by DJ Jamison
I nodded. I didn’t think Austin would do anything like that. Heck, I didn’t think he was lucid or motivated enough to go to such lengths. But it might be worth a talk to make sure I was right about that.
Later, after I’d gone hardware shopping with Reid and helped him come up with a plan of attack for the house, I called up Miguel and headed over to my ex-boyfriend’s house. If nothing else, I could put Reid’s mind at ease. And then maybe he’d stop looking at me like some kind of damsel in distress.
Helping him out on the house should put some much-needed money in my pocket. But I also hoped it would help me show Reid I was more than an airheaded kewpie doll or a nice piece of ass.
Chapter 11
Camden
“I can’t believe you left all this for that crappy apartment.”
Miguel, as usual, displayed amazing tact.
I looked at the golf course estate I once called home. A six-bedroom, four-bathroom McMansion with stone facade perched on a hilltop overlooking the green. In the backyard, I knew, was a kidney-shaped pool with water the perfect shade of turquoise. Inside, a wide-open floor plan embraced the mid-century modern style, with a wall of glass making up one side of the living room — ala architect Frank Lloyd Wright — and a curving breakfast bar with funky-shaped bar stools that were terribly uncomfortable. The top-of-the-line range and refrigerator had been pretty awesome, though.
The house would be priced somewhere around $550,000 if Austin put it on the market today. But in a larger market, it would probably go for millions.
When I moved in, I was super excited to experience such luxury. I’d thought myself blessed, or at least damned lucky. Looking at the house now, I felt a creepy-crawly sensation skitter up my spine.
“That’s great, Miguel, really. Why don’t you just say I should be a kept man?”
It was the truth for a bit there. I’d been between jobs, and Austin discouraged me from going to school or pursuing some other kind of training. He liked me waiting at home when he came in each day, he said. He was a self-centered asshole, and I’d been so naïve when we first met. Relatively sheltered growing up — and as one of very few out gay kids (Mig was in the closet for a long-ass time) — I didn’t think I had a lot of options to meet Mr. Right. I certainly never imagined I’d meet a guy like Reid Bishop. Not that he was Mr. Right. He was Mr. Taken. But that a gay man like him even existed in a place like Fields, Kansas, was surreal.
I started up the circular driveway toward the front entrance. My confrontation with Austin wouldn’t wait just because I felt like a prostitute every time I looked at this place. How long had I stayed simply because it was comfortable? How many times had I poured Austin into bed, put up with his cruel insults and told myself it would work out simply because I didn’t want to end up in a shitty apartment living on a shoestring budget?
I’d ended up there anyway.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Mig said. “We had a plan. You were going to get established in your real estate career, and then you were going to leave. Once you could afford it.”
I groaned. “I know, but I couldn’t—”
“I know,” he said quickly, squeezing my arm. “I’m sorry.”
It had been a good plan, and one I would have followed. But one night Austin came home drunk, as he so often did, and instead of hurling insults, he’d hurled a fist at my face. I’d dodged the hit, but it was a close call.
I knew I had to get out. I’d spent too many of my childhood years watching my stepdad subtly torture my mother. An open-handed slap to the face if she didn’t hear him ask a question. A dish thrown at her head if he didn’t like dinner. Slowly, it escalated until she caked makeup over bruises on a weekly basis. She’d probably still be with him today if he hadn’t gotten caught stealing money and tools from the construction site where he worked. He was in lockup for a few months only, but it was long enough to finally break free of him.
The night Austin took a swing at me, he lost me forever. No way I was going to repeat the cycle.
Miguel’s comments were insensitive. He knew a bit about my past, even if we hadn’t been close at the time it had been going on. But I couldn’t be too mad. He was letting me stay at his place even though it created problems with his boyfriend.
Plus, he was here with me now as back-up in case Austin tried anything dodgy. Miguel wasn’t any bigger than I was, but he was surprisingly scrappy thanks to his less-than-ideal childhood. We both had that in common, one of the reasons we’d become friends in the first place.
I didn’t really believe Austin was behind my apartment break-in, but I couldn’t write it off. I needed to confront him and find out one way or the other. I couldn’t think of any other reasons someone would want to trash my home. Though why he’d take my baseball cards was a hell of a mystery.
Squaring my shoulders, I pressed the pretentiously large doorbell and listened to Beethoven’s 5th ring out. The doorbell came with something like 15 sounds, including “Star Spangled Banner” and “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”
Miguel rolled his eyes as the snippet of music sounded. “Ridiculous.”
I laughed. “I know.”
Knowing Austin would probably be intoxicated, I pressed the button again and again, leaning on it until he finally came to open the door.
“Wha?” He blinked at the sunlight. “Camden?”
He swayed toward me, grabbing the back of my neck. The smell of booze swamped me as he breathed out in my face. “I knew you’d be back.”
“Not so fast,” Miguel said as he pried Austin’s fingers from my neck. He nudged Austin back. “Let’s maintain our personal space. This is your bubble,” he said, holding out his arms to demonstrate, “and this is Camden’s bubble. Don’t pop the bubble.”
Austin’s smug smile vanished. “What do you want?”
He turned and headed for the kitchen, so we let ourselves inside and followed.
“We need to talk about something,” I said to his back.
Austin turned, eyes narrowing in on Mig. Then he stepped past him, leaning in closer to me. “Why’s he here?”
I flinched away because of the smell of him more than because I was afraid. Miguel responded by pushing between us.
“I’m here because the last time you were alone with Camden you tried to punch him.”
Mig was taking his bodyguard role seriously. I’d brought him as a precaution more than anything, but I’d have to find a way to thank him for braving Austin’s stench to protect my honor.
My ex scowled and turned without a word, circling the breakfast bar where I’d once prepared meals and which was now covered in empty bottles. The majority were beer bottles, but there were a few whiskey and vodka varieties in the mix.
He picked up a fresh bottle, near the edge of the bar, and waved a hand at me. “Out with it, then. Clearly you don’t want to come back if you’re whoring around with all these men.”
I rolled my eyes. He’d thrown these accusations at me so many times that they hardly touched me these days.
“I’m not sleeping with Miguel, just like I wasn’t sleeping with my client from the other day.”
“Not that it’s your business,” Mig said firmly, and I realized I was playing into Austin’s hands. “Camden’s free to do whatever he likes.”
I exhaled a gust of breath and forced my shoulders to relax. “Right. I’m here to ask you about my apartment being ransacked.”
His eyebrows went up. “So, you’ve come crawling back for a place to stay.”
“No. I want to know why you did it.”
I was skeptical he did it, but I figured the easiest way to trip him up would be to act as if it were fact. Austin was easy to confuse when drunk, so it shouldn’t be difficult to discover the truth.
“Why the fuck would I do that?”
“Maybe for leverage, so Camden would come crawling back?” Miguel suggested.
Austin scoffed. “Think highly of yourself, don’t ya, Camden? Do you really
believe I’m that desperate to have you back?”
His smile was cruel, but he was right. Austin had never made me a priority. His drinking had always come first, and now that I’d gone, he’d fully embraced his desire to lose himself in a bottle or 100. The littered breakfast bar was evidence of that. Austin was too busy getting drunk all day to worry about me.
But Mig wasn’t as convinced.
“Did you take his baseball cards?” he asked.
He snorted. “Those stupid baseball cards. Fucking ridiculous. I bought you all kinds of nice things. New clothes, new furnishings so you could play interior decorator. But all you cared about were those worthless cards.”
“They had sentimental value. You know they were from my father.”
Austin lifted his bottle, taking another deep drink, and Miguel bumped my shoulder. “Don’t waste your breath trying to explain,” he murmured. “Someone like Austin doesn’t understand anything but money. You were just a possession to him. I see that now.”
My stomach clenched. I knew Miguel was right, but it hurt to hear it spoken out loud and not just in my mind.
I forced my mind to the questions I still needed to ask. “What about the house on Ivy Lane?”
“What house?”
“The one I listed.”
“You listed a house? You mean, like that stupid real estate thing you were always going on about?”
“Jesus,” Mig muttered.
“Okay, we’re done here,” I said, turning around.
Austin made a grab for me, but I wouldn’t have known it except for the curse he yelled when he hit the floor. Miguel had turned and shoved him back.
“You don’t touch Cam. Got it?”
“Fucking assholes!” Austin shouted as we headed for the front door. “I wouldn’t waste a second of my time on you, Camden. You’re worthless! You hear me? No one wants your used ass anyway!”
I didn’t breathe easy until we were out on the sidewalk again, the front door slammed behind us. Mig was practically vibrating with tension next to me.
“Thank you—”
I hardly got the words out before I was crushed in a hug. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I never should have suggested you stay here longer. What a fucking creep.”
I spoke into his neck. “It’s okay. Ease up. Let me breathe.”
He loosened his grip and took a step back. “Sorry, man. But you’re so much better than that.”
I nudged him down the steps and toward the car, a tentative smile on my face. “I’m starting to believe that.”
“You better believe it!”
I laughed. “Okay, don’t hurt me, tough guy.”
We climbed into Miguel’s super swank Audi — he was doing amazingly well in real estate unlike me — and he started up the engine.
“So, you think he did it?” he asked, as he shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb.
I took one last look out the window at the place that had been a gorgeous house but never a home.
“Nah, not really. I guess he could have trashed my apartment to get back at me, but he’s too busy drinking his weight in alcohol.” I sighed. “He definitely didn’t do anything at Ivy Lane. He barely paid enough attention to know I’d started real estate.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right. Good thing he made his money years ago, huh? He’s exactly the kind of guy who would be living homeless, spending all his cash on liquor.”
“Yeah,” I said. “He may still make it there yet. Not like he’s amazingly wealthy. Eventually, he’s going to stop functioning enough to continue running his car dealership and the debt will catch up. Next thing you know, the house will be in foreclosure.”
Mig shook his head. “Karma, man. Mark my words: One day you’re going to be selling that house to someone else. And when you do, I want you to remember that what goes around comes around. One day, Austin will be the one without a home, and you’ll be settled and happy.”
I didn’t wish that on Austin, but I sure as hell hoped Miguel was right about me. Because right now, I couldn’t see much of a future.
Chapter 12
Reid
As it turned out, Camden was a magic touch around the house. He had a knack for sorting trash from treasure and his work ethic put me to shame. He packed up boxes of items for potential sale, separating out clothes or other items to donate that wouldn’t be worth the trouble of selling. He bagged up enough trash in two weeks to fill half of a huge trash bin I’d had delivered for bulk items. The other half was filled with old, rotting furniture and all the mattresses. I muscled most of it out on my own, enlisting Camden’s help only when I couldn’t handle it.
More than once, I caught him watching me, but I couldn’t appreciate it when my muscles were screaming for relief.
One Thursday afternoon, we were doing more of the same when I decided to take a break. Camden had worked his way through the living room, kitchen and dining area. I wasn’t ready for him to tackle the upstairs and I needed to sort through papers in the office before I set him loose in there. After nearly giving myself a hernia getting an overstuffed armchair down the front steps, I was more than ready for a breather.
I flopped down on the floor, lying on my back near the spot where Camden knelt with packing tape in hand.
“You okay?” he asked with a laugh.
I groaned.
He laughed some more. “You poor baby. You just rest there.” He patted my leg. “I could have helped you carry more stuff, you know. I may look weak, but I’ve got more muscle than you think.”
“I know you’re not weak,” I mumbled. “But if you helped me, then I’d have to help you.”
“Mm-hmm?”
I could tell he was still half-focused on the task of packing up the box in front of him. He had newspaper spread out on his other side and was wrapping up knick-knacks. My great-uncle had apparently collected owls. Why owls? No clue. But he had close to 100 of them in various shapes and sizes. Some porcelain, some glass and some stuffed. The man loved owls.
“I hate sorting crap,” I admitted. “It’s too much like cleaning.”
“So, you’re saying you’re a slob?”
I could hear the smile in his voice. My own lips curled up in response. “Yep.”
I’d closed my eyes when I laid down, but now I blinked them open to see Camden looking at me. Like, really looking. His gaze slowly traced its way down my body and back up again. His blue eyes locked on mine and widened when he realized he was busted for ogling.
His cheeks flushed and he looked away. My grin widened.
“Like what you see?”
Camden laughed nervously. “I was just thinking that I wish I could lay around like a bum, but some of us have to work for a living.”
It was a deflection, but I decided to take it as an invitation. I sat up enough to grab his arm and tug him down next to me. “Take a break, Cam. Jesus. I’m not a slave driver.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean I needed a break,” he protested, but I kept pulling and he didn’t fight it as he sank down on the floor next to me.
We lay there quiet a minute, not touching but close enough to feel each other’s warmth. Camden stared idly at the ceiling, and I stared at Camden. I had it bad for this man, and I didn’t have the first idea of what to do with that. I’d never been much of a relationship guy. I was a workaholic, and it was just easier to hook up with no real expectations. Camden made me want something different, and I could acknowledge that maybe the reason I was so burnt out at work was because I needed something more in my life.
For the first time, I could picture myself settling down with one man. Building a life. But how could I possibly begin to do that while I was stuck in this fake relationship with Lee? Camden viewed me as untouchable. I couldn’t blow my cover and tell him everything. I trusted Cam, but he might not realize how serious the danger was. He might tell one person in confidence, then they would tell someone and they would tell someone. On and on until there no longer was a cover. It was
just too dangerous.
But maybe I could introduce some doubt about the state of my relationship with Lee. I could tell Camden we were having problems. Show him that there could be a future where I was free for the taking.
“What next? The office?” Camden asked, interrupting my plotting.
“I’ve got to sort through the papers more thoroughly before we start in there, especially after that break-in.”
“Okay.”
“Speaking of break-ins, did you ever report your ex to the police?”
Camden turned to look at me and his eyes were so close I nearly got lost in that beautiful blue.
“No. I’m not going to report him to the police,” he said in a tone that implied I should know this already and was ridiculous for even suggesting it.
I gave him a flat look. “Your apartment didn’t break into itself.”
Camden broke eye contact. “He didn’t break into my apartment. He didn’t break in over here either, for the record.”
“I never said he did.”
“Well, he didn't.”
Camden seemed oddly defensive. Was it possible he felt more for Austin that I’d assumed? I only had that one run-in at lunch to go by, and that was weeks ago. At the time, I would have said that Camden was done with his ex. Now, with him bristling at my line of questioning, I felt doubt creep in.
“Can I ask why you’re sure?” I asked cautiously.
Camden blew out a puff of air, blowing his hair off his forehead. It fell right back in place, and I had to resist the urge to push it back.
“I went to his house and asked him.”
“You did what?”
I felt cold wash through me. Did Camden even understand how dangerous that was? Austin was an alcoholic. He had taken at least one swing at Cam in the past. What if he’d been the culprit? He might have reacted violently to Camden’s questions.
“I asked—”
I rolled toward him, bracing myself on one elbow and looking down into his face so he couldn’t avoid my gaze. Hovering over him, I was in a position of dominance, but I kept my voice gentle.
“Camden, you don’t just waltz over to an abusive man’s house and ask him if he broke into your apartment. What if he had done it? Even if he hadn’t, he might have been angry you asked. That’s not safe.”
