“Be thankful,” I said, squaring my shoulders and wondering why the fuck Hope wasn’t next to me, “it’s not like we fucked in your bed. And being a bean counter, you’ll be happy that she won’t be looking for you to invest in many more of those blue pills—”
That time, Gordo swung at me. And he connected. I tasted blood before I realized he hit me, and it knocked me over. A few patrons in the hotel lobby gasped. Fucker. When I regained my bearings, I was a little dizzy, but I could still see the smirk on Matt’s face as he took Hope’s arm and steered her away. He maintained his satisfied grin for a couple of paces before he bore down on the hotel entrance.
“See you around,” I said, the bitterness so thick I spit it onto the carpet in the form of blood. Then, to Gordo, I added, “You’re a dickhead.”
Gordo shook his head, his eyes wide with shock. Probably at my temporary moment of insanity. “You’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”
“Fuck you,” I snapped, shoving through my entourage and heading toward the elevators.
But Gordo was convinced he had just performed an incredible act of valor. He ran to catch up to me, grabbing my elbow. “He had a gun, asshole.” He brought his lips closer to my ear. “Didn’t you see it, or were you too fucking blind from that bullshit promise?”
I didn’t care if Matt had come with a bomb. All I wanted was Hope, and now she was gone.
The elevator doors opened, and all five of us stepped on board. Nobody else said anything, not even to try and lighten the mood. It was during our ascent that I realized something that I should’ve picked up a few seconds prior. And it burned. A lot.
Hope hadn’t even looked back at me, hadn’t stood up for herself. She had left willingly with that asshole, and that was one message I couldn’t ignore—she had chosen him.
Not me.
} i {
Chapter 50
I opened my eyes at two AM for no reason, waking up completely. I stared up at the ceiling with nothing but the pale moonlight providing a soft, romantic illumination that made the white sheets glow. Glancing over at Riley, I watched her sleep, her mouth slightly open, her eyes as peaceful as I’d ever seen them since Hope had come back and turned our plans upside down. I reached out and stroked her hand, which was lodged underneath her pillow. A smile surfaced, and her hand edged out enough that I could hold it in mine.
Returning my attention to the ceiling, I wondered why I was suddenly alert so early. The only thing I could think was that Hope had somehow infiltrated my dreams and pushed the memory of her and our love back into consciousness. Like she could actually do that.
Riley retracted her hand and rolled over so all I could see was her narrow back, and I decided to relieve myself. I wondered how many times Hope’s geriatric fiancé awoke during the night to take a piss. Was this my future?
After I washed my hands, I wondered about going back to bed. Rather than tossing and turning and disrupting Riley’s sleep, I tiptoed to the second bedroom where I had left my laptop earlier. I was suddenly curious about that novel Hope had sent me. But when I accessed my email account, I saw that she had sent me another message.
Ten minutes ago.
Frowning, I wondered if she truly had woken me somehow so that I could make a trip to my computer and find this little “gift” from her. Spooky.
I ignored her message, though, and went straight to the one with the attachment. Convinced that I needed to ignore Hope if I wanted to lead a happier, saner life with Riley, it wasn’t hard to pretend this early morning message didn’t exist in the first place. After all, I wanted to read the novel, not another mind-fuck of an email.
Our Story.
The novel.
Right.
I had read a good chunk of Our Story, probably two chapters or so when she first sent it, but now I wanted to read the whole thing, find out more about this love story between Oliver and Olivia, and what it could mean for Hope when she insisted it was written by Emma Payne.
So I opened the attachment and read it.
Again.
And again.
By the time I finished with the novel, which was more like a novella because it was so short (one hundred and eighteen pages sure sounded longer than the story suggested), I had tears in my eyes and a throat that felt so tight I could barely breathe.
“Are you okay?”
I spun around in my chair and found Riley standing in the doorway, her housecoat hanging open to reveal her white, lacey panties, her flat, soft tummy. I loved circling my tongue around her navel and kissing a path a little farther south.
“Cam?” she asked, her flirty tone teasing me from the doorway. “Are you okay?”
She stepped toward me. A week ago, I would’ve hidden the screen, but not tonight. Once she reached me, she slipped one hand through my hair and used the other to tilt the laptop screen so that she could read the words on the screen.
“What are you reading?”
I shrugged, shaking my head just enough that her fingers slipped out of my hair and traced a path down along my face, slowly. She lowered herself into my lap, adjusted the screen again.
“It’s called Our Story?” she asked. She looked at me again, the curiosity twisting her lips. “I like it,” she admitted. She could not have read more than a paragraph. “Can I read it?”
“You sure? Hope sent it.”
She tilted her head to the side, as if measuring me, my words. “Do you love me, Cam?”
“Of course I do.” I wrapped my arms around her waist and gave her a subtle squeeze. “I’m here.”
She kissed my lips with the tenderness of our past, pre-Hope life, then pulled back, angling her chin down and staring at me with pouty eyes. “Then let me read it.”
“You won’t like it. It’s about two married people who fall in love and end up together.”
She scrolled through a few pages, stopping for a bit to read. “Did Hope write this for you?”
My eyes rolled across the words on the screen.
He raised his glass as if in a toast. At first, I thought he might be dismissing what I had just said. “Sometimes, love brings us into the darkest corners of our lives,” he told me. “But we survive because love guides us through the fears and uncertainties. And other times, love brings us into the brightest sunshine, the most absolute happiness we will ever know.”
I remembered that excerpt from an earlier chapter. It seemed appropriate that Riley would scroll to this specific part of the novel. Olivia and Oliver were aboard a yacht of some sort in Miami. It seemed bizarre because I had just come from Hope’s house in Miami.
“She says she didn’t,” I admitted, shrugging. “But…I don’t know if I believe her.”
Riley nodded, scrolling down a little more but didn’t spend any time reading the next area where she stopped. “Well, if I want any part of your future, I think I should read about your past.”
“That’s sweet,” I answered, sliding my hand up her spine and bringing her lips to mine. I kissed her, gently at first. “But this isn’t my past.”
She kissed me back, a little more fiercely than I had kissed her. “But Hope is part of your past, and this is her story.”
“Maybe,” I answered, and our kissing became a little more passionate. My hand moved from her back to her soft, perky breasts. She moaned, and my lips abandoned her mouth and settled over her nipples. I could smell her skin, taste her fragrance, and the way she moved her ass over my erection reminded me of just how much I had almost lost in Miami.
And for the first time, I was grateful that Hope hadn’t let me make the biggest mistake of my life. That when she chose Matt, she had been looking out for my best interests as well.
“Make love to me, Cam,” Riley breathed, holding my face against her chest. “Fuck me hard.”
And just like that, our life seemed to have returned to that exact same place where we had lost it.
} i {
Present Day
Chapter 51
&nbs
p; 4:45 PM
Back at the Yacht Club, I thank Josh for his help today. While I carry on a quick and light-hearted conversation with him about my impending unemployment, I notice that Hope and Gordo have started walking toward the Tesla. Unable to trust their conversation, I finish up with Josh and hurry off.
“Hey, Cam!” Josh calls after me.
I glance back at him and notice the big smile on his face.
“Good luck.”
Waving my appreciation, I continue after Gordo and Hope. I reach them a few feet from the car, sliding into position next to Hope. Their chat fades into silence.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” I blurt.
More silence.
At the Tesla, Gordo fiddles with his iPhone, and the door handles pop out. But before he pulls on his to get inside, he throws me an upward nod and asks where he’s taking us next. “The day is almost over, Cam.”
Hope slides into the passenger seat and shuts her door, not all that interested in hearing where our conversation will lead or how it will end.
Gordo laughs, shaking his head at me. He pats the roof of the car that nearly ended his marriage three years ago.
“Such an optimist, Gordo,” I tell him, sighing.
“You don’t really think she’s going to miss her flight next week, do you?” he asks me, his eyebrows tightening toward the bridge of his nose.
“She’s mine.” But I’m not so sure about my own words.
“No,” he says, shaking his head with a condescending grin on his face. “In fact, she’s not yours, Cam. She’s her own woman. Maybe that’s why you’re setting yourself up for failure.” He reaches down for the door handle. “I’m not sticking around, wherever it is that I’m dropping you two off. I’m done. And next week, once she gets on that plane and you’re stuck at home with nothing but a Visa bill that you can’t pay because your over-schooled ass got greedy for some sour derivative positions…” He shakes his head again, the disgust obvious. “You’re on your own, Cam. You know Riley doesn’t deserve this.”
“You’re right,” I say, my voice tightening into a narrow hiss. “Riley doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t. But neither do I. And until I’m with Hope, the real Cam, the real me doesn’t exist. What’s so hard to understand about that?”
He points at me, annoyed. “You really don’t know how stupid you are, do you?” He shakes his head. “I hope Riley never comes back, that she doesn’t give you a second—no, a third chance. That girl is a fucking angel, and you’re doing this. It’s pathetic, a shame.”
“I have nothing to say to that, except you’re right. Riley won’t come back to me. And that’s probably why she left. She knows. And she’s done sharing.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. Sharing you with someone who doesn’t want you. Smart move.” He opens his door, indicating the end to our conversation.
I glance back toward Josh’s boat and see him sweeping the deck, tidying up like he can’t afford to pay someone to do that kind of grunt work for him. I feel alone in this moment, my heart beating a mile a minute as I reach down and open the rear passenger side door. Sliding into the cool cabin, I refuse to look in the mirror where I know I’ll find Gordon’s prying glare.
“Where to, Cam?” he asks, point-blank.
Staring out the window, I remember that split-decision moment when I returned home to Riley after my trip to Miami three years ago. I wonder how my life would look today had I taken a different approach, namely the one that involved apologizing rather than asking for Riley’s forgiveness. If I had decided to chase Hope back then, I would not be mentally preparing myself for these two things in my imminent future: the goodbye Hope has never said to me and the divorce papers that Riley will inevitably send.
“Cam, are you awake back there?” He taps the steering wheel in impatience.
Without moving my attention from the window, I rely on my mistakes from three years ago to give everyone else what they want. “The train station,” I say. “It’s getting late. Hope needs to get home.”
} i {
High School
Chapter 52
The summer before college, I came to two interesting conclusions about myself. The first was I would never love anyone quite as much as I loved Hope McManus. The second happened somewhere between the blowjob in the front seat of my father’s Jeep Grand Cherokee and the crème brulee dessert at Olive Garden, where we decided to share our last meal as an uneducated couple. For us, this was a nice dinner because it wasn’t fast food.
“You’re pretty calm about all of this,” I told her, feeding her a chunk of the dessert’s hard surface layer. The way she took my spoon into her mouth and closed her eyes made me want her again. She had a magical way about her, a way that made the rest of the world around us disappear. Whenever we were together, all I saw was Hope and her beauty.
“You belong to me,” she said once she swallowed what was in her mouth, grabbing my hand and giving it a firm squeeze. With her other hand, she stroked each of my fingers, leaving a numbing tingle in the wake of each pass.
Hope raised her attention, locking her eyes on mine. Despite all of her confidence, I saw her insecurities; I had spent most of our high school career loving each one of them and proving to her that they made me love her even more fiercely than I had before she shared them with me.
“And you belong to me,” I replied, my throat a little tight. Damn, she hid those insecurities a lot better than I could.
“Don’t forget it, Cameron.” She released my hand and quickly claimed the spoon, scooping the last of the crème brulee into her mouth.
“Goob!” I said, maybe a little too loudly, but her evil laughter eclipsed whatever disruption my name-calling may have caused.
After paying the bill, we left the restaurant with my arm around her waist and hers around me. The older couples we passed in the front waiting area smiled at us like I was the high school quarterback with the lead cheerleader on his arm. We were no such thing.
“I love you, Cameron,” she said, giggling. “And someday, you’ll be my husband.”
I kissed the side of her head. “That day won’t come soon enough.”
“Five years isn’t a long time.” She rolled her eyes at me.
“Long enough.”
I opened the Grand Cherokee’s passenger door, but before she climbed up into the cabin, she hooked her fingers into the waist of my pants and put that lost-looking smile on her lips.
“Kiss me, Cameron,” she whispered.
I obeyed her. I could never say no to Hope, it wasn’t worth it. As our tongues danced, I felt her fingers running through my hair, but they may as well have been running through my soul. I knew there would never be a replacement for this girl.
“I think you’re my air, too,” she panted, the first to pull away. Her eyes opened slowly, and her love-drunk glaze told me everything I needed to know—she would never find a replacement for me either.
“You can’t steal that,” I warned her with a playful grin. “The air thing, that’s all mine.”
“Shut up, goob. You stole that from someone, and you know it.”
I grinned. “Nope.”
“You’re a fucking plagiarist,” she accused me, punching me lightly in the abdomen before climbing inside and shutting the passenger door with a light-hearted eye roll.
“I don’t know about this five-year plan, Hope,” I said, hesitating as I settled behind the steering wheel and pulled my seatbelt across my lap.
She stared into her lap, fidgeting with her fingers. “It’s a promise, not a plan.” Her voice came out so quietly; she had to repeat the words.
“And promises aren’t made to be broken, right?”
“Broken promises are called lies,” she answered without missing a beat.
I drove her home in silence, the mountains dark against the pale, night sky. While many of our friends were out partying during their last weekend before moving into their college dorms next week, Hope and I had opted f
or this “last dinner” together. In fact, our entire summer vacation had been spent together, drinking in every possible minute together because we both knew how difficult the absence would be.
At her parents’ house, I parked on the street and killed the engine. The lights were blazing in every window on the main level, but then again it was only eight PM, not midnight. Plus, it was Friday; even my ancient parents lasted later than midnight on a Friday night.
“What are you going to do now?” Hope asked.
“Still have some packing.” I chuckled, because it wasn’t the packing I feared. “Why do airlines book flights so fucking early?” I shook my head. I feared the silence, the moments where I could think about the next five years without her in my life. Packing was a fucking breeze.
“I won’t cry, Cameron,” she promised.
“I know.” Now it was my turn to look into my lap. “You sure you’ll be there?”
“Yes.” She touched my face, closing her eyes like she wanted to memorize every angle, ever corner the way a blind person might. “I would never forgive myself if I missed saying goodbye.”
“Then don’t,” I blurted. Five years was a long time, especially when we only had four years of school ahead of us.
She raised an eyebrow.
“Come with me. Fly to Chicago, let’s see the city together, let’s spend the weekend in jazz clubs and making fun of the freshwater beaches. And the cold weather. Fuck it, Hope, come with me. I’ll get a job, I’ll—”
She kissed me to silence me. “It’s okay, we’ll get through this.”
“So you’re coming with me?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Maybe you should come with me, Cameron. I’ve got the higher earning potential as a chartered accountant. Plus, I’m not flying out until Tuesday, so we’d have more time together here.” She winked at me. “Just saying.”
My gut told me to take that offer, to run away with her because she was right. She was always right. And knowing my own personal work ethic this past year, despite the straight A’s and respectable GPA, the idea of skipping out on school wasn’t entirely foreign to me. Nothing else would please me as much as spending my entire days with and for Hope.
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