Sitting in my old living room and staring at the door that leads to the empty pool that drained my little girl of the life she was meant to live, D’lilah pours herself another glass of cheap vodka. For the first time in a long time, I relate to what she’s feeling.
My body aches and I’m tired. So fucking tired. I fist my hands into my hair and try to pull to the forefront all my reasons for needing to stay strong, but fail. This isn’t about me, shouldn’t be about me, but it hurts so badly.
“What did they say?” D’lilah slurs from her slumped position in the chair across from me.
I peer up at her and take in her dirty clothes and tangled hair. Her pallid skin and bloodshot eyes prove her slow suicide mission is working.
“She’s going downhill.” I swallow back the ache in my throat that hasn’t disappeared since I left the nursing home. “No longer responding.”
“Huh.” She takes a swig of the clear liquid and drops her head back. “Probably for the best.”
I grind my teeth and rein in my temper. “Whatever the fuck that means, ’Li.” Easy to say from her hiding place at the bottom of a bottle.
She laughs a deep guttural sound of intoxication and surrender to the inevitable. “Never should’ve put her in that place.”
My lips pinch together to keep from saying all the things I’ve wanted to say but never could.
“Just drawing it out, ya know?” She shrugs and takes another gulp.
“Says the drunk who wrote her off,” I say, shocked at the intense growl that punctuates my words.
This is fucking stupid. I need to get the hell out of here before I make today worse than it already is.
She glares at me through one eye. “I tried to go; you wouldn’t let me.”
“Too little too late.”
“What does it matter anyway? She’s gone, Cam! What’s the point? So I can stare at the shell of a girl I don’t know?”
Unthinking, I hook the lip of the coffee table and flip it on end. “You selfish bitch!”
She shoots to her feet, stumbling before she finds her balance. “Fuck you! Get the fuck out!” Her face blooms red with anger, and her nostrils flare.
I shake my head and storm from the room, ignoring the foul rant that she’s spewing to my back. If living in denial, wallowing in her own pain until she dies is what she wants, I’ll leave her to it. My stomach knots as the obligation to make right all I’ve done wrong washes over me.
Dammit. Fuck! I turn, throw my fist, and smash through the dry wall. My chin drops with the weight of regret. I lean my forehead on wall and try to slow my heaving breath and racing heart.
“Cam—”
“Not now.” I hold my hand out to keep her back and close my eyes. Calm down. Think.
“I’m sorry. Today sucks for all of us.”
I push off the wall but avoid her eyes. “I have to go.”
“You don’t have to leave—”
I whirl around and fix my eyes on hers. “Sober up, ’Li. You need to be there for our son tonight. Do not fuck this up.”
She jerks as if my words were a sucker punch to the gut. Good. Maybe that’ll help pull her head out of a liquor bottle long enough for her to show up to her son’s birthday dinner.
Twenty-Seven
Eve
I’m uneasy, and it’s not for the reason I’d think. Walking through the Planet Hollywood Casino to The Striphouse restaurant on Cameron’s arm is attention getting enough. He’s somewhat of a local celebrity now that he’s taken over as president of the UFL. I curl my fingers into the starched fabric of his navy blue dress shirt and feel the tension in is muscles.
Something is off.
And I don’t think it has anything to do with the fact that we’re having dinner with his ex-wife and teenage son. This feels bigger than that. There’s a vibe of anxiety or tension that charges the air around Cameron and has been since he picked me up. I felt a similar agitation from him before, leading up to Ryder’s birthday. But tonight it’s intensified to the point that my skin tingles with the power of it.
“Mr. Kyle, the rest of your party is here.” The hostess motions for us to follow her through the old Hollywood-style restaurant.
The deep red upholstered walls are covered in old black-and-white photos of actors and actresses from decades ago. Chairs and booths are in the same dark red leather, which lends a sophisticated and classy ambiance. The scent of melted butter and rich meat swirls in the air, and my mouth waters despite the off mood of my date.
“Here you are.” She stops at large half-circle booth where both D’lilah and Ryder are waiting.
Cameron gives a grunt of acknowledgement.
“Took you two long enough.” Ryder flashes a teasing smile. I’ve noticed he’s ditched the old faded tees for a nice plaid button-up shirt.
“Sorry, that was probably my fault.” I shift on my feet at the feeling of D’lilah’s eyes eating me up from heels to hair. Luckily, I wore my favorite sleeveless white fit and flare that’s just short enough to be sexy rather than skanky and a pair of black pumps that make my legs look twice as long as they are.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Oh, he speaks. Cameron guides me into the booth next to Ryder and slides in after me to take the end.
“No, not at all.” D’lilah takes a sip, or more like a gulp, of her wine. “Although, some of us aren’t getting any younger.” Her eyes never leave Cameron. “Isn’t that right, Cam?”
“Mom, you promised.” Ryder’s fixed on his mom, and Cameron’s glare is directed at her too.
The air is heavy with the silence between them. I fidget in my seat, wanting desperately to melt back into the booth and become one with the pleather.
“Welcome to The Striphouse, my name is Tarryn, can I get you two something to drink?”
The waitress’s bell-like voice works like a whistle to call time out between the three at the table. This is going to be a long night.
Cameron orders a bottle of wine, and the mood is a little airier by the time we get our glasses.
“I’d like to make a toast.” I raise my glass and everyone follows suit. “To Ryder, you’re now a legal adult. Don’t do anything stupid and get yourself killed.”
Ryder’s eyebrows come down low over his eyes. Cameron drops his head a little, and D’lilah’s face goes pale. Everyone is silent, staring. So much for the lighter mood.
“Cheers?” I hold my glass to the middle of the table, and slowly Cameron taps my glass. The rest of the family follows his lead. I try to make eye contact with Cameron, but he seems content to look everywhere but at me.
“How long do you think we’ll be here?” Ryder checks his watch. “I told the guys I’d meet them at an eighteen-and-over club.”
“We’ll make it quick.” Cameron waves for Tarryn.
I take a long draw from the full-bodied red wine and pray that the booze goes straight to my head so I can get through the next hour because Lord knows I’ll need a buzz to do it.
“Are you ready to order?” Tarryn is back, and I scramble for the menu that I haven’t even had the chance to look at yet.
“We’ll split the Kobe steak, creamed spinach, and Au Gratin potatoes.” Cameron doesn’t even look at me even though he clearly just ordered for me. He snags my menu from my hands and gives it to the waitress.
What the fuck? First, he’s clearly got a stick up his ass. He’s been communicating like a damn caveman, and now he’s taking away my options for dinner? I take a deep breath and chain up my shitty remark that would no doubt make a crap situation worse.
Besides, tonight is about Ryder, and although the poor guy looks as if he’d rather be at a One Direction concert rather than dining at the table-o-tension, I can pull my shit together for him.
“What’s the name of the club you’re headed to?” D’lilah says, her eyelids drooping a little.
Ryder goes into his plans for the night, and we all listen attentively and pretend it isn’t uncomfortable as hell.
“Mm, sounds like fun.” She shrugs. “Maybe I’ll go with you.”
“’Li, it’s his birthday for shit’s sake,” Cameron says on a growl.
“I realize it’s his birthday. But I’d like to go have some fun too, seeing as I’m the one who birthed him.”
“It’ll be nothing but a bunch of kids, ’Li. That’s ridiculous.”
“Ha, but hanging out with kids”—she leans across the table toward him, the deep neckline of her blouse exposing the tan strap of her bra—“seems to have worked for you.”
A low grumble charges the air, and I slide my hand to Cameron’s thigh on instinct. His muscles are rock hard as if he’s gearing to use them to spring across the table at his ex.
“Not another fucking word,” he says so deep and low that it raises gooseflesh on my arm. “Tell me you hear me.”
D’lilah’s eyes narrow, and she opens her mouth to speak.
“Wait, just stop.” I pull my napkin from my lap and put it on the table. “I shouldn’t be here. It’s making things tense, and Ryder doesn’t need this on his birthday. I’ll go—”
“No fucking way, babe.”
I give his leg a squeeze. “Cam—”
“Eve, I invited you here,” Ryder says. “It’s my birthday, and I say you stay.”
“Yay.” D’lilah rolls her eyes into her wine glass.
I’m rethinking my idolization of D’lilah Monroe.
“She’s staying.” Cameron throws back the rest of his wine and pours himself more.
I make a mental note that a grumpy Cameron equals me having zero say in shit! I rip my hand from his thigh only to get the glare of all glares and a jerk of my hand back to his thigh.
Asshole.
After a few minutes of silence, it’s clear that no one at the table is going to even try to salvage the rest of the night. I remember my talk with her on the Fourth of July. She seemed to calm and even become pleasant when we talked about her modeling. I’ll give it a shot. Worst she can do is tell me to go fuck myself.
“So, D’Lilah, tell me about living in Milan when you were a teenager. That must’ve been pretty cool.”
Her eyes flash to Cameron’s and something she sees in his expression makes her relax a little. Slowly and between sips of wine, she opens up about her glamorous life as a model. She pours herself another glass, and I’m afraid if she doesn’t eat we’re going to be carrying her out of here.
The food arrives right on time, and I struggle to push food down past my anxiety.
Cameron must catch on to me pushing my food around my plate because I look up to find him glaring down at me. “Eat.”
I sigh and turn to my food, making sure to shovel in every last bite. After a couple bites, Ryder launches into a story about his night playing roadie for Ataxia. Everyone laughs and responds in the right places, and soon my appetite returns. The waitress asks if we want a dessert menu, but Ryder declines, his eyes still glued to the time.
“No way, you have to make a wish,” I insist. “It’s your birthday.”
“It’s fine, really.” His gaze swings between the time on his phone and the exit. “I’m a little old for restaurant sing-a-longs.”
“What? You’re never too old for those, dude.” I pull over the small candle from the middle of the table. “Here. This’ll do.”
I start to sing happy birthday, and after the first few words, D’lilah joins in. I notice Cameron passes on joining the celebration, but that doesn’t surprise me, especially given the mood he’s in.
I watch as Ryder fills his cheeks with air and blows hard to turn the flickering orange flame into a slithering column of smoke.
“There. Now can I go?” He smiles.
“What did you wish for?”
“Yeah, right. I can’t tell you that or it won’t come true.”
I laugh and turn to the rest of the table, almost falling out of the booth at what I see. D’lilah’s face is wet with tears, and Cameron’s eyes are soft on her. Soft.
“’Li.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t do this.”
“Mom.” There’s no sympathy in Ryder’s expression, just irritation.
“It’s okay.”
What’s okay? What in the hell is going on with this family?
“I can’t.” She leans over and places a kiss to her son’s cheek. “Happy birthday, baby. I have to go.” She slides out of the booth and hurries to the exit.
“Fuck.” Cameron moves to chase after her, but jerks back into his seat like he just remembered I’m there.
“It’s okay.” I place my hand on his forearm. “Go see if she’s okay.”
He looks conflicted, his gaze swinging back and forth between where I’m sitting and where she disappeared.
“Right, well, I’m outta here.” Ryder scoots out of the booth. “Thanks for dinner, Dad.”
“Ry, go check on—”
“Not tonight, Dad. If there’s ever a day where I don’t have to live in someone else’s shadow, I pick today.” He turns and follows the direction his mom left.
Shadow?
“Cameron, what the hell just happened?”
He buries his face in his hands. “Not now, Eve.”
Eve? Not doll or babe? Shit.
My heart cramps violently and familiarly. I’m losing him. My body’s alarm system screams for me to run, as if distance will protect me from the looming heartbreak.
Something happened between this morning and tonight that robbed me of the Cameron I know and replaced him with a man I feared he would become. He’s thrown up a glass wall between us, and I don’t know how to bust through.
I take a deep breath. “It’s okay. Go after her.”
He looks at me, eyes held in a tight glare and yet totally expressionless. “I’m not leaving you.” His voice doesn’t carry the conviction of his words.
“I’ll grab a cab.” I feel my grip on him slide away as my heart succumbs to its fears.
“Eve.” There’s no fight in the way he says my name. No desperation or even the bossy control I’ve heard in the past.
“Really.” I tilt my head to the front of the restaurant. “She shouldn’t be driving.” Don’t leave me.
“Shit.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t even think about that.” His eyes find mine. “You sure?”
I nod. Take me with you.
He pulls out his money clip and drops a wad of hundred dollar bills on the table. “This should be enough for dinner and a cab.” He leans over and kisses my forehead.
Not my lips. I almost hear an audible crack of my heart.
“I’ll call you later.”
And then I watch him walk away.
~*~
Cameron
Fuck. I should’ve known this would be a disaster: Eve and D’lilah at the same dinner table the night of our twins’ eighteenth birthday. Mourning all that we’ve lost while celebrating our son’s launch into adulthood is a mixed box of shit that I don’t even want to attempt to sort out.
I quicken my pace through the lobby and outside to the valet. Pushing through the doors, I’m hit with a wall of desert-summer heat. I scan the busy porte cochere. People jump in and out of cabs, while others load and unload suitcases. A flash of blond catches my eye.
You’ve got to be kidding me. D’lilah’s leaning up against the wall in the designated smoking area with a few guys half her age. They’re all talking too loud and using wild hand gestures.
’Li catches my approach and her drunk smile falls. She takes a long drag off her cigarette and stares right at me.
“Come on, beautiful. It’ll be fun,” one of the dicks says.
“I’d love to.” She practically purrs and looks right at me.
“The fuck you will. You’re going home. Now.” My muscles are so tense I could split my damn shirt.
I’m so sick of following her around, taking care of her out of duty or obligation. I told myself as soon as she got on her feet, got herself sober, I’d walk away. I al
ways thought it was what I owed her for what I’d taken from her. But this is bullshit. It’s been fourteen years, and she’s worse than she’s ever been.
“D’lilah. Now.”
One of the douchebag guys whispers something to his limp-dick friends about getting the hell out of there. Smart.
“No, Cam.” Her eyes glisten with tears. “No way. I don’t want to go home. I can’t go back there. I can’t.” Drops slide down her face to cascade off her jaw.
The guys slowly back away, and I step in closer to her. “Don’t do this. Not now. Not here.”
“Don’t make me go back there. I can’t.” She shakes her head, her body crumbles in on itself, and I move quickly to keep her from dropping to the ground.
Hell, this is an impossible position. I’m so angry at her, but also feel too responsible to walk away.
“Shh, it’s okay. Let me take you home.”
She nuzzles into my chest as sobs rip from her throat. “I can’t go there tonight. I . . . I miss her. My baby.” Another wave of tears and her body quakes with the force of it.
My heart seizes behind my ribs, and I pull her closer and hold on with all I have. It’s not her I want to be holding, but fuck if I don’t grip something I’ll drop.
“Sir, can I get your car?” The valet who took my keys when I got here shifts uncomfortably, and I notice that we’ve drawn a small crowd.
I nod, and he moves quickly to pull up my car, which thankfully was parked right up front. He leaves both doors open.
“Car’s here, ’Li.” I rub her back and try to get her to loosen her hold on my waist. “Come on, you can stay at my house for the night.”
Her arms let up a tiny bit, just enough for me to get my hands on her shoulders and peel her off the front of my body. She keeps her head ducked, and I usher her to the passenger side of my car. My skin prickles with the feeling of eyes on me from all angles and whispers of who I am and what’s going on.
Once inside the Maserati, I point it toward home. Damn, this is going to be a long night. And if I know Eve, my little ball buster’s going to have a few choice words for me once I call her.
Fighting the Fall Page 22
