All Over You (All Falls Down #3)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  "Fucking hell," Cam says and slams the paper down on the desk. He grabs me, pulling me into him. "We're leaving in two seconds," he snaps to the clerk. "I suggest you hurry up."

  "Ah, y-yes, sir."

  Cam buries my face in his shoulder, holding me against him. Silent tears drip down my cheeks, soaking into his shirt. I want to stop them, but I can't seem to manage it. I'm falling apart, and everyone in the lobby is here to witness it.

  "Let's go," Cam whispers a moment later. He leans down to grab our bags with one hand, and steers me toward the doors, keeping me tucked into his side so I don't have to look at anyone.

  I stumble along beside him until he pushes me up against his SUV, dropping our bags.

  "Look at me," he murmurs, cupping my face between his palms.

  I blink open my eyes. Tears blur my vision, making his face hazy.

  "We knew this was coming, and we're going to beat it," he says firmly.

  He's right. We are going to beat this. Still…

  "It's too soon," I whisper, another tear slipping down my cheek. "I need more time." I need more time with him. Time to find the courage to tell him that I'm hopelessly in love with him, too. That I have been for days. That he's wriggled his way into my heart and taken up permanent residence inside. That I don't want to be without him.

  "I know." He presses his forehead to mine, his breath blowing hot across my face. "Ride back to San Francisco with me, kitten," he says. "I'll send someone to get your car, but I need to be with you right now. Please."

  "Yes." I don't even hesitate. Facing a seven hour drive alone is the last thing I want to do right now. And it's not like I'm going to need my car anytime soon, anyway.

  He kisses me and then pulls away to toss our bags into the back of his Rover. Once done, he walks me around to the passenger side and helps me in. When my hands shake, he latches the seatbelt for me and then kisses me again.

  "I've got you, baby," he murmurs, pressing his lips to my cheek.

  Baby.

  He's never called me that before. Ever.

  I start crying all over again.

  chapter sixteen

  storm

  I spend the first half of the drive back to San Francisco staring blankly out the windshield while Cam talks on the phone. His jaw stays locked tight, as if whatever he's being told pisses him off. That only serves to make me even more anxious, but I don't ask him how bad things are. If these are my last hours as a free woman, I don't want to spend them in a constant state of terror.

  I want to be strong and brave and believe everything is going to work out, but the truth is…that's never been my life. In my life, things don't always work out. When the worst can happen, it usually does. I know because I've lived it. First with my mom and sister, and then again with my dad. I'm terrified the same is going to happen now, and that I'm going to end up in prison regardless of whatever evidence Cam finds to prove me innocent. Fake Ivy is going to get away with murder, and I'm going to pay for it.

  Who wouldn't be a little terrified of that possibility?

  Cam checks on me frequently, asking if I need anything or if I want to stop.

  I don't. My stomach is in knots, making it impossible to eat anything. And spending my time wandering around gas stations doesn't appeal to me, especially not with my name and face now splashed across the news. I'd rather be right here beside him for as long as possible. He touches me frequently, as if he needs the contact as much as I do. His hand never strays far from mine, so I cling to him, allowing him to keep me grounded.

  I fall asleep somewhere outside of San Simeon and sleep hard. If I dream, I don't remember what they're about. I wake up as the last rays of the sun sink below the horizon, turning the San Francisco Bay into a kaleidoscope of blinding color. Sailboats bob in the water like toy ships. My breath catches in my throat at the brilliant sight. I drink it in with greedy eyes, trying to memorize it.

  "Convince them," Cam snaps into the phone. "I don't care what you have to do, Jacoby, get me one more day." He pauses to listen to the voice murmuring on the other end of the line. "First thing in the morning? Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure." He listens for another minute and then curses and drops the phone into his lap.

  "Hey," I whisper when he puts his hand to his forehead, massaging above his eyes.

  He drops his hand and looks over at me. "Hey. I thought you were sleeping."

  I shrug and then glance out at the Bay again. "We're almost home."

  "Yeah."

  "They're giving me until morning to turn myself in?" I ask when he doesn't say anything else.

  He shifts his gaze to me and nods almost imperceptibly.

  I take a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "Okay."

  He reaches for my hand, bringing it to his lips. "I want you to stay with me tonight."

  "Why?"

  "Because I want you with me for as long as possible," he says, and maybe that's true, but that's not his only reason. I can tell by the way he avoids making direct eye contact with me.

  "You've never lied to me before," I whisper, watching him. "Please don't start now."

  "I'm―" He stops and then tips his head back and curses. "There are a few reporters lurking around your building."

  "Oh." That's not what I was expecting him to say. "I thought you were going to tell me they only agreed to give me until morning because you promised to keep me in sight at all times."

  He squeezes my hand, not saying anything.

  "This really sucks, you know?" I don't know how else to sum up the situation. "I've never done anything wrong my entire life, and now I can't even go home because reporters are camped on my doorstep and your coworkers think I need a babysitter in order to be trusted."

  "Hey," he says, exiting the interstate in the Pacific Heights area of the city. He brushes his thumb across my cheek before placing his hand on my nape. "I trust you, kitten. If you want to stay at your place tonight, just say the word and that's where we'll go."

  "I want to stay with you," I answer immediately. Where we stay isn't really the point, anyway. It's more the fact that, I'm not even in jail yet, and my freedom is already dwindling to nothing. He may trust me, but his coworkers don't. Running to L.A. probably didn't win me any points, either. That's my fault, and I know it. But that doesn't make the situation any less depressing. "I'm just saying that the entire situation is senseless. I didn't do anything wrong, and I'm not even allowed out of your sight. Meanwhile, Fake Ivy is free to do whatever she wants."

  "Not for long," he promises me, turning onto Lombard and then rolling to a stop at the corner. When the light turns green, he continues through the intersection and drives for a few more minutes before making a right onto Octavia. He pulls into a parking spot at the corner of Broadway and Octavia.

  I glance around as he straightens out the Rover. Pacific Heights is one of the more affluent neighborhoods in the area, with ridiculously high rent and a number of upscale condos.

  "You live here?" I ask when he turns the Rover off and pockets the keys.

  He nods, grabbing his cellphone from the console.

  "Okay then," I mumble. I don't know how much Cam makes a year, but I do know that cops don't make much more than teachers, not even detectives. Either Cam makes a hell of a lot more a year than I do, or his family has money, because there is no way I could afford to live in this area, even without my student loans and my father's medical bills.

  "Come on," he says, checking traffic before climbing from the vehicle. He stretches his arms over his head before slamming the door closed and circling around to grab our bags from the cargo hold.

  I push my door open and climb out, still a little shell-shocked.

  Cam meets me on the sidewalk, sliding his arm around my waist. We make our way up the walkway to his building, not speaking. A few people are out jogging, but they don't pay us any attention. Neither does the guy in a suit climbing into a Lexus across the street. Cam lets us into the building and then points the way to an elev
ator.

  I try not to gawk as we wait, but it's hard. The building is old, but really nice. The floors are gleaming hardwood, with a gorgeous runner down the length of the hallway. Black and white photographs of historic San Francisco line the walls, with antique tables holding decorative bowls and vases that probably cost more than the furniture in my apartment. When the doors to the elevator slide open, walls of chrome and glass greet us.

  "You okay?" he asks, pressing the button for the third floor.

  I nod.

  He leans back against the wall beside me, a little smirk playing at his lips.

  "What?" I ask, narrowing my gaze on him.

  "Nothing," he says with a little chuckle.

  He's laughing at me again.

  I cross my arms over my chest and blatantly ignore him until the elevator doors open onto the third floor. Cam strides down the hallway before stopping at the door on the far end. That damn smirk still twitches at his lips, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he inserts his key into the deadbolt and pushes the door open.

  "After you," he murmurs politely.

  I briefly consider kicking him in the shin and then decide against it.

  He steps inside after me and hits the lights.

  His condo is nothing like my apartment. For one thing, there is a ton of open space. Massive windows flank two double doors that open onto a patio overlooking Broadway. His furniture is all antique woods and dark leathers, with a giant television on one wall. A small bar separates the living room from the kitchen.

  "Your condo is gorgeous, Cam," I tell him honestly, a little surprised at how clean the entire place is. I wander into the living room and run my hand across the back of his sofa. The leather is soft and luxurious, as if it's aged well. I'm almost afraid to sit on the couch, worried I'll mess it up somehow.

  "Kitten."

  I turn to find Cam watching me closely.

  He drops our bags inside the door and then flips the deadbolt before prowling toward me.

  "C'mere," he says, holding out a hand to me.

  I take it, allowing him to pull me into his arms. His lips graze my cheek before he nibbles on my bottom and then my top lip. He licks across the seam of my lips, demanding entry. I grasp onto his shoulders and let him kiss me until I can't breathe. He pulls back after a long moment and examines my face.

  "That's better," he says. "Don't like seeing that look on your face, kitten."

  "What look?"

  "Like you aren't sure you belong here."

  "Your place is a lot different than mine," I murmur.

  "How so?"

  "Seriously?" I arch a brow but he just looks at me. "You live in the Heights, Cam. And your couch probably costs more than all of my furniture combined."

  "Does that bother you?"

  He sounds genuinely curious, like my answer matters to him, so I take a moment to think about the question. Does it bother me that he's obviously a lot better off financially than I am?

  "No," I answer carefully. "I just…I don't know." I shrug, not sure how to explain or if I even should. I'm not even sure there is anything to explain. He dresses in jeans and t-shirts most of the time, his tattoos on full display. He drinks beer and eats Chinese takeout from the carton. Even when I saw him rocking his suit and tie, I didn't put much thought into where he lived or what kind of life he led. I think I just assumed he lived the same lifestyle I do, or one close to it. Being inside his home is different. Yet again, he's not what I expected. He keeps surprising me. He doesn't fit neatly into some box. I don't think they make a box that could contain him, anyway. That's not a bad thing, but it is a little disconcerting.

  "I'm not loaded, kitten," he says softly when I don't explain. "I live here because I'm a cop, and people like having cops around. They give us cheap rent in exchange for making sure everyone feels safe and secure."

  "Oh."

  "But I'm not destitute either," he continues, massaging the back of my neck. "I make a decent living doing what I do, and I've made good investments. I'm more than capable of taking care of you."

  "Cam, I―"

  "Starting with hiring you a good lawyer."

  "What?" I blink, caught off guard.

  "You need a good lawyer, kitten. One who can get you out of jail and keep you out until we have enough evidence to have the charges against you dropped. Let me help you."

  "No." I pull away, shaking my head. "No way."

  "Why not?"

  "Because…because I'm not letting you pay for a lawyer for me. I love that you want to do that for me, but that's not your responsibility, Cam. You're already doing more than enough."

  "You're mine, kitten. It is my responsibility."

  "No." I square my shoulders, my jaw firming.

  He scowls at me.

  I'm not backing down and giving in to him this time, though. He can't just sweep in and take over every aspect of my life. That's not fair to either of us.

  "I don't want to feel like I'm using you," I whisper, my gaze running across his face. "You've already done more than enough to help me. I can't let you pay for a lawyer for me, too."

  "Kitten―"

  "No, Cam." I step forward and wrap my arms around him, burrowing into his chest. "I need to do this my way. Please."

  He holds himself rigid for a long moment, reluctance rolling off him in waves. And then he sighs and wraps his arms around me. "Fine," he mumbles into my hair. "But I don't like it."

  "I know."

  "If your public defender is an idiot, I'm hiring you a lawyer whether you like it or not."

  I want to tell him no again, but I don't. Instead, I take a deep breath and compromise. "Okay."

  "Good," he grunts, the sound full of satisfaction.

  We stand there for a long moment, just holding each other. I rest my head against his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. The thought that I may not get to be with him like this again anytime soon kills me. I just found him, and I'm already on the verge of losing him.

  He sighs after a moment. "Why don't you get a shower, kitten? I need to make a couple more calls."

  "Okay," I whisper, fighting the urge to cry.

  He kisses my forehead again and then grabs my duffle and holds it out for me. "My room is on the right. Make yourself at home, sweetheart."

  "Okay." I take my bag and turn toward the hallway.

  "C'mere," he says, grasping the back of my shirt and pulling me back into his arms before I can take a step in the direction of his bedroom. His mouth comes down on mine as he flicks his tongue against my bottom lip in a silent demand for me to open for him.

  I do, willingly. He kisses me like it's the first time, his lips gentle against mine. Heat spreads through me, but it doesn't take away the chill that's worked its way into my bones. I don't think anything is going to take that way, not until Fake Ivy is in prison and my nightmare is over.

  His phone rings, pulling a disgruntled grumble from his lips. "Go shower. I'll be there soon," he mumbles against my lips, and then he reluctantly releases me, already reaching for his cell.

  I watch him for a moment, taking in the way his gray eyes narrow on the screen before he holds it up to his ear and says, "Yeah?". Whatever he hears makes him growl, his brows pulling together in a scowl.

  "Fuck that," he snaps. "I want a guarantee that…"

  I slip away, my steps tentative. When I get to the door he indicated, I push it open slowly, flip on the lights, and step inside, blinking. His room is…amazing. It's decorated in bold black and classic white, with a bed so massive I could get lost in it. Bright white sheets peek from beneath a thick black comforter. Matching black curtains cover big bay windows, with a white chaise positioned beneath. His dressers are black with chrome handles. A plush black and white area rug covers most of the hardwood floor. One entire wall is dark glass, opening up onto the bathroom.

  I drop my bag onto his bed and head toward the bathroom, only to stop right inside the doorway and gape. His bathroom
is almost as big as my entire apartment. A giant garden tub is built onto a black dais of sorts in the corner, with two steps leading up to it. A chrome and glass shower is on the opposite wall, with multiple showerheads overhead. A massive vanity stretches the length of the wall between the shower and the tub. The toilet is built in its own little area, with a door for privacy.

  "I could live in here," I mumble to myself before starting the shower. I poke through his cabinets until I find a stack of fluffy black towels and washcloths. Setting them aside, I glance at myself in the mirror and sigh. My green eyes are dull and sad, the skin beneath puffy and red. My hair is a mess from having slept in the car, thick pieces loose from the bun I tossed it into. My lips are swollen from Cam's kisses. Faint red marks are visible on my throat from where he bit me.

  I strip my clothes off quickly. My eyes fill with tears when I see those same marks all over my body. Love bites form a roadmap across my skin, showing exactly where he's been and how long he stayed. I don't want them to fade. I don't want to look down in a week and see that they've all disappeared. But they will, and then I really will be alone. Locked up with criminals for trusting the wrong person.

  I step beneath the spray of the shower as tears begin to fall. A sob breaks from my lips, followed by another and another. My heart is breaking, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I'm in love with a cop, and I don't think I get to keep him after this. I huddle in the corner, wrap my arms around myself, and give in to the tears, sobbing so hard, I can't catch my breath.

  "Kitten?" Cam calls from the other side of the shower door as I cry.

  I bite my lip to stifle the sound of my sobs, but it doesn't do any good.

  A cool blast of air swirls around me and then he's there, lifting me into his arms. He's still fully dressed, but he doesn't seem to care about getting his clothes wet. Instead, he slides down the shower wall until he's seated on the floor with me in his arms. Water pounds down on us from overhead, drenching him as I fall apart in his arms.

  "Shh," he whispers into my hair, rocking me back and forth. "Shh, kitten. I've got you."