Cam walks slowly around the room, his eyes darting around at all of the memories preserved like a time capsule on the shelves and walls. He picks up and inspects a few items – a bronze medal from a debate competition in ninth grade, the blue and gold tassel from my graduation cap, a polaroid from Senior Prom. I watch as he scans the picture, grinning before placing it back in its place on top of my dresser.
“I can’t believe this room looks exactly the same as it did back then,” he says, turning to face me. He points to the polka-dot bedspread and wiggles his eyebrows. “Even your bed looks just like it did when we... ya know...”
“Okay, yes, it does,” I say, interrupting his eyebrow wiggling with a playful jab to the shoulder. “I’m trying to figure out what to do with all this stuff. Most of it I haven’t thought of in years, but I can’t bring myself to throw any of it away.”
“I mean, you should definitely keep the bedspread,” he says, winking at me. “Good memories.”
“If the memories mean so much to you, I guess you can just have it,” I offer, playfully winking back at him.
“I might take you up on that,” he says. I scrunch my face in disgust, shaking my head.
“Yuck, okay. Let’s move on.”
My cell phone rings in my pocket, and I pull it out absentmindedly, my heart thumping in my chest when I read the name on the screen.
Whitney.
Damn it. I totally forgot to call her yesterday like I was supposed to. By now, she’s probably out for blood if she hasn’t decided to fire me already.
“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” I say, and Cam nods.
“No worries, I’ll just be here checking out what other memories you have lying around,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows again. I respond with a dramatic eye roll, before stepping out into the hallway and answering the phone.
“Hi, Whitney,” I say, feigning as much enthusiasm as I can muster. There is a short pause on the other end of the line before Whitney responds.
“Elizabeth, so good to hear from you. I worried when I didn’t hear from you that perhaps you were ill, or that something had happened. It’s wonderful to know you’re perfectly fine.”
I hold my breath, letting her sardonic tone roll off. I did promise to give her an update yesterday, and I’d completely forgotten. She’s completely within her right to be peeved.
“Whitney, I’m so sorry I didn’t call you yesterday. Things have just been...” I hesitate. Busy, getting wrapped up in Cam when I’m supposed to be taking care of my grandmother and then getting back home? “Crazy,” I say, settling on something a little less specific.
“I’m sure,” she says, drawing out the last word. “So, now that we’ve established you’re not sick or missing, when can we expect back you in the office?”
Whitney’s question is pointed and direct, and meant to convey that she’s not messing around. She wants an answer, and she wants it now. Trying to think of the right thing to say, I squeeze my eyes shut and weigh my options. On the one hand, I still have responsibilities in New York, and I can’t exactly afford to lose my job. On the other... I have a lot of unfinished business in Rocky Point, too. Whitney’s patience with me has clearly run dry, though, and that means I’m left with really only one option.
“Right away.” My voice is shaky as the words reluctantly come out. “In fact, I’m leaving tonight, right after I tie up the last few loose ends here.”
Another pause on the other end of the line sends my heart practically jumping into my throat.
“Excellent. We’ll expect you first thing tomorrow, then,” she says after a beat.
I swallow hard. “You can count on me.”
The other end of the line drops, and I let out a long slow breath, massaging my temples and trying to calm my heart that feels like it’s about to beat out of my chest. I’m not ready to leave Rocky Point yet. The roof on the house is fixed and the plumbing issue has been taken care of, but I still need to let the realtor know I’m ready to list it. There’s still so much to go through in Gran’s house, so much uncertainty around her health, that leaving feels... irresponsible somehow. And then, as if all of that wasn’t reason enough to stay... there’s Cam.
I can feel my heart breaking in my chest as the realization of what this means for Cam and I sets in. The timing couldn’t be worse. It seems like we literally just found our way back to each other, finally let ourselves explore what could be between us. And now, almost as if the universe is trying to play some cruel joke on me, it’s all going to get ripped away. If I go back to New York, I can’t promise how long I’ll have to stay, or when I’ll be able to come back to Rocky Point. If I can’t get more time off, I’ll be stuck. I’m not even sure that weekends will be a possibility, not if this new project is as big as Whitney says it is. When Whitney says all hands on deck, that usually means we’re working around the clock until it’s finished. I used to be okay with that. Actually... I used to thrive on that. On the pressure, and the chaos, and the thrill of driving myself and my team so hard that we were winning awards, and all-expenses-paid vacations to tropical resorts.
There was another side to all of that, though. Long nights where we barely slept, subsisting on nothing until the wee hours of the night just to hit a deadline. Going out to the bar after a long week with coworkers and completely overdoing it, just because it helped us to forget about the stress for a little while. Sometimes, you’d work so hard on an ad campaign just to have it pulled at the last minute, because the client reconsidered or picked someone else’s. Whitney would always say it’s about balance, that the good things about the job always make up for the bad. But lately, it had started feeling like there were less and less good days, and I’ve been starting to get burnt out. I’d thought coming to Rocky Point would only be added stress, but instead, it gave me perspective on the things that are truly important. Things like family, and friendships that aren’t built over competition and alcohol. Things like love.
Love. I loved Cam once. And if the last few days have shown me anything, I could probably love Cam again. It would be so, so easy to fall for him just like I did when I was a teenager. Even though we’ve grown and changed over the years we’ve been apart, we managed to pick up right where we left off. And maybe I don’t know what the future holds, or if the feelings between Cam and I are real, but it seems unfair to both of us not to give it a chance. Gran’s sad but sobering words replay over and over again in my head: time is the most precious thing we have. I’ve already wasted enough time, being angry at Gran and being apart from Cam. It’s about time I made up for all of it.
I spin around, ready to march back into my childhood bedroom and tell Cam that I’m ready to try, ready to put the past behind us and move forward. I want to explain that I’m going back to New York for a few days but somehow, I don’t know how yet, but somehow, I’m going to figure out a way to be in Rocky Point for good. Maybe it’s crazy, and maybe I haven’t thought the logistics all the way through, but it feels right, and I know that I have to follow my head and my heart.
When I turn around, Cam is already in the doorway. His tall, broad frame practically takes up the whole thing, the light from the bedroom casting an eerie silhouette of his outline. His arms are crossed over his chest, his mouth a thin, tight line. He looks... angry.
I take a few steps toward him, but he puts up a hand to stop me.
“You’re leaving,” he says. It’s not a question, but rather a matter-of-fact statement. I open my mouth to respond, but close it again, realizing he must have overheard my conversation with Whitney on the phone.
I shake my head, trying to organize my thoughts.
“No... well... Cam, if you’d just listen...”
“You’re leaving tonight,” he says, stressing the word. Tonight. I had told Whitney I’d be leaving tonight, and that I’d be back in the office first thing in the morning. But that’s what I had to say, to keep her from firing me on the spot. If he would just let me explain.
; “Okay, yes,” I say, finding it hard to look Cam in the eye when there’s so much anger behind his gaze. “But it’s not what you think...”
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s exactly what I think. You’re leaving, tonight, and you weren’t going to tell me. You were just going to disappear back to New York, again, just like you did ten years ago.”
A lump forms in the back of my throat, his words cutting through me like a knife. It’s the last part of what he says that really hurts. Like I did ten years ago. As if this is the same situation, as if I’m the same person I was back then. Can’t he see that this is not the same thing at all?
“Cam, if you just let me explain,” I plead, my voice cracking, tears beginning to well up in my eyes. “I don’t have a choice. I have to go back, but...”
“You have a choice. Just like you had a choice back then. And your decision is loud and clear, Lizzie.”
He brushes past me, barreling down the stairs. I follow after him, but I can hardly keep up with his long legs, taking the steps two at a time. He stops at the front door, bracing himself the door with one hand, his head hung low.
“Cam, just wait,” I say. “Please.”
He turns around to face me slowly, his eyes glassy.
“I’m done waiting, Lizzie. You need to go back to New York, so go. But I’m done waiting. I’ve been living in an endless cycle of regret and anger, thinking I let you get away, beating myself up for not fighting for you back then. I was so determined not to make the same mistake this time, not when life had given me a second chance. But now I understand, no matter how hard I fight, it’s not going to be enough. It’s never going to be enough. You’re always going to leave.”
“Cam, that’s unfair,” I say, the dams breaking and tears streaming down my face. I don’t know how to make him understand. “I don’t want to go, but I have to. I was going to tell you, but...”
“Just like you were going to tell me last time? After you’d already made the decision? After last night I thought...” he pauses, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter, because I clearly thought wrong.”
“You’re not even giving me a chance to explain,” I plead, but he swings open the front door and steps onto the porch.
“I don’t want you to explain, Lizzie. I don’t want your excuses. You needed your Gran’s roof fixed, and you got it. You needed a break from your life, and you got it. As far as I’m concerned, my work here is done.”
He slams the door behind him, the entire house shaking with the force of it, including me. I stand, frozen on the bottom of landing of the stairs, listening to the rumble of his truck as he starts it up and peels out of the driveway. It takes me a few moments for my breathing to return to normal, and when it does, the realization hits me like ten tons of bricks.
Cam is gone, and he’s not coming back. And if I don’t pack up my things and get back to New York, my life there is gone, too.
Chapter Seventeen
Cameron
A LOUD BANGING AT MY door startles me into consciousness, and I almost fall off the couch in my living room. I catch myself before I hit the floor and sit up, rubbing my eyes and looking around. The room is dark – all the curtains are drawn tightly shut – but the little halo of light peeking around them tells me it’s still daytime. I stand up and almost trip over an empty bottle of beer laying on the floor, rubbing the crick in my neck. It feels like I slept on a cinderblock.
The banging continues, the loud sound reverberating uncomfortably against my skull, and I walk carefully to the door, trying to avoid the rest of the debris and clutter on the floor.
Okay, so I haven’t been taking Lizzie’s leaving well. At all.
It’s been a few weeks, and at first, I was angry. So angry, that I just did everything I could to distract myself. I worked nonstop, and put the energy into making sure we turned around contracts that rolled in as fast as we possibly could. I rode the guys hard, until Hank told me I was acting like a total asshole. I eased up, tried to get myself back to normal, but that’s when the anger started to replace itself with that familiar sense of guilt and regret.
Should I have tried to be more understanding? When I overheard her telling her boss that she’d be leaving that night, I’d been overwhelmed by the sense of betrayal I’d felt when I realized history was repeating itself. Lizzie was leaving again, and I had no say in the matter. Not that I should have expected to have any say this time around – it’s not like we were together or anything. But I would have at least thought, after the night we’d shared together, she would have the decent to give me a heads up. Anything other than letting me hear it secondhand, again. She had tried to explain, but I didn’t want to hear it. I’d left, and she’d gone back to New York, and I felt like a miserable prick.
I had retreated into my house and a few cases of beer, drowning out my sorrows while I came to terms with the fact that I’m a fucking idiot. My mom had tried to call me at least a hundred times, and I’d ignored them all. I didn’t want her to worry, but I couldn’t face her yet, either. I wasn’t ready for a lecture on how I overreacted, how I should have listened to her, tried to work it out. I’m still not.
The banging on my door continues, the sound actually making me want to punch a wall. “Hold your damn horses, I’m coming!” I yell, peeking through the small window in the door and seeing Hank on my front porch. He’s got bags under his eyes the size and color of 8-balls, and if I didn’t already feel like the worst Goddamn boss in the world, I do now.
Hank gives me a once over when I open the door, his eyebrows shooting up as he takes me in. I’m fairly sure I look like shit, but I honestly haven’t looked in a mirror in days.
“You look like hell,” Hank says, confirming my suspicions.
“Thank you?”
“I just came to check on you, man. Been a couple of days since I’ve heard from you, we’re all starting to get a little worried,” Hank says, shoving his hands in his pockets.
I clear my throat, turning my head toward my bare feet. “I’m doing fine, Hank.”
“Like hell you are,” he says, rolling his eyes. Typical Hank, calling me out on my bullshit. When I don’t respond, he adds, “Well are you going to invite me inside, or what?”
With a long sigh, I take a step back and hold open the door for him to come inside. Squinting into the darkness, he looks around and scrunches his face up.
“What the hell is that smell?” he asks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, and he shakes his head.
“When’s the last time you showered, Cam?”
I think on it for a moment, but apparently, I take way too long to respond.
“Never mind,” Hank says, shaking his head. “I don’t even want to know.”
He walks through the house, flipping on all the lights as he goes, mumbling his disapproval at the mess in each room. Sheepishly, I follow him into the living room, where I’ve spent the majority of the last few days. Hank throws open the curtains and turns around to observe the mess, disgust written all over his face.
“Christ, Cameron,” he says, gripping the back of his neck. “All this over a girl?”
My hand comes to my temples, a headache brewing. I’m not really in the mood for Hank’s judgement, but I suppose it’s warranted.
“Well Hank, you’ve seen me, I’m still alive. Is there anything else you need or can I go back to wallowing in peace?”
“Is there anything else I need? Yeah, Cam, I need my boss back. We need our boss back. We’re busy, bro. You spent two weeks riding us like a hard-ass and then disappeared off the face of the earth. I’ve been trying to pick up the slack where I can, but I’m only one person. I can’t be in ten places at once. Shit’s starting to slip, man. The guys are tired. I’m tired.”
My eyes widen as Hank lays into me, a side of the guy I definitely haven’t seen before. I grip the back of my neck, feeling a wave of embarrassment come over me, but I don’t really know what to say.
“I’m sorry, Hank. I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
“Look man, I know you’re hurting, but I’m starting to worry. I’ve never seen you like this before, and the guys are starting to talk. Everyone’s wondering if you’ve gone off the deep end, and they’re a little freaked out for their jobs. I don’t blame them, either.”
Shit. I didn’t mean for this. I didn’t mean for Hank or any of the guys to feel scared for their job. Hell, they’re the lifeblood of Tate Construction. Without them, the whole thing falls apart. They’re good guys, they don’t deserve this. They deserve a boss who has his act together, or at least one that’s not actively flushing his life down the toilet.
“You’re right, Hank,” I say after a beat. “I’ve been a crappy boss, I’m sorry. Look, let me jump in the shower and I’ll meet you at the office.”
“Good, you smell like death,” he says, cracking the slightest smile.
“And tell the guys we’re having an all-staff meeting in an hour. I want to clear a few things up.”
Hank nods. “You got it, boss.”
I show him out and take a quick shower, trying to wash away the shame and embarrassment from Hank seeing me like that. He’s absolutely right, I need to get my shit together. Hopefully, though, I can put my guys’ minds at ease and move past this once and for all.
HALF AN HOUR LATER, I pull up to the office freshly showered and clean shaven, feeling a little more like myself. As had become my routine when I did leave the house, I took a detour by Helen Quinn’s house on my way. I’m not sure why it had become my habit; maybe a part of me was hoping to find Lizzie there, back in Rocky Point for good. Maybe, I needed to see that the For Sale sign that had gone up a few weeks ago was still there, to know that all those memories weren’t yet gone forever. Something about seeing that sign, still standing on the lawn, kept the tiniest flicker of hope alive within me.
Kylie eyes me palely as I enter the lobby, her usual sunny demeanor looking like a shadow has been cast over it. She stands abruptly, her tell, slender figure rigid and tense.
Second Chance Girl Page 14