by DC Renee
“Just call me your knight in shining armor,” he responded with a smile.
“Well, I’d better go find Amanda,” I said as I pushed off the house. “I’ll see you Monday?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said with a nod. I walked away, and he called out to me.
“Yeah?” I asked over my shoulder.
“Any guy would be lucky to be with you,” he said. I nodded and turned around so he wouldn’t hear me say, “Just not you.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Past
Cameron
Twelve years earlier …
SHE’S GONE …
She’s gone before I even got to meet her.
I was going to be a big brother.
I was going to have a little sister.
But she’s gone …
I heard my mom scream so loudly that I woke up. I jumped at the sound, crawled out of bed in a hurry, and ran to my mom and Charles’s room.
“Mommy?” I asked.
“Get out of here,” Charles yelled at me, but I didn’t budge. I wouldn’t budge.
“So much blood,” I heard my mom saying. “My baby,” she cried.
I heard Charles call 911; I heard him telling the person on the other end that his wife was pregnant, that she was six months along, and that she was bleeding really badly.
I heard the fear in his voice when he spoke on the phone. I’d never heard Charles afraid. I’d heard him angry, harsh, annoying, and with slurred speech—I even remember when he was sweet in the beginning—but I’d never heard his tone so full of worry.
I stayed in the doorway, the door slightly ajar so I could keep track of what was going on. My mom and Charles didn’t pay me any attention. She just kept chanting mumbled words about blood and her baby. Charles didn’t say a word—not comforting, not angry, not even worried. He was silent, but I could tell from his posture he was uncomfortable. I didn’t see his face, though; I couldn’t see what emotions flickered across his features.
Minutes must have passed before the ambulance arrived. They rang the doorbell, and I stepped aside so Charles could run to them. They took my mom away right away. Charles grabbed me without a word, put me in the car, and we drove to the hospital in tension-filled silence.
Charles barged into the hospital and asked for his wife. He gave my mom’s name, and they led us to a different part of the hospital. We only had to wait a very short time before a doctor came out. He called for us, and Charles stood immediately.
“Yes, any news on my wife? My baby?” Charles asked.
“Sir,” the doctor said and then paused as if trying to collect himself. “Your wife is going to be fine. I’m so sorry; the baby didn’t make it.”
I’d never seen Charles cry before. I didn’t know grown men could cry. I didn’t know they could fall apart the way little kids did.
At that moment, I felt sorry for Charles. I felt so profoundly sorry for him. He was crumpling right in front of me, and I didn’t know that was possible.
And then it hit me that my baby sister was gone.
She was gone…
And I crumpled right beside Charles.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Present
Genevieve
THINGS WENT BACK to normal after the night Amanda refers to as The Kiss. She labeled it because after I had described the events that occurred, she deemed the night worthy of its own name. I never wanted to think about that night ever again. I was darn embarrassed that Cam had rejected me.
Amanda was clearly a glass-half-full girl because she saw it as proof he liked me. She said no guy kisses a girl unless he’s attracted to her, but no guy pulls away unless he likes her. And apparently, his words of me being a commitment type of girl when he wasn’t into relationships was further proof that he really liked me. According to her, “no guy in his right mind would stop hooking up unless he thought himself unworthy of the girl on the other end of the hookup.” I didn’t buy that. Sure, a tiny part of me wanted to believe her, but I knew it was wishful thinking.
Besides, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be in a relationship. I was too shy, too nervous, and too inexperienced. What if he wanted to go further than I could? Not that I was saving my v-card for marriage or anything, but I wanted to know the guy I gave my body to wasn’t just a one-hit wonder.
So I brushed Amanda off, forgot The Kiss ever existed, and pretended like nothing happened when I saw Cam on Monday. He was all too happy to act as if The Kiss hadn’t happened either. There wasn’t even an awkward conversation or tense silence. We just kind of fell back into being friends, and I was okay with that. I had Amanda, and I had a couple of the other girlfriends we hung out with, but other than them, I didn’t really have friends. A side effect of my past life, I guess—trying to keep to the shadows so I wouldn’t be bullied. No matter how much confidence I gained, no matter how often I looked in the mirror and told myself I was pretty and worthy, I still had lingering doubts.
We still didn’t delve into too much detail about ourselves, but I felt like I was getting to know Cam in the here and now. I knew his nuances, his favorite words, his favorite drinks and foods, and his looks. The easiness of our relationship, the way conversation flowed, banter bounced, and teasing was in good fun were major bonuses. It was wonderful to be that comfortable with someone else.
And then it all came crashing down …
Our assignment was due in one day. We were putting the finishing touches on it, and after we saved it one last time, I declared us done.
“We’d better ace this,” he said. “Our paper is fucking awesome.”
“I’m sure we will,” I told him.
In response, he touched his right hand to his heart then brought his hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on his own fingers, and then lifted his hand to the sky. I didn’t understand what was going on. He must have seen the puzzled expression on my face.
“It’s a good luck thing,” he said with a shrug.
“Oh, uh, okay,” I responded lamely.
Maybe it was the way I was staring at him as if I needed more information or maybe he had gotten just as comfortable with me, but he shared a bit of himself.
He pulled the collar of his shirt down so I could see two nicely stylized initials. A “J” linking with a “D.”
It was small, but somehow, that made it more meaningful. It would have been sweet, really, if I didn’t have a tiny hint of jealousy seeping in. Who were J & D? His girlfriend back home?
“My mom’s initials,” he explained, and I’m pretty sure I visibly relaxed. “She passed away when I was in high school,” he told me.
“Oh, Cam, I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said with a sad smile. “But I wanted her with me, you know? So I got her initials on my heart. And whenever I need a little bit of luck, that’s my way of asking.”
Wait … what? Why did I feel like I was experiencing déjà vu? I could have sworn I’d heard this story before … somewhere … but where?
He had continued talking, but my brain was working through memories in my mind, like someone physically opening the lid on my past, trying to remember where I knew his words from.
I didn’t hear his words, didn’t hear what else he was saying because suddenly things sounded weird … even in my own head.
It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be …
“That’s really sweet,” I told him when I realized he had paused. I didn’t even know if my words made sense. I just knew I needed to get the hell out of there fast. “I’m sure your mom is watching out for you,” I added just so I wouldn’t sound like an insensitive asshole. I looked at my watch as excuses came to my mind. “Crap, Cam, I forgot I need to meet Amanda. I gotta run. See you tomorrow,” I told him as I literally dashed away.
The thoughts colliding in my head didn’t make sense, didn’t explain so many holes in the story. Yet …
Was Cameron Dents really Tyler Haywood?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
; Past
Cameron
Twelve years earlier…
“WE’LL TRY AGAIN,” I heard my mom plead with Charles. “Please, just give me a little time, and then we’ll try again.”
After Charles had composed himself at the hospital, he stood and walked out. He didn’t go to my mom, didn’t see for himself that she was all right, and he didn’t tell her everything would be okay. The nurses didn’t want me to stay at the hospital, but I stayed all night with her until she was released in the morning.
She cried a lot. I felt bad for her, and I felt worse she was going through that alone. I was there, but it wasn’t the same thing—even I understood that. I officially didn’t like Charles. It was funny how in the course of just a few short years, my feelings toward him had evolved so drastically. When I first met him, I was anxious and excited, then I liked him, then I might have even loved him, but slowly, I became indifferent, and now, I borderline hated him.
I should have been too young to grasp the concept of stumbling drunk, but Charles had shown me what it meant. He’d barely made it through the doorway, falling over several times as he tried to walk later in the day after my mom and I had taken a cab home.
“What?” he asked as I stared at him. “This is all your fault, you little shit,” he said to me. I didn’t understand what he meant, but I knew he was talking to me. His words hurt. I hadn’t felt true parental love in a while—my mom had tried, but she was so fragile after she and Charles got married. My heart had hardened a bit, but his words still pierced the tough exterior.
He didn’t say anything else before he passed out. I left him where he was and went to my mom’s room where she was resting. I laid down on the bed beside her and put my tiny arm around her equally tiny frame. I heard her sigh in her sleep, and slowly, I fell asleep myself.
I was woken up by Charles telling me to go to my own room. The look on his face said I had better listen.
I looked over at my mom and then went to my room.
I stayed there playing games and reading books; the silence in the house deafening, eerie—maybe it was an omen of bad things to come.
It was late in the evening. My stomach was growling. I opened my door to go to the kitchen when I heard my mom’s voice.
“You can have a kid with your dead husband, but you can’t have a kid with me?” Charles responded.
“We will; we’ll have lots of children together,” she cried.
“Fuck you, Jessica. Fuck you. Fuck your dead husband, fuck your alive child. Fuck you all.”
“Please, Charles. Please. I’m sorry.”
“Damn right you’re sorry now. After you killed my baby.”
“I … I didn’t …”
“You killed my baby!” he yelled.
“No,” I heard my mom scream back at him. It had been the first time she’d raised her voice. I heard the telltale sign of someone being slapped. I just wasn’t sure who did the slapping.
“Don’t you fucking lie to me,” Charles seethed. “You never wanted this child because it’s not his. You disgust me,” he spat at her, and then their door opened, and he stormed past me without a glance. I ran to my mom’s room. She had her hand on her cheek, and she was sobbing.
As I did often, I sat down, wrapped my arms around, and told her everything would be okay … even if I knew it wouldn’t be.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Present
Genevieve
IT WASN’T THE TATTOO I had recognized. Just two simple but pretty letters over his heart. Many people did that; many people got tattoos over their hearts. Many people got tattoos of something or someone special on them. When Cam had shown me his tattoo, I didn’t even think twice, other than that tiny hint of jealousy. Even the fact that the letters were the same hadn’t done anything for me. It wasn’t something I would remember.
I had avoided Tyler as much as possible, and it wasn’t like I ever saw him shirtless. And if I did, I kept my eyes down, trying not to look at him so he wouldn’t look at me.
What I remembered was the story.
I didn’t go to the football games at school. I didn’t go to any events really, so I didn’t know that Tyler had a famous tradition he’d started during high school.
I only knew about it because the school newspaper had made a big deal about it. He had been interviewed, and a picture was in the newspaper with quotes about his mom.
I remembered reading that and feeling momentarily sorry for him, feeling bad for the little boy underneath the asshole. I wondered how someone who obviously had a soft streak—at least toward his mom—could be so horrible to me.
My sympathetic feelings didn’t last long, though. The next day, Tyler had found me, hurtled his words at me, and I remembered just what kind of man he was.
I ran to my room after I left Cam.
I didn’t have a physical copy of the newspaper—I wouldn’t have kept those—but I knew the school kept them online. I booted up my computer and searched through dozens of newspapers until I found the one I was looking for.
There, staring back at me, was Cam. He was younger looking, not simply because of a few years, but because he seemed to have matured ten years in only five. He had the shadows of shaving now where he didn’t back then. He was much bigger and his muscles more defined now. His hair was styled differently so you could see his features clearly now. And his eyes? They were dead in the picture, just as cold as his heart had been.
I gasped and knew before I even read the article what I’d find, but I still had to know. I read the words carefully, absorbing them, trying to understand.
“I got it right after my mom died,” the article had quoted him. “I wanted her with me always. So when I need some luck, I ask her for it.” Almost identical to the words he’d told me. The article explained that he would pat his heart with his hand, bring his hand to his lips, and then hold his hand up to the sky. “I know she’s watching over me. This is my way of asking for a little help now and then.”
And then there was a close-up of his tattoo. Even if I had thought everything else was a coincidence, I couldn’t deny the slim chance that the tattoo was identical.
But how?
He was different …
He had a different name …
He was a different person …
Cameron Dents was nothing like Tyler Haywood … yet … all those times I thought he looked just like him, all those times he displayed the same mannerisms, all those times he got that look in his eyes …
Jesus Christ. Cameron Dents was Tyler Haywood.
Why?
Why didn’t he know me? Was it simply because I looked so different? Had he even known my name then? Or was I only “Bitch” or “Loser” to him?
Or did he know me now and this was some game to him? What the hell was going on?
“Jesus Christ,” I said out loud this time.
“What’s wrong?” Amanda asked as she walked through the door. “Shit, Gen, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said as I turned to face her.
“I have,” I responded. “I’ve seen a ghost from my past.”
“What? Who?” she asked.
“Tyler,” I told her.
“That fucker?” she asked loudly. “Where is he? Where the fuck is he? I’m going to go teach him a lesson.”
In another time, I would have laughed at her immediate enthusiasm to have my back. This wasn’t another time, though. And Tyler wasn’t just some guy who came back into my life. Tyler had been in my life for the past month, and I didn’t even know.
“Cam is Tyler,” I told her.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Cam, the nice guy from class, the star quarterback, my friend, the guy who saved me from assholes is the asshole. Cam is Tyler, Mandie. Cameron Dents is fucking Tyler Haywood.”
“But how?” she asked.
I told her the story, starting from all the times I thought I was crazy for seeing Tyler in him to the tattoo.
> “Well, fuck,” she said after I finished.
“That about sums it up,” I responded. “What the hell am I going to do?” I cried. “I don’t get it. I don’t get anything about this situation. Why did he change his name? Why doesn’t he remember me? Why is he nice to me? Why is it that the guy I like is the guy I really hate? Why, Mandie? Tell me why.”
“Shh, it’s okay,” she told me as she wrapped her arms around me. I cried in her embrace as all the past feelings bubbled up to the surface—all my insecurities, my fears, my pain, my rage coming back up. I had buried them and gotten over them to some extent, but with Tyler being right in my face—for the past month—had really taken a toll on me.
“What am I going to do?” I asked Amanda after she had let me sob for a good while.
“Get revenge,” she stated simply like that had been the answer all along.
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t care if he’s hot or if he plays the hero now; he hurt you. He changed your life, ruined your high school years, and made you feel like shit … for God’s sake, Gen, you tried to…” She trailed off because she didn’t want to say the words out loud. “All because of him. So it’s time for a little payback.”
“How?” I asked, not one hundred percent sure I would go along with the idea but liking it more and more as each second passed.
“The guy clearly likes you.”
“Maybe he’s playing me,” I responded.
“Yeah, that’s a no. The dumbass doesn’t even realize who the hell you are,” she said as she rolled her eyes. “So … let’s use that to your advantage.”
“What?” I asked.
“What better way to heal your heart than to break his?”
“I’m not following,” I told her.
“The guy likes you. Believe me or not but he does. I knew it before The Kiss, but that night just proved me right. So milk that. Make him fall in love with you then break his heart. Let him know exactly what it feels like when someone stomps all over you.”
