by Frankie Love
I want to keep Camille close. But in order to do that, right now, I have to send her away.
Chapter Eight
Camille
“Are you sure you don’t want to come out with us?” Mila asks, frowning at me from the door of the office.
I’m at the desk, nose buried in paperwork. Sure, it can wait until tomorrow, but I need something to distract me from thinking about Andre.
About his mother.
About the mess that is our lives.
“Yeah.” I give her a forced smile. “I should get this done. Plus, there’s a Clippers game on later.”
She shakes her head at me. “I don’t understand why you like football.”
I laugh. “The Clippers are basketball.”
She shrugs and winks. “Same thing to me. Testosterone and balls.”
Mila is the complete opposite of me, she’s all feminine and softness, rainbows and unicorns - and I love her for it, even if at times we don’t get each other. Because I know just like Peyton and Kendall, she’ll always have my back.
I turn on the TV in the office when she’s gone, and multi-task, watching the game while filling out our inventory sheets.
My phone buzzes with a text from Andre. I think about turning my phone off, but I’ve already avoided the dozen calls and texts from him already.
Andre: We need to talk. Please call me back when you get the chance.
I hesitate before texting back.
Me: We can’t do this anymore.
Andre: Let’s just talk, okay?
I chew on my bottom lip, because I know that if we hang out, it’ll turn into more than just talking. I want him. All of him. But it’s an impossible situation.
Me: Are you watching the game?
I need to change the subject.
Andre: Yeah. Thankfully it’s been a slow night at work, so the guys have it on. So when can we talk?
He’s not letting it go. And I know he won’t. Andre isn’t a man used to not getting what he wants.
I don’t respond, just go back to the inventory sheets, glancing up at the screen from time to time.
My stomach grumbles, and when I glance at the time, I realize that I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast. I leave my phone in the office and go to the kitchen. I’m not a great cook, but Peyton has shown me how to turn the burners of the industrial stove on, and so I start to cook a grilled cheese sandwich.
There’s no TV in the kitchen, so I go back to the office for a moment to check the score of the game. There’s another text from Andre, but this one I ignore. He wants to come over after his shift. My body and heart scream yes, but my head knows it’s a really bad idea.
I start back to check on my grilled cheese, and when I’m halfway there, I smell something burning.
“Fuck.” I race into the kitchen and have to cover my face as the smoke assaults my lungs.
Fire. It blazes like an orange monster skimming up the walls around the stove. I grab the fire extinguisher from the wall, cursing as I try to remember how to use it, but I can’t get the damn thing to work.
“What do I do?” I mutter, panicking. I toss the useless extinguisher aside, and rush to the sink, then start to fill a bucket of water.
Call 911, my head screams. But my cell phone is still in the office.
The fire alarm goes off, a blaring sound that startles me and I nearly drop the pot of water before tossing it at the wall that’s on fire.
I know the alarm is connected to a service that will call the fire department, so I keep working, filling buckets of water and tossing them on the flames.
But it doesn’t seem to do anything. The flames just keep growing. They’re on the ceiling now, dancing above me, the smoke burning my lungs.
Everything Peyton, Kendall, Mila, and I worked for is literally going up in smoke. And it’s all my fault. I see what caused the fire. A charred dish towel on the counter, must have been too close to the burner. God, my friends are never going to forgive me.
Sirens wail in the distance as I toss another bucket of water, which just turns to steam as it hits the flames.
Get out of here, that rational voice in my head demands. But by the time I listen to it, the flames are too high. Heat licks at my skin, and I feel like I’m choking. I get down on the ground and start to crawl toward the door. But I’m dizzy, like I’m not getting enough oxygen, and no matter how hard I try to stay alert, I feel the darkness pushing in on me.
And I know I’m not making it out alive.
Chapter Nine
Andre
I frown at my cell, waiting for Camille to text me back, but my last few messages remain unread. I know she’s freaking out about this whole stepbrother thing, and sure it’s taboo, but I’m not letting her walk away from me that easily.
She’s mine.
Messed up families and all. They’re just going to have to deal with it.
The alarm blares signal an emergency, and I jump into action, getting into my gear and onto the truck.
I hear dispatch say we’re responding to an alarm in an industrial building. It’s most likely a false alarm, dust particles, or even humidity can trigger them. Shit, I can’t count how many false alarms we responded to this year alone.
But when I hear the address, my blood goes cold.
That’s Hot Wheels Roller Rink.
Camille is there.
“That’s your girl’s place, right?” Keith asks, sitting across from me as the truck’s sirens begin to blare.
All I can do is nod, because every muscle in my body has gone rigid with fear. And that fear turns to terror when the building comes into view. Smoke billows from the roof and I see Camille’s car in the parking lot, but she’s not outside.
I’m the first off the truck and ignoring all my training, I rush toward the building. The door is locked and I have to break the glass to open it. Smoke billows around me as I step inside, and I can see where it’s coming from - the kitchen area.
Flames lick at the door, but it’s open enough that I can see a body lying on the ground.
Camille.
Fuck.
I’m on her at once. I take my mask off and place it over her face, ignoring protocol, and about a hundred other rules. I pick her up, her body limp in my arms, but I don’t have time to check for a pulse. I just need to get her outside, get her to safety.
The men are rushing into the building as I’m rushing out. My chief yells something at me, but my ears are thumping with my own heartbeat, drowning out all other noises.
An ambulance and two cop cars are pulling up, lights and sirens wailing as I kick the door open.
Chaos surrounds me as paramedics rush toward us, and I place Camille’s limp body on the stretcher. I’m pushed back so that they can work on her. Orders are yelled, people surround us, and I swear hours pass. But it’s just moments before Camille is coughing, and when she sees me, her eyes widen in fear.
“You’re okay.” I take her hand. “You’re safe. But was there anyone else in the building?”
She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. She places a hand on her throat and shakes her head.
The paramedic places an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose, and a single tear slips down her cheek.
“The...the...” She closes her eyes and winces.
“Don’t try to talk,” the female paramedic says as she takes Camille’s vitals.
Stubborn as always, Camille ignores her, fingers tightening around my hand. “The rink?”
“The fire is out,” my chief says as he approaches. “Most of the damage was in the kitchen. We won’t know until morning, but I don’t think there was much structural damage.”
Camille lets out a shaky breath and nods.
“We need to take her now,” the paramedic says to me.
“Go with her.” My chief pats my back.
I don’t argue, because there was no way I wasn’t getting into the back of that ambulance with her.
�
��Vitals are good,” the paramedic says when we’re inside.
I bring Camille’s hand to my mouth and kiss it, choking on my words. “I thought I lost you.”
She pulls the mask away, her voice hoarse from taking in smoke. “It was my fault. I was making a grilled cheese sandwich, and I left for a moment...”
“You weren’t wrong when you said you were a terrible cook,” I tease, wiping away the tears that fall down her cheek.
She laughs, then winces in pain. “You’re terrible.”
“Yeah, but I love you.”
“What?” She sucks in a shaky breath.
I lean closer and place a palm on her cheek. “I love you, Camille. So fucking much. And I don’t give two shits that you’re my sister, you’re mine.”
I see the paramedics brows raise.
“Stepsister,” I tell her. “We’re not actually related.”
The woman puts her hands up. “Not my place to judge.”
Camille laughs, and puts her hand on my face, pulling my gaze back to hers. “I love you too.”
I kiss her, gently, until the paramedic tells me she needs to put the oxygen mask back on.
When we get to the hospital, Camille asks me to call her friends and her parents to let them know she’s all right. I track down phone numbers when they cart her away to do tests.
Peyton’s number is the easiest, since she’s married to my buddy Lance. After ten minutes of assuring her that Camille will be fine, and that the damage to the rink is minimal, at least compared to what it could be, she tells me she’ll make the rest of the calls.
It isn’t long before the entire waiting room is full of Camille’s people. Peyton and Kendall are the first to show up, then Mila, eventually her dad arrives, without my mom. And I spend another twenty minutes reassuring them she’s all right, even though I’m starting to get worried that we haven’t received an update.
Right when I’m about to go and demand someone tell me something, Camille walks into the room. Her face is pale, and her hair and clothes are disheveled, but she gives me a small smile.
I don’t care that there are people all around us, I close the distance between us, and scoop her up into my arms, kissing her hard. Having her, safely in my arms, is the only thing that matters. God, I love this girl.
She gasps and chuckles. “Andre.”
I put her down, but I don’t release her, not even when I see the shock in my stepfather’s eyes, or the knowing smiles her friends give me.
“You’re okay, sweetheart?” her dad says, still frowning.
“Yes. But the rink.” Tears burst from her, and immediately her friends pull her into a group hug. “I’m so sorry. It was all my fault—”
The women are quick to reassure her and comfort her.
“Insurance will cover the damage,” her father says, but his gaze is on me, eyes hard.
I rub the back of my neck, feeling all the accusations I know the man must be thinking.
“Have you been discharged?” Peyton asks Camille.
“Yeah.”
Peyton takes her hand. “I can drive you home.”
“No,” I say firmly. “I’ll drive her.”
Eyebrows raise, and Tyson’s gaze just gets harder.
“Look,” I tell him. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. Camille and I are together—”
“Andre.” Camille gives me a look of warning, but she takes my hand.
“You’re...together?” Tyson’s eyes narrow as he looks between us.
“Dad, it happened before you and Kristina. When we came to the house, we were already...” She chews on her bottom lip, looking for the right word.
Telling the man his daughter was a booty call won’t go over well, so I say, “We were already seeing each other.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Camille sighs. “Because it was awkward, I mean...Andre’s my stepbrother—”
“Not anymore.” Tyson exhales and shakes his head.
“What?” Camille and I both say at the same time.
“Your mother is a lovely lady,” Tyson says, meeting my gaze. “But we both realized that we aren’t compatible. We filed for an annulment yesterday.”
I wish I could say I was shocked, but I’m not. “I guess she’s already met husband number ten.”
Camille gives her dad a hug. “You doing okay with all of this?”
Tyson exhales and shrugs. “I was trying to fill a hole your mother left in my heart.”
“Dad, that is so romantic. You should tell Mom that.”
Tyson smiles. “Maybe, in time. Right now, I want to focus on you, sweetheart. I’m so glad you’re in one piece.”
I look at them, father and daughter, and my chest tightens. I never had a relationship with my own dad but seeing how the care for one another makes me think that maybe one day I could be the kind of man Tyson is - supporting his daughter, no matter what.
“So you two are really a thing?” Tyson asks, giving me a once over.
Camille nods, lacing her fingers with my own. “Yes, Dad. We are.”
Chapter Ten
Camille
“It looks like new,” I say when I come into the kitchen of Hot Wheels and see what the renovation crew has done.
It’s been three weeks since the fire, and we’re finally reopening the place tomorrow night. I still feel miserable about it, but Peyton, Kendall, and Mila were really wonderful, not casting blame, even though it was all my fault.
My dad was generous in helping pay for the deductible on the insurance, and despite his breakup with Kristina, he’s been extremely supportive of my relationship with Andre.
Relationship.
I guess that’s what it is. We’ve spent almost every night he isn’t working together for the past few weeks. And he told me he loved me. Sure, at the time he’d thought that I’d almost died, but it was something.
“Any big plans tonight?” Mila asks me. “I’m not doing anything if you want to hang out.”
“There’s a Clippers game on—”
She groans, then chuckles. “Forget I asked.”
“It’s Friday night, shouldn’t you have a hot date or something?”
Her cheeks turn scarlet and she shakes her head. “Yeah, right.”
The woman is beautiful, strawberry blonde hair, bright green eyes, and perfect, petite dancer’s body, but I think sometimes she still sees herself as an awkward teenager.
“You need to put yourself out there,” I tell her. “Why don’t you try the BOOTY-CALL app—”
“No way.” She shakes her head adamantly, her cheeks even redder than before. Sometimes I wonder if she’s still a virgin. “And there is this guy...”
“Spill.”
“He’s cute. Really cute. But...” She tucks her hair behind her ear and looks away. “I don’t think he’s ever really noticed me.”
“Then make him notice you.”
She sighs. “God, I wish I had your confidence.”
My cell buzzes with a text from Andre.
Andre: Hey babe, looking for a little humpany tonight?
Me: Clippers, pizza, and beer?
Andre: Exactly! I’ll pick you up at five.
Me: Are we going somewhere to watch the game?
Andre: Staples Center ;)
Me: Wait! You have tickets?
Andre: Box seats! Only the best for my girl!
“You look happy,” Mila says when I shove my phone back in my pocket.
“Yeah, I am,” I tell her.
I’ve never been so happy. And not just because I’m dating the hottest guy in the freaking world, but because he’s also one of my best friends.
When he picks me up, I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him hard.
He chuckles. “What was that for?”
“For being the best boyfriend ever.”
One brow raises. “So I’m your boyfriend?”
“I mean...I thought...”
He laughs, t
hen kisses me. “We can go with boyfriend for now.”
I smack his arm playfully, knowing he’s teasing me, but also not liking the way he said for now. Is he planning on breaking up with me?
But any insecurities I feel are gone once we enter the Staples Center. There’s excitement in the air, and when Andre takes my hand and leads us to our seats, I feel it radiating off him.
“This is the best night ever,” I tell him at halftime.
He smiles at me, and I see something that looks like nerves cross his expression.
I’m about to ask him if everything is alright when he gets down on one knee and takes my hand.
“What are you doing?” I glance around, realizing that there’s a camera on me, and we’re on the screen above us, surrounded by a heart frame.
“Camille,” Andre says, taking at a ring box and opening it. Inside is a square cut diamond on a platinum band. “I love you.”
“Oh my god.” My heart starts racing as I realize what he’s doing.
People around us have their phones out now, recording us.
“I love everything about you.” He gives me a cocky grin. “Except maybe your cooking.”
I laugh. Tears already burn my eyes, but I blink them away.
“I love your company...” he whispers so that only I can hear, “And especially your humpany. And I can’t imagine my future without you in it. I want to marry you and have children with you. Little Clipper fans.” He winks, then brings my hand to his lips and kisses it, before asking, “Will you marry me? Be my wife?”
I suck in a shaky breath, the tears finally falling over my cheeks. “Yes.”
He slips the ring on my finger, then pulls me up and kisses me, long and hard as people cheer around us.
He lifts me off the ground, spins me around. We met on a booty call app, but we fell in love because we are a match made in booty-call heaven. “What are you thinking?” he asks, setting me down. His blue-green eyes sparkling.
“I was imagining us, after the game, back at your place.”
He laughs. “Sorry, princess. We’re going to your place. I still haven’t got the bed that we broke replaced. And I have a feeling tonight we are going to need a solid surface.”