by Zoey Derrick
“No, I had no idea, but I’m pretty sure who, besides Bobby, knows.”
“Who?” Beau and I both say in unison.
“Vincent.”
“I knew it! I knew there was a reason he dragged me to California for shit that could have been done over the phone and via email. This is all my fault, I wish you would’ve waited until I was around.” I watch as both of them cringe a little. “What?”
They both look at each other before Beau finally speaks. “Tristan, this isn’t your fault, and to be honest, if you’d been here, she would’ve either tossed the package aside and waited until you weren’t around, or things could’ve been a lot worse between the two of you. Cami has a tendency to be a bit destructive when she’s angry, and not just with wine glasses.” She looks at me, but there is pain, or maybe it’s pity.
“Was she like this after Bobby died? Or supposedly died?” Beau doesn’t truly answer the question; she just nods.
After everything Cami has been through with Bobby in her lifetime, he should have just stayed away. “Why did he have to come back? Why now? Why like this?” I mumble.
“Those are the million-dollar questions, Tristan, we may never know the answers to,” Mick says.
Beau left a few minutes ago with Mick; they were headed back to the condo to clean up the mess so that there won’t be any reminder for her in the morning.
“Mr. Enders?”
Wha? Huh? Oh, that’s right; I told them I was her husband. I turn around to find an aging man dressed in green scrubs and a lab coat. “Yes.”
“She’s ready to go home, though she’s rather drunk and I’m inclined to keep her here overnight. Let her sober up.”
I shake my head. She’ll be furious if she wakes up in the hospital tomorrow. “She won’t be alone tonight. I’ll take her home and take care of her.”
“All right.” He hands me a stack of papers. “She has several small lacerations on her left foot. We were able to get all the glass out without too much problem. Her foot is wrapped up and should be elevated, and ice can be used for the pain. Do not get the bandage wet for at least the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours. I will send home extra bandaging just in case, and it should be changed every twelve hours or so. After two days, reduce it to just a light covering, but she needs to stay off of her foot until the stitches come out in about seven days. She’ll need to come back to have them removed.”
“Okay, doctor. Anything else?”
“Nope, that’s about it. I’ll have a nurse get her ready to go and bring her to you.”
“Thank you,” I say, and he turns toward the desk.
I grab my cell from my pocket and call Beau.
“How is she?” she asks as soon as she answers.
“I haven’t seen her, but the doctor says she’ll be fine. She can’t walk on it for at least seven days. They’re going to bring her to me shortly, can you or Mick come back and pick us up?”
“Sure, I’ll send Mick and then I’ll finish up here.”
“Perfect. Can you go up to her room, turn down the sheets and set up two pillows for her foot? Then grab some ice so I can put ice on it when we get there. She needs to go to bed as soon as she gets home, and I want all of that shit put away. Not hidden, but not in plain damn sight. She needs to sober up and clear her head before she starts again.”
“I watched the video. She’s got every right to be angry, drunk and upset.”
“I know, Beau, I don’t blame her, but she needs to be ready to face tomorrow before she can face any of that again.”
“Understood. Mick is on his way. Do you want us to stay here tonight?”
I shake my head. “No, I’ll be fine with her. I’ll call you if I need anything.”
SIX
******
Cami
******
Ugh! I can’t tell what hurts more, my foot or my head. Wait, why does my foot hurt?
I open my eyes and I’m in bed. How did I get here? I look over toward the bedside table and it says 3:17, but my bedroom is full of light. “Jesus.” Shit, Tristan should’ve been home by now, but he’s not here. I go in search of my phone, and I don’t see it on the table by the clock. I start to feel around the bed and I can’t find it. I flip the covers back to get up; I have to pee.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and my left foot feels really heavy and hurts like a bitch. That’s when I notice the crutches leaning against the wall on the other side of the bedside table. I turn around, hoping to see Tristan, but he’s not here. Sitting next to the clock are two white-and-red tablets, along with a glass of something sparkling. I reach over and grab the Tylenol and pick up the glass. It’s still cool. I take the hint and swallow the pills and return the glass to the nightstand.
“Tristan?” I call out.
“Finally,” I hear him say, and he gets up from the couch in the small sitting area between my bed and the doorway out of my room. He comes to stand at the end of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit. What the hell happened?”
I try to remember, but nothing is coming to me. I remember sitting on the couch in the dark. I’d talked to Tristan earlier, but...
“You don’t remember?”
I try again, but all I can remember is dropping him off at the airport, Mick and Beau being here, and then the package. “Oh, God.” Suddenly the images from the last video that I watched, over and over and over again, pop into my brain. When I’d talked to Tristan, I hadn’t gotten there yet. I hadn’t seen the video, the one that— “That motherfucker is alive.”
“That’s a start.... Do you remember anything else?”
I look at him. He’s scruffy and unshaven, not a usual Tristan look, and I can tell he’s exhausted. “You haven’t slept?” I ask.
“No,” he says with a half chuckle, almost sounding disgusted.
“Why?”
“Because when I came home last night, you were so unbelievably drunk I scared the hell out of you and you shattered a wineglass on the tile. Then you stepped on it. Which would be why your foot is all wrapped up and no doubt hurting like hell.”
Oh. “You weren’t supposed to come until this morning.”
“I came back to surprise you.” Well, don’t I feel like a bitch. “Beau showed up, we took you to the hospital, brought you home and put you to bed. You’ve been sleeping for about fifteen hours. I couldn’t sleep because I was afraid you’d get up and go back downstairs and start drinking again.”
“That sounds like a great idea right now.”
“Like hell you will.”
Rage fills my eyes and I look at him. “Who the hell are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?”
“I’m your boyfriend, and after what I saw last night, and no doubt how you’re feeling this morning, drinking is the last thing you should be doing.”
“Go to hell,” I say to him, though there is little conviction in my voice and he knows that.
He comes quickly around the bed and stands in front of me. “I’m already there. We promised in Tarah that neither one of us would EVER keep secrets from each other, then I talk to you yesterday and everything is fine. I get home to find you so drunk you can’t even see straight, let alone talk straight. Your stubbornness gets your foot cut all to hell because you want more alcohol, then you blow up at me like this is somehow my fault.” He kneels down in front of me. I can see the fear and anger in his eyes.
But all I can see is red, pure anger washing through me.
“Get out.” He doesn’t move. “I said GET OUT,” I shout a little louder. This time he stands, but he doesn’t walk away. I stand up to push him out of the way, but the pain in my foot shoots straight into my leg and I fall over. His arms are around me in a nanosecond, catching me.
Tears, hot and wet, start streaming down my cheeks and I come completely unglued in a big, nasty, ugly cry.
******
Tristan
******
Jesus, this is really bad.
I’ve never seen Cami like this before and I’m trying to keep it together with the rational thought that her anger is not directed at me. It is at what she’s seen over the last couple of days. I take a deep breath and bring her back to sit on the bed. She hasn’t stopped her heartbreaking sobbing, and all I can do is hold her close. I begin to stroke her hair with my free hand. I don’t say anything. I just hold her, and she seems content to let me do that.
Several minutes go by before she’s finally calming down and the tears seem to have stopped altogether. But she doesn’t move...other than to bring me closer to her. I try unsuccessfully a few times to get her to lie down, but she just grips me harder. Almost as if she is afraid I really will leave. Which I have no intention of doing, no matter what she says.
“I need a shower,” she finally says.
“How about a bath?” I feel her slight nod against my chest, but she makes no move to let me go. “I need to get up so I can start one for you.”
“I have to pee, like, painfully bad.”
I don’t hesitate; I manage to move so that I can pick her up and carry her to the bathroom. She doesn’t protest but holds me close. I kiss her forehead.
Stepping into her oversized bathroom, I carry her to the toilet. “I’m going to put you down, but put all your weight on your right leg.” She nods and I set her down. She wobbles slightly as she catches her balance. “Want my help?” She nods. I help her lower her sleep pants and her panties, and then she takes my hands so she can sit down.
No sooner does her butt hit the cool toilet seat than she starts going to the bathroom, and I smile slightly; she always kicks me out of the bathroom when she has to pee, but she doesn’t this time. I shrug and head toward the tub on the opposite side of the bathroom. The thing is huge, but I start the water, test the temperature and close off the drain. Adding bubbles, I watch as it fills up.
I start thinking about how we got to this point and my own anger at Bobby for what he’s done to Cami, not only now, but in the past. She was finally getting better and getting over the fact that he was gone. At least, based on our conversations over the last month, she’s seemed to be able to tolerate the subject of Bobby better, and maybe she finally realized that she isn’t the unloving monster she once thought she was.
But no sooner does she start to see it than she has it thrown back in her face once again. Whether Bobby’s alive or dead, I’m guessing that whatever was sent in that package is just as damaging to her progress as the fact that he’s alive.
“I’m done,” she says behind me, breaking my trance and thoughts about what’s happened. I stand and walk in her direction, remembering the crutches.
“One second,” I say and leave the bathroom, skirt the bed, grab her crutches from where I put them last night and return to the bathroom. I place them against the wall of the bathroom, then turn and bend down. I remove her sleep pants and panties from her legs. “Lift your arms,” I say and she complies.
I pull my t-shirt up over her head, and she is now completely naked, but with her makeup and hair a complete mess. Though I’d be lying if I told you she wasn’t still absolutely gorgeous to me, even in this state. She’s not modest and makes no move to try and hide the fact that she is completely exposed to me, and I like that about her. But she has this blank stare in her eyes, almost as though she’s checked out on me.
“Cams,” I say to her. Nothing. “Cams,” I say again, and her eyes lazily meet mine. “How are you feeling?” I ask her again.
“Like shit,” is all she says, and I can see that she will say nothing more.
“Come on,” I say, putting my hands out for her to take. She does and I help her to stand. “Steady,” I say and turn around for her crutches. “Have you ever used these before?” I ask her, and she nods, taking them from me and placing them under her armpits. She reaches for the floor with her left foot. “No weight.”
“Ugh,” she says, and I move out of her way. She hobbles her way over to the bathtub and then manages to sit on the side of the tub. She jumps when the cold marble touches her skin but turns to put her right foot in.
“Wait,” I say as I strip off my shirt and pants. I can’t bring myself to get completely naked with her because I have it stuck in my head that if I stay at least somewhat dressed I can control him. It’s stupid really, but I don’t need her thinking I have other things in mind.
I come up to the tub and she takes in what I’m wearing. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to help you,” I say, and I climb into the tub behind her. I grab a towel from the shelf on the wall, fold it up and put it on the side of the tub, giving her a place to rest her foot once she gets settled in. While holding her up by her waist, I sit down along the bench seat and then bring my right leg up, bracing it against the seat opposite me, giving her a shallow seat on my lap in the massive tub. “I got you, sit down slowly.” She does it, and somehow we manage to get her situated on my legs without getting her left foot wet. She puts it on the towel on the side of the tub.
I take the soap and a washcloth and begin to lather it up. I brush her hair to her left and begin lightly washing her shoulders and upper back, massaging gently as I go. I can see her visibly relax as I continue washing her back. I gently nudge her backwards so that she will lay against my chest. She does, and I lather up the washcloth again and begin to gently wash her front.
When I start to clean her breasts, I feel her nipples harden and she moans at my touch. So not helping.
I continue washing her as best as I can, including her legs. All that is left is her sex. I’ve been avoiding it, but she continues to squirm and moan once in a while, and I’ve grown completely hard.
I bring the washcloth between her legs, and I begin lightly washing along her clit. Her hand reaches around between us and comes into contact with the head of my erection. “Don’t,” I breathe. “Not here, not now,” I say, and she understands exactly what I want.
We finish up in the tub and, in a reverse process, I get her out of the tub and sitting on the side of the tub wrapped in a towel. I strip out of my boxers and I’m too close. She grabs hold of my cock and pulls me toward her. Before I can stop her, I feel her mouth engulf me and my knees shake. She peeks up at me through her lashes and I can no longer say no to her. I don’t want to say no, but I’m not sure if this is the right time. She is not herself, and I’m afraid if we continue, she will regret it. “Cami, stop.”
She stops instantly and without hesitation. “You don’t want me.” She says it as a statement, not a question, and she couldn’t be further from the truth. I do want her, very badly, but not at the expense of what we’ve been through these last twelve hours.
I bend down so that I’m looking up at her slightly. “I want you so bad it hurts,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because. This isn’t the time.”
She doesn’t say anything and I can tell that she’s hurt, but I can’t do this. Not right now. She feels like shit, for one, and for two, I am so worried about what is going through her mind that she’s using sex as an escape, and that, to me, is no different than alcohol.
SEVEN
******
Cami
******
It takes forever to get dressed, but Tristan never once leaves my side nor does he lose patience with me, helping me every step I take.
“Are you hungry?”
Yes. “No.”
“You’re a bad liar, Cami. Let me make you something to eat.” It’s not a question.
“I want to go downstairs.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” His statement pisses me off again, but before I blow up at him again, I take a deep breath.
“Tristan, you can’t keep me up here forever. I want to go downstairs. I want to get something to eat.”
“I want to talk.”
“What is there to talk about, Tristan?”
“I don’t know, Cami, a lot of things.”
“Tristan, I’ve nev
er been good at talking about this shit.”
“Well now might be a good time to start. What are you going to do?”
“About what?”
“What? You know what. About the fact that your father is alive.”
I take a deep breath. “Not a damn thing.”
“Bullshit.”
“Then why the fuck did you ask the question?” I stand up from the bed and put the stupid-ass crutches in my armpits and head for the elevator. I need to go and clean up my mess downstairs, try and find a clear head, and I can’t do that with Tristan hovering over me like I’m going to shatter into a thousand pieces. Which is probably true.
“Dammit, Cami, we’re in this together. I will not let you do this alone.” I feel the firm conviction in his words and I know he speaks the truth. But this is so hard to even wrap my brain around, let alone explain to him.
“I need to get my own head on straight about all of this before I can even begin to talk to you about it. You won’t understand.” I manage to maneuver past him and hit the button for the elevator. The doors open immediately and I step in. Hitting the L button for the living room, I turn around and see him standing there, watching me.
A few seconds later the doors are opening onto the kitchen and living room level of my condo, which is two floors below my bedroom, and standing there in front of me is Tristan. I smirk. Then I see him take a deep breath, like he’s trying to catch his breath, and I can’t help but laugh. “I’m impressed.”
He laughs too, and the tension between us shatters into a thousand pieces. I know deep down that I owe him an apology, but I’m not ready to give it to him, not yet.
As I come around the wall that divides the living room from the stairs and elevator, I can see that the walls are clean, everything is put in its place, and the brown package is gone.
“Did you—?”
“No, Beau and Mick did while I was at the hospital with you.”
