by DC Renee
We met a few friends at the bar, and some others were still on the way. I introduced Cam to everyone, and they seemed to love him right off the bat. I couldn’t blame them. Cam was charming, but I knew his secret identity. I knew Tyler, and Tyler was far from charming.
Amanda pulled me away to go to the bathroom. “What do I do now?” I asked.
“You be yourself. He clearly likes you. Just be a little more flirty. You didn’t so much as bat your eyelashes at him.”
“I’m not like that,” I whined.
“Then we’ll just have to loosen you up so you are like that,” she said.
I had a sinking suspicion of what she meant. “I’m not a drinker,” I told her.
“Well, desperate times call for desperate measures,” she told me. “And besides, you don’t drink because you always try to be responsible. No need today. You have a watchdog by the name of Tam, and he doubles as a DD as well. So live a little. Drink, dance, party, have fun. For once in your life, Gen, let go.”
I sighed, knowing I would go along with whatever Amanda had in mind. And as I followed her out of the bathroom toward said watchdog and DD, I knew that tonight wasn’t going to be one I would ever forget. I just hoped it would be filled with only good memories.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Past
Cameron
Ten years earlier …
THE NEXT TIME my mom miscarried, she didn’t tell anyone. She hadn’t even told anyone she was pregnant again. One day, while Charles was still at work and I was home from practice already, my mom looked at me calmly, told me she had to run to the market, asked me to go play with my neighbor, and then walked out the door. She didn’t come back until late that night.
I wasn’t sure what excuse she gave Charles for being home so late or if she even gave him an excuse. He seemed more out of it than not—at least, when he was home. He seemed to function just fine whenever anyone else was around.
I only found out because I had woken up in the middle of the night needing to use the restroom. I walked out of my room and headed down the hall when I heard what sounded like whimpering coming from the kitchen. I turned on my heel and headed in the opposite direction. I tiptoed to the kitchen, and I saw my mom sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. I could tell from the noises she was crying.
I stayed watching her for a bit, trying to decide what to do.
Then I heard her whisper, “My baby.”
I just knew. I just knew she’d lost another baby.
I walked toward her. I put my hand on her shoulder, and her head snapped up.
“I’m sorry I woke you, sweetie,” she said.
“It’s okay, Mommy,” I told her. “Everything is going to be okay,” I said.
“I can’t keep doing this. He’ll … he’ll never forgive me …” She trailed off.
I didn’t fully understand her words but knew she was talking about Charles. She hadn’t been happy in a very, very long time. And I know I did a very good job of hiding my feelings, of seeming indifferent whenever Charles put me down, of portraying a boy who didn’t notice his mother was slowly crumbling, but I wasn’t happy either.
Why did she stay with Charles? Why didn’t she kick him out? Why keep suffering through his words, through his hits, and his drunken tirades? I didn’t like him even though I tried not to show it. I didn’t dare show him. And I didn’t want to show my mom because I didn’t want to upset her more than she already was. I didn’t want her to worry, didn’t want her to realize that Charles called me every name in the book more than she even knew, and didn’t want her to know I was feeling worse and worse about myself every time I came home. I didn’t want her to know that I often feared Charles—not just for my safety, but for my mom’s as well. I vowed I’d never share any of that with her because the thing that got to me the most was fearing what would happen to my mom if she knew.
She still loved me; I was sure of that. She made sure I was clothed, fed, and had a roof over my head. She didn’t hurt me or hit me or anything that I knew other kids suffered from. She just hadn’t been my mom for a while. Whatever she was now—I didn’t want to lose her too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Present
Genevieve
MY MIND WOKE up before my body as the light from the sun shining through the window penetrated my eyelids. My head hurt in the worst way; like a person was in there hammering on my brain. My eyes were begging for darkness, so they’d stop stinging. My mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls, so I couldn’t even speak to plead with Amanda to close the curtains.
And then it was like a lightning bolt hit. Our dorm room window faced another building. We never had to worry about the sun filtering in.
Despite their protests, my eyes flew open, all pain momentarily forgotten.
I wasn’t in my bed. I. Wasn’t. In. My. Bed.
That meant I wasn’t in my room.
So then where the hell was I?
I did a quick mental check, and sighed in relief when I found myself dressed. But that relief was short-lived because I still didn’t know where I was. And honestly, I was still laying on the bed, my eyes open, but staring straight at the ceiling because I was slightly afraid of what I’d learn.
After a moment of hesitation, I finally shot up, looking around quickly when my eyes landed on Cam.
I sucked in a breath.
He was on the floor beside the bed, clothed. His head rested on a pillow, but otherwise, he looked wholly uncomfortable.
I was in Cam’s room, I realized with a certain clarity.
Holy shit. I was in Cam’s room.
How the hell did I get here? And why did I feel like my body wanted to crawl into a corner and bawl?
Like a ton of bricks falling on me, the events of the night before finally come together. Just flashes, at first, until the story played out in front of my eyes.
When Amanda and I walked out of the bathroom, the first thing she did was order a round of shots. I didn’t drink shots, but I knew I wasn’t getting away with not drinking one then. She put another shot in front of me right after I had downed the first one.
“I’m good,” I protested.
“My birthday, my rules. And I say you’re drinking.”
“Go ahead. I’m driving anyway,” Cam said from my right.
I shook my head but poured the second shot down my throat. It burned going down, but I knew that just meant it was doing its job—namely, giving me liquid courage.
“We’re dancing,” Amanda then announced. “Come on, Cam,” she urged.
“I’ll watch,” he said with a smirk.
“Then we’ll be sure to give you a show,” Amanda replied with a smirk of her own.
She dragged me to the dance floor, and we started dancing like we usually did.
“I promised him a show, Gen, so let’s give him a show,” she said, and I knew exactly what she meant. We were no strangers to all but dry humping each other on the dance floor to get a guy’s attention. The difference between then and now was that it was always so Amanda could entice the guy she was crushing on. I never felt like I had to worry about whether I looked okay or stupid because I wasn’t doing it for me—I was doing it for her. This time, though, it was about me. But just when I would find an excuse to dance “safely,” I suddenly felt like I wanted to show off. Geez, was the alcohol working already? So we danced together—provocatively.
And the next thing I knew, I felt strong arms surround me. I turned, and the smile that had graced my lips slipped immediately once I realized the arms around me didn’t belong to Cam. I had just opened my mouth to tell him, “Thanks, but not thanks,” when I heard Cam’s baritone just beside me.
“She’s with me,” he said. His tone said he meant business, his posture said get lost, but when he looked at me, his eyes said, “Don’t worry, I got you.”
Maybe it was the alcohol, but I swooned a little.
“Sorry, man,” the guy said to Cam with h
is hands up in defense. “Didn’t know.” Cam nodded in response. He didn’t walk back to the table, though. He stayed with us, and we danced together for the next song. Amanda fanned herself when it was over and announced we were getting more drinks. She grabbed my hand, so I walked in front of Cam with her. “Remember the key is to get him to fall for you. That means you can’t dance with him like he’s a leper. You need to bump and grind. Pretend he’s me,” she whispered.
“I’m not drunk enough for that,” I mumbled.
“Then we’ll get you there.”
When we got to the table, I somehow had another two shots then we went back to the dance floor, and this time, Cam came too. The rest becomes a blur of arms brushing, legs touching, and bodies moving as one. I remembered taking Amanda’s advice and dancing with Cam like he was her. I had let go, feeling the music throughout my entire body. I felt like I was in the clouds, lighter than air, and Cam was my only anchor, keeping me grounded.
I remember Amanda saying, “Hot damn, you guys make me want to grab some ice to cool down.” I giggled at that. I didn’t know how Cam reacted.
I remember having a few more shots. Cam had asked me if I was all right. He’d asked me if I needed to slow down and told me to eat something to help me sober up.
And then I remember telling him I didn’t want to go home when Amanda had declared she would get a cab to her on-and-off boy toy. I told Cam I wanted to go to his place, and when he said he could take me home, I insisted that wasn’t happening.
He took me to his place where he lived in a house he rented with a couple of other guys. The school had set him up, and I knew that from before. I had never seen his room, though. I hadn’t wanted to.
He gave me a quick tour before he showed me his room.
And then … Oh, God … I ran to the bathroom we had just passed and puked in his toilet. And Cam … Oh, God … he held my hair. He brought me water and then carried me to his bed, covered me up, and told me he’d stay by my side to make sure I was okay.
And by the looks of it, he did. I groaned out loud at the memories. That had so not been the plan. I was never drinking again.
“Morning,” I heard as I looked down. Cam had woken up—probably from my stupid groan. His eyes were open, and they were staring at me, crystal clear, worry etching them.
“Morning,” I croaked out, my throat still not happy with me.
He chuckled in response, his smile breathtaking.
Tyler had always been a good-looking guy. Even when he was torturing me, even when I hated him, hated myself because of him, I could admit he was stunning. But I always thought his beauty was a waste. Cam, though, he’d grown into a more beautiful version of the asshole I’d known. He was more rugged, more weathered, as if he’d had experience beyond his years. It added to his allure—an allure that had intrigued me until I found out Cam was Tyler. Now I cursed his beauty even as I appreciated it.
“I take it you’re not much of a drinker?” he asked.
“There’s always a first time for everything,” I said with a shrug.
“First time getting drunk?” he asked incredulously. He was still lying down, staring up at me. It was a weird position. I felt like I had more power than I did.
“Yep,” I responded. “I’m not usually a drinker,” I told him.
“Then I’m happy I got to be there for one of your firsts.”
“About that … thanks for taking care of me. Really. I appreciate it. You didn’t have to, but you did. And I’m sorry for forcing you to the floor. I’ll make it up to you.”
“Nothing to make up for,” he said. “You had fun, and I got to be there to see it. Nothing wrong with that,” he said with a shrug.
“Well, thanks anyway. I, uh, I think I should go,” I told him.
“Nah, stay. We’ll order some food,” he said as he sat up. “Some greasy crap right now is what you need.”
“That sounds horrible,” I said.
“Maybe, but trust me. I’ve had my fair share of hangovers. But if you don’t want to stay in, we’ll go get food.”
I was about to tell him no, but as embarrassed as I was by the situation, I remembered my purpose—and that purpose was to get him to love me. So I bit back the response I had and said, “Yeah, that sounds good. Let me just freshen up, and we can head out.”
I did just that. I realized after we had walked out of his house that I hadn’t taken the opportunity to examine his room and see what he deemed worthy of being in his room, but I vowed I’d be back there.
And then we did exactly what he suggested. We grabbed food at a diner nearby, all while he teased me about the night before, my inability to hold my liquor, and the fact I had never gotten drunk before. I let him because honestly, it was fun. He wasn’t mean; he was playful. And that was exactly what I needed—playful Cam meant we were getting somewhere.
So when he dropped me off at home, I turned and pulled him into a hug before he could protest. And then I did something I never thought I’d do. I kissed his cheek and whispered, “Thank you,” before I went inside.
As I closed the door behind me, I knew that even though the night before hadn’t gone as planned, it had gone in the right direction. One small step for me, one giant leap toward revenge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Past
Cameron
Ten years earlier …
“WHAT’S GOING ON?” I asked when I came home one day to find half our house boxed up.
“We’re moving,” Charles replied gruffly.
“Charles got a great opportunity at his company,” my mom told me as she continued to pack. Two guys came out of the other room carrying more boxes. I realized these were movers. I also realized the giant moving truck parked outside our home wasn’t for our neighbors.
“We’re moving?” I asked even though that was painfully clear.
“Yes, honey,” my mom said. “Charles is going to run the division just outside Morgantown, West Virginia.”
“West Virginia?” I asked. “That’s a different state,” I said as if no one had realized that but me.
“It’s a great opportunity for Charles. For us,” my mom tacked on.
“But what about our house?”
“The company is setting us up with a new one,” Charles replied almost gleefully.
“And school?”
“They have schools in West Virginia,” Charles responded with sarcasm.
“My friends?”
“You’ll make new ones,” my mom told me sympathetically.
“Football?” I asked.
“We’ll find you a program there,” she said.
I looked closely at my mom. She was going through the motions, wearing a plastic smile on her lips as Charles glanced at her. I knew enough to know this was killing her. She didn’t want to leave any more than I did.
I didn’t really remember the time before my dad died too well—just bits and pieces—but I knew my mom was happy then. I knew she was vibrant and alive. I knew she didn’t let my dad tell her what to do, but he never even tried. He worshiped her. And I guess when he left, there was no one left to worship her.
I shouldn’t have seen all these things at ten years old. I shouldn’t have been able to deduce that my mom had settled because she thought she needed someone, and when that someone turned out to be an asshole, she had no fight left in her to care. She had only the energy to do as she was told so life could keep moving—slowly, torturously, but moving nonetheless.
“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner,” my mom said. “We just thought it was best not to get you eager about it until there was a reason to be eager.”
I read between the lines—Charles didn’t want me to know so I wouldn’t make him miserable until we moved. My mom went along with it because that was what my mom did these days.
For whatever little shreds were left of her, for whatever little hope I still had, I simply nodded and asked how I could help.
And as we packed what Ch
arles deemed worthy of bringing with us, I fought back the tears that threatened to make their way down my cheeks. I would never have that tiny piece of family ever again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Present
Genevieve
I WISH I COULD say things took off right after that night I got drunk and Cam took care of me. They didn’t. I wish I could say he fell head over heels with me in just a few short days, weeks even. He didn’t. I wish I could say I was patient and knew all good things came to those who waited. I wasn’t.
This sucked.
I was friends with a guy I hated for the sole purpose of getting revenge. The sad part was that I didn’t hate this version of Tyler—Cam. I hated who he was—the evil lurking under the surface I knew was just waiting to come out.
For the next month and a half, we were stuck in a rut. And when I say that, I mean I was stuck in a rut. We continued to hang out, and each time, I thought that would be the day we made progress, and every time, I’d be disappointed.
We hung out with my friends often and even his friends too. He was attentive each time, almost as if we were together, but then the night would end, and we’d go our separate ways.
“Just kiss him already,” Amanda told me on several occasions.
“Doesn’t he need to want to kiss me?” I would respond.
“If he had a little taste, he would.”
“He’s had a little taste,” I’d point out. “And he clearly hasn’t come back for more.”
That conversation or some form of it became a sort of ritual with us.
“Maybe I should just drop this plan. It’s clearly not working.”
“Or maybe it’s working better than you think,” Amanda countered.
“How do you figure?”
“No guy shows that much affection to a girl yet holds back unless he really likes her.”
