by Nicole York
Then a woman hobbled past Cameron, approached the door, pulled it open, and vanished inside.
“Today’s the day,” Cameron said to herself.
She followed the woman inside.
It was hard to see once she stepped into the shelter. The glare of the sun vanished and the poor lighting of the place had Cameron squinting to try to see where she was going. It smelled like old socks, wet dog, and grease. The air was thick and humid, like someone was running twenty diffusers all at once, and the floor was sticky under the soles of her sneakers, which squeaked and suctioned to the floor like a movie theatre with dry sticky soda spilled all over the place.
Lovely.
Finally, her eyes adjusted and she was able to get a good look at the place.
It was as unpleasant as Cameron expected.
The walls were all different colors of browns and greens, as if fresh paint was applied every so often but they only used what they had in storage or what was donated. There were no baseboards or finishings. Doors were missing from doorways. The floors were rough, stained, dingy linoleum that might at one point have been white with little turquoise diamonds in them. Now they were murky and stained and almost yellow, which was quite unsightly with the green and brown walls.
Cameron knew decor wasn’t the most important thing when it came to shelters. These women needed a roof over their head. They needed food and a soft bed and a safe place to land and Annie’s shelter offered that.
But Cameron knew she could build something that was so much more. And maybe she could help the little nonprofits like this one, too.
They were all trying to accomplish the same thing, after all.
Cameron moved into the main room, which felt like a multipurpose room in an elementary school minus the stage. Tables of all different shapes and sizes were surrounded by mismatching chairs. There were no tablecloths anywhere. Off to the right was a small kitchen, much like a high-school cafeteria, where the women could go up and choose one of three things off the menu.
Cameron approached the counter and read the options written on a small whiteboard propped up on the counter beside the register.
Today, the women’s options for lunch would be beef stew, vegetarian chili, or chicken wraps. For breakfast, they had tater tots, fried eggs, and toast.
A short, plump, red-faced woman with short white hair laid flat under a hairnet appeared on the other side of the counter. Her upper lip was covered in sweat, and she was out of breath, but she smiled at Cameron nonetheless.
“Mornin’, sweet thing,” the woman said cheerfully. “What can I get yer?”
“Oh,” Cameron said, “nothing actually. My name is Cameron. Annie knew I was coming by for a visit today to talk to the women.”
“Ah yes, Cameron White. Nice to meet yer. I’m Cindy. The girls may not be itching to talk to yer right now. But,” she paused, tapping the side of her red nose, “if yer wait until they’re done eating, they’ll be in better spirits. How about I fix up a big pot of hot water and yer offer ‘em tea while yer talk to ‘em?”
Cameron blinked. “That… that sounds wonderful. Thank you, Cindy.”
Was someone actually being accommodating? Did this mean the tides really had turned? Was this going to be the break Cameron needed to finally get her foot in the door?
She lingered at the counter while Cindy boiled water and watched the women eat. This shelter had a different feeling to it than all the others she’d visited. Even though it was aesthetically hideous, the people inside it seemed warm and happy to be there. Several women knew each other by name and they congregated around each other to have their breakfast.
People had genuine friendships here.
When the tea was ready, Cindy called to the women that she’d made tea. An organized line formed and one after another the women filled up a small paper cup with earl gray tea. Cameron smiled and said hello to each of them at the front of the line, and once everyone returned to their seats, Cindy nodded for her to go ahead and talk to them.
Cameron swallowed. “I haven’t had much luck with this part over the past couple of weeks. Any tips to get them to actually care about what I have to say?”
Cindy dismissed Cameron’s concerns with a wave of her hand, waddled out from behind the counter, and motioned for Cameron to follow. Cameron did. She followed her right to the front of the room where they stood in front of all the women. There were at least thirty of them.
“Alright, ye lot,” Cindy said in her thick, indistinguishable accent, “this here is Cameron. She’s gonna talk to yer for a bit about shelters. She’s looking to start up her own not for profit like our Annie did. And she needs yer help and feedback. Sound good?”
The women nodded.
Cameron’s chest swelled. “Thank you, Cindy. I really appreciate the introduction.”
Cindy patted Cameron’s shoulder. “Take it away, child.”
Cameron faced the women. They stared vacantly back at her.
This was it. She could feel it in her bones.
“Hi.” Cameron smiled. “As Cindy told you, my name is Cameron. I’ve been looking forward to coming to talk to all of you today but you’ll have to forgive me. I’m a little nervous. I’m pretty new at this. I know I can do a good job and I want to build something that will help women like you and their children. The problem is I don’t want to start until I hear from the source what’s needed.”
The room practically shook with silence.
Cameron refused to let it deter her. “You see, when I first decided I wanted to start a shelter of my own, I was bombarded by businessmen and bankers who wanted to tell me how to do it. They told me how much money I’d need, which experts I’d have to hire, like contractors, developers, investors. You know. The whole shtick. But I realized they only saw me as a business. Their eyes were already set on the prize. My money. But that’s not what my eyes are set on. My eyes are set on you. Each and every one of you—especially those of you who aren’t in this room.” Cameron ran her fingers through her hair. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry. I’ve gone to so many shelters and soup kitchens and not for profits that I’ve forgotten how to talk to people and be normal.” She laughed nervously.
Then someone else laughed.
Cameron’s spirits lifted. Was she connecting with them? Were they actually listening to her?
“I guess all I want you to know is that I’m here to help,” Cameron continued. “I have the resources to build something game changing. I want to make a place that focuses on providing stability. A place where you can come, get on your feet, and have the support you need to find work and housing. I know this sounds like nothing more than the dream of a girl who’s never lived in your shoes but I’m begging you to put a little faith in me. Tell me what you want and what you need and let me create that for you.”
The women exchanged looks.
Cindy, standing a couple feet from Cameron, clapped her hands together with such force that Cameron nearly leapt out of her skin. “Come on now, ye cowardly bitches,” Cindy barked. “The girl needs yer input. Are ye gonna leave her hanging or are ye gonna tell her what ye want? Ye can’t fool me. I know ye bitch and moan about everything under the sun about this place. I know yer needs aren’t being met. Let’s give the child a chance, yeah?”
A ripple of muttered conversation erupted in the hall.
Cameron’s stomach filled with fluttering butterflies and she flashed a confident and grateful smile at Cindy, who grinned right back.
Cindy clapped her hands together again. “Who’s first? Spill it! Marcy? Brenda? Alicia?”
“More bathrooms,” one woman called.
“Clean ones,” a second added.
“Private outdoors areas with benches and gardens.”
“I’d love to be able to work in a garden.” One woman in her fifties sighed.
Cameron’s head spun. She held up a hand. “Hold on, hold on one second.” She scrambled in her Birkin to pull out her notebook and pen as the women
threw requests her way.
“No bunk beds. I’m a grown-ass woman. I don’t want to sleep in a fucking bunk bed.”
“A Christmas tree during the holidays,” a young woman probably Cameron’s age said. She looked around at the others. “I know it sounds a little greedy, but it’s been a long time since I was able to sit by a Christmas tree, and I think that would be really nice.”
Everyone nodded.
Cameron smiled at her. “Noted. Christmas trees.”
“Notebooks and pens for us to use.”
“A creative space.”
“Books.”
“Events!”
Cameron cocked her head to the side. “Events?”
The woman was in her thirties. She had hair that hadn’t been brushed in who knew how long and a dirty nose. “Yes, I stayed at a shelter in Arizona once where they would host weekly events. Talent shows, plays, you name it. All the women could get involved. It was a good outlet for some of us, especially those fleeing abuse.”
Cameron nodded and wrote events on her page. Suddenly, she was getting more suggestions than she ever could have imagined. Sure, some of them weren’t top priority, but her focus was about providing quality life in her shelter. She didn’t want to just help people get by. She wanted to get them on their feet, she wanted to feed their soul, and she wanted to send them back out into the world equipped to roll with the punches that were sure to come.
Having a stable happy home was a crucial ingredient to that, and happy homes had family nights, Christmas trees, and books, among hundreds of other things.
Suddenly, Cameron had a clear picture of what she needed to build: a home.
20
Cole
“Maybe the shiner will seal the deal for you,” Marcus joked as he referred to Cole’s black eye from the brawl the other night with the jock and his three stooges. “By the looks of thing, that woman of yours likes bad boys. What screams bad boy louder than a black eye?”
Cole prickled. “She’s not my woman.”
Marcus snorted.
Dean, who was lounging up against the bar with his arms crossed over his chest, rolled his eyes. “What would you call her then, mate?”
Vance, sitting on Cole’s other side and bearing just as many bruises, scratched at the stubble on his jaw. “His booty call.”
Cole grumbled under his breath. “She’s neither. We hooked up a few times and that was it, all right?”
“I’m not buying it,” Marcus said. “I know the girl has been hanging around waiting for you to give her a sideways look so you can fuck like rabbits. It’s my business to know these kinds of things.”
Cole wasn’t sure that he liked the thought of Marcus poking around in his private matters. Then again, this probably wasn’t anything new. Marcus had never pried into his private life where women were concerned because Cole never slept with the same woman twice. Hell, as of late, he hardly slept with women at all.
He’d hate to know what Marcus thought of that dry spell. He’d also hate to know what Zak thought. The Russian stood on Marcus’s other side but he hadn’t engaged in the conversation at all. He was quiet, almost disengaged, and he was hardly paying any attention to the others or the conversation. His mind was obviously elsewhere.
“Her daddy sure as shit wouldn’t be happy to know you’ve been fucking her senseless every second night,” Vance said.
“It’s not every other night,” Cole said.
“Uh, I disagree,” Dean said. “I’ve heard you two going at it on several occasions. Speaking of which, can you stop using my storage closet as your favorite fuck-room? I need to get in there for shit but I don’t want to walk in to see your balls swinging while you take her from—”
“Careful,” Cole growled.
The other men all laughed. Well, all of them except Zak, who continued to stare morosely at nothing with his eyes glazed over.
Cole frowned. Was something wrong? It was unlike Zak to be so quiet, especially when everyone was using Cole as a punching bag. This was Zak’s favorite pastime.
Cole cleared his throat. “Zak.”
The Russian didn’t flinch.
Marcus glanced over at his righthand man and frowned. He shouldered him roughly, and Zak came to, his eyes snapping up and his impassive expression shifting to something more alert.
“You all right?” Cole asked.
Zak nodded and ran a hand over his head. “Yeah, yeah I’m all right. Just lost in thought I guess.”
“About what?” Dean asked.
“Cole’s girl,” Zak said. “Do you think she’s a bottom or a top?”
Everyone laughed.
Dean tapped the side of his head. “I’d bet money she’s a topper. Have you seen those legs?”
Cole groaned.
“Based on the sounds she makes when Cole’s railing her, I’d argue it’s the other way around,” Vance said. Then his voice went all high pitched as he pretended to be Cameron. “Oh baby! Yes! That’s the spot! Don’t stop!”
Dean snorted with laughter and Zak lightened up a bit.
Cole continued to brood and waited for the tides to turn. Would these pricks ever tire of harassing him?
Not likely.
“Anyway,” Zak said, giving his head a shake. “Let’s stay on high alert tonight, boys. It’s fun to pick on Cole and all but we have to keep our heads in the game.”
Marcus studied Zak out of the corner of his eye.
Something was up. Zak didn’t say shit like that. This group wasn’t the kind of group that needed a pep talk or a reminder to take their jobs seriously. This group understood the weight of their responsibilities. They’d all seen the repercussions of missing red flags up close and personal. The last thing any of them ever intended to do was get sloppy on the job.
Why did Zak feel the need to remind them to stay vigilant?
Cole was about to ask him what was up when the front doors to the club swung open. It wasn’t six yet, and it was still daylight out, so a bit of sunlight fell over the group. It disappeared as quickly as it came as the doors closed behind the newcomer.
Cole assumed it was one of the dancers or servers.
At least he did until Marcus nodded for him to turn around. “Your woman is here.”
Zak snickered.
Cole turned and faced Cameron as she approached.
She met him with a big smile. She looked stunning, as per usual, but different as well. Like she’d just gotten back from the gym. He hadn’t seen her for a few nights because she’d been so busy working. So he was glad for the skin-tight black leggings she wore that showed off her ass and the tight navy-blue T-shirt under her denim jacket.
She certainly didn’t look like a spoiled rich girl tonight.
“Hey,” she said, smiling pleasantly at the others who Marcus wished would fuck off. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop in to see if you were here. I finally got the women to talk to me. I can’t believe it. This week has been an absolute whirlwind but I finally have a place to start! Isn’t that great?”
Cole nodded. “That is great. Did you talk about safety concerns and security? You know, you could hire someone to go into those places with you and—”
“Cole,” she said flatly, “I can take care of myself. Besides, most of the women I talk to are fleeing abusive relationships or homes. The last thing I want to do is put a barrier between us by showing up with a big strong dude who hovers over my shoulder in every room I go into. It would be counterproductive.”
Cole grimaced. “Still, I don’t like the thought of you hanging around these places without protection.”
He meant every word. Cameron could easily be exposed to bad seeds. He knew she was passionate about her work but it wasn’t exactly low risk.
Cameron brushed off his concern. “Don’t be silly, Cole. Anyway, we’re being rude. Are you going to introduce me to your friends or what?” She turned to the other men and smiled.
Cole sighed. “Friends is a ge
nerous word.”
“Oh please,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. “My name is Cameron. I’ve met some of you already. Like you,” she said pointedly at Dean.
Cole wasn’t sure what that was about. He sighed and made the introductions. “This is Marcus, the boss. His righthand man, Zak. And this is Vance, another bodyguard.”
Cameron bowed her head a little. “Nice to meet you all.”
The men chuckled and were friendly back.
Cole shot Cameron a look. “It’s not nice to meet them. They’re a bunch of pricks. The lot of them. Unsavory bastards and such.”
Marcus laughed and the others followed suit.
Cameron took their cue and giggled as well, covering her mouth with one hand. She winked at Cole. “We can all be a little unsavory, can’t we?”
Vance slapped the bar. “I like her.”
Cameron curtsied. “I’m flattered.”
Cole sighed. “Cameron, would you like to go somewhere else to talk?”
“No,” she said simply. “I just wanted to come and see you. I’ve had such a successful week that I had some clarity, and although I like this little thing we have going, I can’t help but wonder how long I’m going to have to sit around and wait for you to ask me on a proper date.”
“Oh shit.” Dean chortled.
“I didn’t realize you were waiting on a date,” Cole said.
Cameron shrugged. “Neither had I. Not until this week anyway. I thought I was content to just use you for your body.” She gave him a wry, devious little smile. “But apparently, I want more than that.”
Cole didn’t like how she was putting him on the spot like this. Then again, at the same time, he kind of did. Cameron was impossible to predict. She caught him off guard nearly every damn time he saw her and he liked how she kept him on his toes. She kept him guessing. There were layers of mystery to her. A surprise always waited around the corner. She was the exact opposite of who he’d expected her to be that first night he met her two weeks ago.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Can we talk about this later? My shift is about to start.”