My gaze lands on the photographs on top of a small dresser on the messy side, confirming my gut instinct that this is Rory's half of the dorm. He is pictured front and center in a few of the photos, alongside an older couple, the resemblance making it clear they're related, likely his parents. Others are candid shots of him and his friends. One of me holding my guitar sits in the middle of all the others. Mitch took that photo right before my first performance at his bar. I was so focused on tuning the guitar I didn't even notice the flash of his camera. I look ethereal, like I'm in a completely different world.
I avert my eyes after a moment, my heart aching at the thought that this kid spent so much of his time on someone pretending to be me. Someone who didn't deserve him. Because of her, he will never get to take another goofy photo with his friends or look slightly bored while his parents force him to pose for another family shot.
Does she know? Does she even care?
Cam pulls the door to the room closed and steps up beside me. He's quiet as he hands me a pair of gloves and then looks around. It takes him all of two seconds to pick out which side of the room belongs to Rory while he dons his gloves. He immediately makes his way to the desk that's been rifled through, moving the cursor on the laptop to see if it's turned on. It isn't. He moves along to the papers on the desk, shuffling through them.
I stand in the middle of the room and watch him, uncertain if I should touch anything even with the gloves on.
He looks up after a moment and notices me still standing there. "C'mere, kitten," he says, holding out a hand to me.
I quickly cross to him.
"You good?" he asks, examining my face with narrowed, attentive eyes.
"Yeah," I say, nodding.
He tugs me forward, wrapping an arm around my waist and giving me a reassuring squeeze before pulling a book from the shelf. My gaze falls on the papers he's scattered across the top of the desk. I start flipping through them. Most are class notes, each letter small and tightly spaced. One page sticks out from the others, the corner worn as if held often. Even upside down, the writing is familiar.
I tug the paper from the stack and then turn it so it's oriented properly. My throat threatens to close as my gaze scans across the page. It's a song, or a rough draft of one, and it's mine. I know because I wrote it three months ago.
"Cam," I whisper, completely stunned.
"What is it, kitten?" he asks, glancing up from the book he's thumbing through.
I hold the paper out toward him, my hand trembling. "I wrote this," I mumble.
He frowns, his gaze moving between me and the piece of paper in my hand. "It's yours?" he asks.
I nod.
"Someone copied it?"
"No." I choke on the word.
He must sense my distress because he takes the sheet of paper from me and steers me toward the bed, forcing me to sit. I take a deep breath and then another, trying to calm the nerves suddenly clamoring. My hands are shaking so hard, I have to ball them into fists to still them.
Cam sinks to his knees in front of me. "Talk to me," he says.
"It's a song I started writing three months ago. I thought I lost it," I whisper, swallowing in an attempt to work moisture back into my dry mouth. The action doesn't help. "Why is it here?"
"Where did you last see it?"
"At school, maybe?" I shake my head. "I don't remember. I was just messing around after parent-teacher conferences, waiting for some of the other teachers to finish up so we could go out for drinks, and the song came to me, so I jotted down the lyrics. When I looked the next morning, the sheet wasn't in my bag. I figured it must have fallen out at some point." Clearly, I was wrong because it's here, in Rory's room…the absolute last place it should be.
"Did anyone else know about it?" Cam asks me.
"I don't think so. I never had the chance to show anyone."
"It's a love song," he says, his eyes scanning across the page as if he's reading the words.
"Yes." It is a love song. Or the beginnings of one, anyway. The song is about two people grasping for more without even knowing one another. I started it after reading a novel about two people who meet in a club and throw caution to the wind. Given that I was supposedly in a long distance relationship with Rory at the time I wrote it, it's incriminating as hell, lending credence to the theory that we were dating.
Cam's smart enough to grasp what the song seems to imply without me spelling it out for him. He's silent for a long moment. Too quiet. Unease is painted across his face, hesitation plain in his gray eyes.
"It's not about Rory," I mumble, my stomach roiling at the look on his face, like he's questioning whether I've been honest with him. Like, maybe, I've been playing him this entire time.
"What?" His gaze darts to mine, his brows furrowed.
"It's not about Rory," I say again, a little louder this time. "I didn't write this for him or about him." The words feel like glass in my throat, abrading it. The thought that Cam doubts me is a crushing blow, sucking air from the room. I push to my feet, causing him to stumble back before he catches himself and rises gracefully, like a big cat.
"Kitten―"
"I didn't write this for him, and I didn't send it to him." I feel caged in, the walls pressing in on me. In an attempt to ease the panic squeezing air from my lungs, I pace around the small dorm room, taking deep breaths. My heart is racing, pounding so fiercely, I think it's going to beat right out of my chest. "I didn't do this, Cam. I didn't."
"Kitten, stop." He tosses the page to the bed and grabs for me, yanking me into him.
My body collides with his. He wraps his arms around me, caging me against his chest. I struggle for a moment, trying to fight my way free of him, but I can't. As always, he's too strong, too big. Too there. And, perhaps for the first time since he met me, he now has a reason to doubt me.
"Let me go," I cry out, desperate to get away before he says the words out loud and breaks me. I've been so worried about breaking him that I never stopped to consider that he could do the same to me. But he can. He has me, all of me. I think he has since the very beginning. And he can destroy me.
"No."
Knowing I can't get away from him unless he lets me go of his own volition, I stop fighting. A whimper breaks from my lips before I can stop it. I shudder in his arms, trying not to completely lose control as the truth crashes over me like a tidal wave.
I'm falling in love with him. And there's absolutely nothing I can do to convince him that I didn't write that damn song for Rory, not when it's here…in his dorm room. Not when it's my writing.
"I didn't do this," I whisper, pieces of my soul breaking. "I didn't, Cam."
"Goddammit, kitten," he rasps in my ear, holding me tight. He doesn't sound angry though. He sounds…sad. Like maybe his soul is breaking, too. "You think I don't know that you didn't do this?" He shakes me a little in his arms, as if trying to make me see sense. "I know you, sweetheart. I know you."
I burrow my face into his throat and sob.
"You okay, kitten?" he asks when I finally stop crying.
We're on the floor in Rory's dorm, Cam holding me in his arms like he's trying to hold me together.
I nod, but don't lift my head to face him. I keep it pressed to his throat, breathing him in.
He rubs my back, pressing a kiss to my head, and then he sighs softly. Wrapping his arms around me, he rises to his feet. I cling to him, unwilling to let go. I'm a coward, but I don't want to have the conversation I know is coming. I just want to stay here, wrapped in his arms until this entire nightmare ends.
Except…it won't.
Cam sets me on the bed, unlatching my arms from around his neck.
He kisses my fingers and then sinks to the bed beside me.
"Look at me," he murmurs with his hand on my chin, trying to turn my face to his.
I hesitate for a moment before giving in to the inevitable. My eyes flutter open, gritty and swollen from crying. His expression is grim as he search
es my face, his eyes filled with some emotion I can't name. He looks tired…defeated. And maybe a little bit pissed.
I half expect him to yell at me, but he doesn't.
"I believe you," he says simply.
"Okay," I whisper, my throat raw.
"No," he says with a shake of his head. "I need you to listen to me, kitten, and I need you to hear me. This thing between us isn't going to work otherwise."
"Okay."
"I believe you."
"I know how this looks," I say after a moment, not lying to him. "I'd understand if you didn't believe me." I want to believe he trusts me, but why would he? Why should he? If I were him, I'm not so sure I would believe me, or that I could, not after this.
"Motherfucker," he mutters under his breath and then he rakes a hand through his hair before tugging on the strands. "You are the most frustrating fucking woman I've ever met, kitten." He narrows his eyes at me. "I know you didn't do this. You aren't capable of something like this. Stop questioning whether I believe you, and accept it."
"I'm trying." I am trying, but every time I feel like I have my feet beneath me, the rug is pulled out from under me once again. It's discombobulating. And so is he.
He hesitates for a long moment, and then sighs, letting the subject go, though I have a feeling we'll be revisiting it soon. "I know you don't want to believe someone you care about is doing this to you," he says grimly before reaching behind him to grab the song lyrics he tossed aside to console me. "But you don't have a choice anymore, kitten. You're being set up. You have to accept that now."
He's not wrong. Someone I love is purposefully trying to ruin my life. Someone I love is a killer. And unless I suck it up and learn to deal, someone I love is going to let me go to prison for their crimes. There's no denying that anymore, not when a song I wrote is here, hundreds of miles from where it should be.
"I need to know what you want to do with this." He holds the sheet of paper out before me.
I blink at him, confused. "What I want you to do with it?"
He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "If I turn this in," he says carefully, his tone concise, matter-of-fact, "they're going to issue a warrant for your arrest sooner rather than later. You'll be charged with manslaughter, and this will be used as evidence against you at trial."
The way he says the words makes my heart stall. Not because he's telling me what will happen, but because of what he's hinting at doing. "Cam," I whisper, my heart in my throat. "What are you saying?"
He doesn't answer me, and that's answer enough.
"You have to turn it in," I blurt, stunned that he's even considering doing something so monumental. Cam doesn't play by the rules, and I know that, but this is different. He isn't just breaking the rules this time. He's considering breaking the law and his oath to uphold it. There is no way I can let him do that and live with myself. He has to turn the song in, even if it means I go to jail. "You're a cop. You can't just pretend this doesn't exist, not for me."
A split moment of hesitation flits across his face.
"You're a good, honest man," I whisper to him, grasping his face between my palms as if touching him will ensure he hears me. "You care what happens to people, and you do what's right because that's who you are. You will never be able to forgive yourself if you don't turn this in, and neither will I."
"You're asking me to let you go to jail, kitten," he says, frowning at me.
"No, I'm not." I shake my head, disagreeing. "I'm asking you to find a way to keep me out of jail that doesn't go against who you are as a person and as a cop. If being free means destroying you, I'd rather go to jail, Cam." As terrifying as the thought of prison is to me, I'll go gladly if that's what I have to do to keep from dragging him down with me.
He hesitates for a long, painful moment, and then he pulls me to him and kisses me hard on the lips. "When this is all over," he says, his eyes blazing with heat, "I'm gonna find a way to convince you to marry me, kitten."
"Cam―"
"Be ready, sweetheart, because you're going to be mine."
chapter twelve
wildest dreams
"Oh my god," Erin squeals into the phone. "It feels like it's been forever since I talked to you!"
"It has been forever," I respond, wandering around Cam's hotel room, waiting for him to return from the police station where he's turning over the song that pretty much seals my fate. In a day or two, maybe more, I'll be arrested and charged with Rory's death. The thought is overwhelmingly terrifying, but I don't regret convincing Cam to turn in the song. I won't take him down with me, no matter what.
His promise echoes in my mind.
Be ready, sweetheart, because you're going to be mine.
I'm pretty sure he meant every word, and I have no idea how I feel about that.
Excited.
Nervous.
Breathless.
On fire.
I want to belong to him.
"I think I'm falling in love," I blurt to Erin. The words twist through me, the truth settling over me as if slipping into place. I'm falling in love with Cam. It's terrifying and beautiful and confusing all at once. The rational part of my brain screams that I barely know him. Every other part of me though? Well, those parts aren't as rational. They're perfectly cool with falling for Cam.
What is he doing to me?
"What?" Erin screams.
I cringe and hold the phone away from my ear.
"Who are you falling in love with? What the fuck have I missed? Oh my god, is it Gleeson? Hello? Why aren't you saying anything?" she shouts in rapid succession. "Are you sleeping with him? Holy shit, Ivy! When did this happen?"
"It's not Bryan," I say softly. "His name is Cameron. Cam."
"The cop? The one who called you about that boy?"
"Yeah."
"He's totally fuckable, isn't he? You lucky bitch."
"He's the guy from Mitch's," I mumble, running my fingertip along the top of the television. When I pull it back, not a single spot of dust clings to my skin. "The one who kept staring at me."
"Tall, Dark, and Fuckable?" she asks, her voice still an octave or two higher than usual. "Holy flaming fuck, Ivy. That man is gorgeous."
"I know." God, do I ever know. All he has to do is smirk at me, and I'm a puddle on the floor, ready to do his bidding. That dimple and those eyes combined with that voice, those tattoos, and that body should be illegal.
"So, tell me about him," Erin says, and I can just imagine her bouncing on the balls of her feet like she does when she's excited.
"He's…" I don't even know where to start. "He's amazing, Erin. Bossy as hell, but super sweet. He listens to me and remembers what I say. He has this voice that makes me crazy, and his eyes are so expressive. And the sex? Oh my god," I blurt, unable to stop myself from gushing about him.
"You lucky bitch," Erin breathes, envy in her tone. "I haven't been laid in ages."
"What am I supposed to do?" I groan, flopping down on the bed.
"Fuck him as often as humanly possible and stop asking questions, duh!" she says, laughing.
"I wish it were that easy."
She sobers, her laughter fading. "You're really falling for him?"
"I am." I pause, letting her absorb this revelation…trying to let myself absorb it. "It's too soon, right? I'm crazy and this is never going to work and I'm just being ridiculous, right?"
She doesn't say anything for a moment and then, "There isn't a timeline for falling in love. If he's right for you, he's right for you, whether you've known him for five minutes or five years."
I blink, caught off guard by how mature she sounds all of the sudden. It's disconcerting coming from the woman who never takes anything seriously. And that has the truth pouring from my lips. "I'm so scared, Erin," I whisper, clutching the phone tightly and blinking away tears. "What if I screw his life up? What if he doesn't feel the same way? What if―?"
"What do you mean, screw his life up? Are you kidding m
e right now? You're one of the best people I have ever met. There is no way you could ever screw his life up. And if he doesn't feel the same way, he's the crazy one, not you."
"I'm in trouble," I confess. "Big trouble."
"Being in love isn't trouble."
"That's not what I mean," I say with a sigh and sit upright. "I'm going to be charged with manslaughter, Erin."
"What?"
I have to hold my phone away from my ear again when she shrieks at me. Crossing my legs, I wait for her to calm down before explaining.
"They think I was in a relationship with that kid who went missing. Someone has been posing as me online for months."
"Wait, you mean the kid is dead?" Erin asks.
"Yes. He jumped off Bay Bridge."
"Oh my god," she whispers.
"It's so awful. Whoever has been posing as me told him to kill himself, and he did. Now I'm going to be charged with his death unless I can prove that I didn't talk him into it." I take a breath, trying to keep myself under control. "I don't want to drag Cam down with me. He's been so good to me. He's helping me try to clear my name."
"I can't believe he's dead," she says.
"I know. I feel so awful for his family, and for him. I keep thinking that the last thing he heard from anyone was this woman telling him to kill himself. Is it selfish that I hate knowing he died thinking I'm a horrible person?" I think maybe that is selfish, but I can't help but feel that way.
"You aren't a horrible person. They can't send you to jail for this. You didn't do it."
"I know that, but they don't." I sigh again, thinking about the song and the fact that this woman is using my identity. "I'm going to be arrested. It's only a matter of time."
All Over You (All Falls Down #3) Page 15
