by Madison Faye
“Get off my property,” she hisses at him. “Camden, I swear to God—”
“Mom! Just stop, okay? Will you please just—”
She whirls and storms back into the house, leaving me frowning in confusion.
“Shit,” Camden growls. I turn to him, taking his hands in mine and looking up into his face.
“What are we going to do?”
He swallows, his jaw tight as he shakes his head.
“I don’t actually—”
“I’m counting to five, Camden!”
We whirl, and my jaw drops.
“Mom!?”
My mom is storming across the backyard towards us, and she’s got a gun in her hands.
“Natasha!” Camden roars. “Stop it!”
“Four!”
He moves in front of me, holding his hand out.
“Look, I get it, okay?” He barks. “I know you’re mad, and I know you think I’m some sort of monster, but I promise you, that’s not what this—”
“Three!”
“Mom! Please!”
“Two! I swear to God, Camden!”
“I love her!” he roars, planting his feet. “Goddamnit, Natasha, I love her!”
My mom falters, tears trickling down her cheeks and her hand holding the gun wavering until slowly, she lets it drop.
“I love her,” he says again, his chest heaving with his breath as the tension starts to fade.
“Please go,” she whispers. “Camden, please.”
Slowly, he takes a deep breath.
“Okay.”
My heart drops.
“Wait, what?! No!”
“Waverly—”
“No! You can’t!”
He turns to me, holding my hands in his and squeezing them tight.
“It’s too real right now,” he growls. “It’s too hot. I’m going to go—no, listen. I’m going to go so that no one gets hurt or she doesn’t do anything she’s going to regret.”
“Like shoot you?” I hiss.
“Like that, yeah,” he says quietly.
He turns.
“I’m leaving, Natasha.”
“Goddamn right you are,” she hisses back. “Oh, and you are one-hundred percent fired, fucker.”
His jaw clenches, but he nods. “So be it.”
“No, Camden—”
“This is how this has to play out right now, baby,” he says quietly, his face tight and his eyes looking broken and sad. “I’m not walking away from us, I’m just walking away from this, right now. Understand?”
“Yeah, but I fucking hate it,” I growl.
He grins, our eyes locking.
“Goddamnit, Camden!”
“I’m leaving!” he chokes out, glancing at my mom. “Okay? I’m leaving, Natasha.”
He looks back at me, and he quickly leans in and kisses my cheek before he turns. And then he’s walking out of the gate and into the night, and he’s gone.
My mom and I stand there in silence for a minute. Neither of us knowing what the hell to say, before she finally breaks it.
“Waverly—”
“Do not speak to—”
“I was going to ask if you wanted tea, honey,” she says softly, her voice haggard sounding.
My lips purse, and I glare at her with rage in my eyes for a full half minute, before finally, I shake my head and look away.
“Fine.”
* * *
The smell of mint and lavender curl from the steaming mug in front of me, but I don’t say a word. I haven’t the entire time mom’s been moving around the kitchen boiling water and getting teabags.
She sets her mug down on the island across from me, pulling up a stool until we’re sitting face to face.
“Honey—”
“A gun, mom?” I spit. “A fucking gun?”
Her face falls, and she looks away.
“Jesus Christ, mom! You work at a school! We live a quarter fucking mile from one!”
“It’s fake,” she mutters.
“What?!”
“It’s fake, Waverly,” she shrugs. “Obviously. I just have it to scare anyone if they ever tried to break in.”
I swear, shaking my head pursing my lips.
“You had no right—”
“Waverly, you are a child.”
“I am not!” I yell. “Mom! I’m eighteen—”
“Well you’re my child!” she suddenly roars. “And that man—”
“That man is the man I love, mom!”
“You don’t—”
“Tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about!” I hiss savagely. “Fucking tell me I’m not feeling what I know I’m feeling!”
She deflates a little, her face paling as she looks down into her tea.
“Did he ever…” she frowns. “Honey, I know this is hard, but did he ever pressure—”
I bark out a brittle laugh. “No, he didn’t.”
“Honey, he’s an authority figure, and if he—”
“I pursued him, okay?” I snap.
Her eyes look up at me sharply.
“Yeah, mom, I went after him. I made a fake Sparkr profile, I lied about my age, and I lied to him. Because…” I close my eyes. “Because I love him, mom.”
She shakes her head. “Sweetheart, I… God.”
We sit in silence for another minute before she stiffens.
“When did you… I mean…”
“After my birthday,” I say quietly. “Mom, nothing happened before I was eighteen, I promise.”
She chews at her lip before she raises her mug and takes a sip gingerly.
“Waverly, your father was a lot older when we met, and—”
“I’m not you, mom,” I say gently. “And Camden is not dad.”
“Sweetheart, you’re eighteen.”
“And he’s only twenty-eight.”
“And your coach!” she snaps. “Your high school swim coach!”
I look away.
“Okay, I know that looks bad, but—”
“Oh, you think?” she snaps. “He’s ten fucking years older, Waverly!”
“And in five years, that won’t matter. In ten, no one will bat an eye.”
She rolls her eyes. “And now you’re talking about being with this man for the next fifteen years?”
“Yes.” I say it evenly, without a second’s hesitation.
“Waverly, you don’t know what you—”
“Want?” I snap. “Yeah, mom I do. I want to graduate, I want to go to Cornell, and I want a degree. But I also want to see how I do on the Olympic track. I want to see if I’ve got what it takes. And if I don’t, I’ve got the grades anyways. That’s what I want, and none of this is going to change that.”
She purses her lips.
“And Camden?”
“Him too, mom,” I whisper.
She looks away. “I can’t condone this, Waverly. I can’t.”
“I wish you would,” I say gently. “Mom, I’m eighteen, and I can make this decision with or without you.”
I stand, moving around the kitchen island towards her, and when I get there, she sobs as I crash into her, hugging her tightly.
“I know you’re worried, and I know you think I’m being taken advantage of, and I know you think this is something I’ll regret, but I promise you, it’s none of those things. I can make this decision with or without you, but I want you to be okay with it.”
She sobs against me, hugging me fiercely as we rock together.
“He loves me, mom,” I say softly.
She makes a snorting sound, but I just shake my head.
“He does, and I love him, and this is happening. Mom, you’re not gonna lose me, and I’m not going to get hurt, okay?”
“You don’t know that, Waverly.”
“We don’t know if we’ll get hurt crossing the freaking street, mom!”
She pulls away, smiling wryly as she sighs.
“My headstrong, driven daughter.”
I grin.
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“Waverly, I’m the Vice Principle at a school where the head swim coach is having a relationship with one of the students. Forget the fact that she’s my daughter, it’s still expressly against the rules. Explicitly so.”
She shakes her head.
“What would you do if you were me with all of this?”
“Talk to him?”
She frowns. “Waverly, I can’t just let this go. I have to fire him.”
“Or I could leave Winchester.”
Her brows arch sharply. “Excuse me?”
I shrug. “Or he stays, and I go. Southworth does have a decent public high school, you know.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” she mutters.
“So let him stay.”
“That’s what you’d do?” She snaps. “You’d let a man ten years older than your daughter, who’s her coach, stay at is job after he… after he—”
“Loved me?” I butt in. “Pushed me to be better, and to fight harder, and to go after what I wanted with everything I have?”
She purses her lips.
“Mom, you’re still acting like he molested me or something, and I can promise you, nothing is further from the truth. I know what I feel, okay? This isn’t just teenage lust, or some passing fling. He’s the real thing, mom. I know I’m young, and I know that sounds cliched, but, c’mon! You know me! Have I ever done something ‘whimsically’ or half-assed?”
She grins sardonically.
“No, mom, I haven’t. When I go after something, I go after it hard, because it’s what I want. Swimming, grades, college. And now him.”
“Waverly—”
“If you fire him, I’m leaving Winchester.”
Her eyes snap to mine.
“That sounds an awful lot like blackmail,” she says tensely.
“Yeah? Well, that’s ‘cause it is.”
Her eyes narrow, but I don’t back down.
“No one will know, okay? And nothing will happen at school, or with swimming.”
“Or outside of school,” she mutters.
I pause, raising a brow, and she scowls.
“No, that was not a crack in my decision, Waverly.”
I smile. “It kinda sounded like it.”
She looks away, and suddenly, she stands and walks across the kitchen. I watch, puzzled as she grabs her car keys from the hook near the back door before she looks back at me.
“Well?”
I frown. “Well what?”
“Are you coming?”
“Mom, where—”
“I’m going to play this game, Waverly. I’m not saying for how long, but I’ll play.”
Mom, what game?”
She clears her throat.
“I asked you what you’d do.”
“Yeah?”
She shrugs. “You said ‘talk to him.’”
My heart skips.
“So, let’s go.”
I run across the kitchen and throw my arms around her, squeezing her tight.
“I love you, mom.”
“I love you too, sweetheart,” she says softly. “But all I’m saying is a talk. That’s the only promise I make. Ready?”
I nod.
“Well let’s go then.”
We head for the door, when suddenly, something catches my eye on the counter near the microwave, in the little tin we keep mail in. I frown at the “New York University” letterhead on the return address.
“Mom, what’s—”
“Just get in the car, Waverly,” she mutters.
“Mom—”
“If I don’t kill him, I may just have a third option.”
17
Camden
I stare, and the bottle stares right back at me.
Little fucker.
The bottle is a 1944 MacDonahugh which I bought at an auction for twenty grand after my first month of sobriety. Everyone at rehab thought I was fucking nuts, and I’m pretty sure my sponsor wrote me off entirely. I mean, I couldn’t even roll my own wheelchair into the auction, I had to ask someone to do it for me. And yeah, maybe it was crazy, but I knew what I was doing.
Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Keep your demons where you can see them.
I used to worry about temptation. I’d worry that even having it in my house was like keeping a live hand grenade under your pillow. But now, I know it’s harmless. I know my demons have no power over me anymore. Well, no power that I can’t control. The bottle will always have a hold on me. I just have to be stronger.
And I am stronger.
There’s a knock at my front door, and I blink as I look away from the scotch. I make my way to the door, glancing at my phone, but there’s nothing from Waverly.
I take a breath, and I open the door, but nothing prepares me for seeing Natasha Owens staring back at me.
I pause, my eyes dropping to her hands, and she smiles thinly.
“No, I didn’t bring it,” she mutters. “It was fake anyways.”
She steps past me into the house, and I frown in confusion as I turn and follow her in, closing the door behind me.
“Natasha—”
“Do you love her?”
She turns abruptly in my living room, spitting the words at me.
“And I mean love, Camden. Not lust. I mean do you love her.”
“Yes.”
“Camden—”
“Unconditionally, unequivocally, yes, Natasha.”
She purses her lips, eying me before she turns to look out the windows.
“Do you have anything to drink?”
I smile. “A 1944 MacDonahugh scotch?”
She turns arching a brow. “I meant more like wine.”
“I’m sober.”
She frowns. “Oh?”
“Three years.”
“Congratulations,” she says flatly.
I shrug. “You really can have the scotch if you want some.”
“You were serious about having a seventy-five-year-old bottle of scotch? And you’re sober?”
“It’s complicated,” I say quietly.
“Well isn’t that the theme of the fucking day.”
I smile. “Touché.”
“Camden—”
“Natasha, nothing happened before she was eighteen. And I don’t mean that in a creepy ‘biding my time’ fucked up way, or like I was fucking grooming her or anything. I mean literally nothing. I was on a dating app—”
“She filled me in,” Waverly’s mom says dryly. She starts to pace, her hands wringing.
“This isn’t a fun spot to be in, Camden.”
“It was never my intention—”
“Well what was your intention?”
My jaw clenches. “You know what? Fire me if you have to. Believe me, I get it, and I’d do the same fucking thing if our roles were reversed. But I’m not a monster, Natasha. I’m not a creep just preying on your daughter. I’m not in love with her because of her age. I love her for her.” I shake my head.
“I’m in love with your daughter, plain and simple. I don’t know how to change that, or explain it, because how does anyone explain any love. It just is, and I can stop loving her as easy as I can stop the fucking rain.”
She takes that in, taking a breath.
“Here’s the problem,” she finally says. “You love her? She loves you? Great. But that doesn’t change the fact that you overstepped a major school rule, ethically, morally, and quite literally.”
“I know, and I accept that, which is why—”
“I wasn’t done,” she snaps.
I nod, gesturing with my hand for her to keep going.
“If I fire you, and send you packing, I’m going to lose my daughter.”
“Natasha, that was never—”
“Well, it’s where we are. And I can see it in her eyes.” She shakes her head. “Goddamnit, Camden, she’s head over heels for you.”
I do my best to hide the smile, given the current tone of conversation.
“And if I don’t fire you, it goes against my own professional obligations, not to mention my own ethics and morals. So, we’re at an impasse.”
I look away, frowning before I glance back at her.
“I could quit. Actually, I was just contacted by the USA Swimming organization today about…” I clear my throat, and she frowns.
“They want me to try out for Team USA. For the Olympics.”
Natasha’s brows arch. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. It’s not for a while, but I could quit now.”
“Before regionals.”
“If you want, sure—”
“No, I mean, would you quit before regionals?”
I nod. “Yeah, if you wanted me to.”
She purses her lips, shaking her head slowly as she looks away.
“And if I don’t?”
I frown. “I’m not sure I follow.”
She turns back, her mouth tight.
“Those kids, Waverly included, have worked their asses off. For a lot of them, swimming is more than a hobby or sport, it’s a real passion. And for some, like Waverly, it might be their future. You’re going to quit on them before they show what they can do at regionals?”
My brow furrows. “Not ideally, but given the circumstances—”
“Goddamnit,” she hisses, folding her arms over her chest and turning to walk over to the windows again.
“Natasha—”
“What if I had a third option. Well, fourth if we count your lame idea of quitting as number three.”
“I’m listening.”
“You stay through regionals. You do not touch my daughter at school, at practice, or anywhere else. Period.”
I frown. As “compromises” go, this one is starting to sound like a shitty one.
“However, that’s just until regionals. Because after that, you quit to go swim for Team USA.”
“To try out for—”
“Oh, no, that’s part of the agreement,” she says, a small smile on her lips. “You have to make the team. Not try, make.”
I smile. “Well okay then. What about you? What about your professional—”
“This stays right here, Camden,” she says quietly. “And I’m only telling you because, well, this is where we are.”
I nod. “I’m listening.”
“I’m putting in my notice at Winchester. This week.”
My brows shoot up.
“Hold on, no. Natasha, this is your career, and I’m not going watch you throw it away over—”