn’t give them to him.
And those unfixable truths didn’t change the fact that she loved him, and given the color of the roses he’d brought her, maybe he loved her too. The red roses weren’t even the worst part—that single white one…that had nearly broken her.
Now it did. She sank to the floor and cried. She didn’t know how long she sat there with tears streaming down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking, her throat clogging.
Her phone vibrated on the counter, and she jumped up thinking, stupidly, that it was maybe him. But no, it was Rhonda. On FaceTime. Brooke didn’t want to talk to her. And she sure as hell didn’t want Rhonda to see her like this.
The vibrating stopped for a moment, then started again. When it stopped for the second time, Brooke picked up the phone and sent her a text.
I don’t want to talk right now.
Rhonda: You okay? I feel bad about earlier.
Brooke stared at her phone. She wanted to say, “Yeah, I’m fine.” But she’d never been good at lying to Rhonda.
Brooke: No. I ended it with Cam.
The phone showed that Rhonda was typing. And typing. And typing. Finally: I’m sorry to hear that. Did you tell him why?
Brooke: If you’re asking whether I told him about my infertility, no. I told him we were a dead end. And we are.
Rhonda: So you didn’t trust him with the facts and give him a chance to decide for himself?
Brooke’s tears had stopped when she’d started typing. Now they dried completely as she glared at the phone. She set it down on the counter and walked into the living room. That was a mistake. All she could see out the window was Cam’s townhouse.
She pivoted and went right back to the kitchen, where her phone was vibrating as Rhonda tried calling again. Picking it up, she hit Ignore. Then she texted Rhonda again.
Please leave me alone. I know you think you’re helping, but you’re not. This is my life and I’m not going to live it the way you would.
Rhonda: From where I’m sitting, you’re barely living it at all. What’s the worst that could happen if you told him the truth? He’d leave you and you’d be no worse off than you are now. But what if he didn’t? What if he’s everything Darren wasn’t and you find a way to be together—happy? I can’t believe you don’t even want to try.
Brooke turned her phone over on the counter and walked to her room in a fog. She sat down on the edge of her bed and stared, unseeing, at the wall.
Rhonda was right. Logically, anyway. There was no way Cam could hurt her more than Darren had. But he could still hurt her. And she knew she couldn’t give him what he wanted. Questions pinged in her brain:
What if you really don’t know what he wants?
What if he stands by you and builds a future with you?
What if he is your happily ever after?
Those were a lot of what-ifs. She wasn’t sure she could chance them. She told herself this was for Cam, that she was saving him from heartache when he learned the truth about her. The reality, however, was that she was protecting herself because she was too scared to risk him leaving her. Better to be the one to do the leaving.
If only she hadn’t fallen for him so hard. She got up and went back to the kitchen. Ignoring her phone, she went to the flowers and unwrapped them. One by one, she took them out of the plastic and snipped the ends of the stems. She sprinkled the food packet into the vase and arranged them one rose at a time, adding in the baby’s breath and greenery as she went. When she got to the last flower, the white one, she knew she’d made a terrible mistake.
He was her friend, and she hadn’t treated him like one. Friends trusted each other, and friends were honest. She owed him at least that much.
And maybe, just maybe, Rhonda was right.
Now she had to try to make herself look presentable, which meant a bunch of cold water and some makeup.
Chapter Nineteen
The sun had long dropped from Cam’s view as he sat on his back porch, but the brilliant streaks of orange and yellow and pink from its setting streaked the sky. They were beautiful and warm and happy—in complete opposition to the way he felt.
He lifted his beer bottle to drink, and when nothing hit his lips, he recalled that he’d finished it. He set the empty on the table. He should get up and get another. Or ten.
Only he was rooted to the chair. The breeze stirred, rustling through his hair, but he didn’t feel the temperature. It could’ve been ice-cold, and he wouldn’t have noticed.
He’d done a good job over the past however long he’d been sitting here keeping Brooke from his mind, but without the beer to occupy him, like it had really been the beer, thoughts of her assaulted him.
Her laugh. The sparkle in her eye. The lilt of her voice when she gave him great snark or cried his name as he made love to her.
Ha, made love. It had been that for him but clearly something completely differe
nt for her. The ease with which she’d terminated their short-lived relationship cut right through his heart and battered his soul. He’d kept himself closed off for nearly a decade. And it hadn’t been long enough.
He stood up. Time for another beer or maybe something stronger. He grabbed the empty from the table and went into the house. After dropping it in the recycle, he went to his liquor cabinet and perused his choices. Tequila? No, too celebratory. Gin? Not hard enough. Thirty-year-old Highland malt whiskey? Hell, yes.
He pulled the bottle down and went to grab a glass. It was then that he heard his phone vibrating on the counter where he’d tossed it earlier. He didn’t think it would be her. What more could she want to say to him? She didn’t seem particularly vindictive, even if she was a heartless bitch.
He set the bottle down and picked up the phone as the call dropped. Four missed calls. From an unknown number. Southern Oregon area code. Like Brooke’s area code.
But not her number.
The phone vibrated again, this time with FaceTime. The picture that appeared on the screen wasn’t someone he knew, but she looked familiar. The shape of her face and the set of her eyes screamed Brooke. One of her sisters?
His first instinct was to ignore the call—he couldn’t imagine why either of them would want to contact him. But something picked at the back of his mind, and he decided to answer. Maybe they were trying to reach Brooke and couldn’t. Maybe something had happened to her.
Despite what had transpired earlier, he didn’t want to contemplate that. He answered the call and didn’t give a shit about his rudeness. “Who are you?”
She smiled, but it seemed strained. Her eyes held a nervous glint. “Hi, Cam. You are Cam, right? You look like your picture.”
“Yeah, I’m Cam. Who are you, and why are you calling me?”
“I’m Rhonda Markwith—Brooke’s older sister.”
Score a point for him, not that it mattered. “Still waiting for the why you’re calling.” He knew he sounded obnoxious, but he didn’t care. Especially with one of Brooke’s relatives.
