by Max Henry
“I know,” he says as though exasperated by the train of thought tumbling from his lips. “I’m not trying to be an arsehole, Cam.”
I drop the spoons, yet keep my eyes shut for one more blissful minute. “Then what are you trying to do, Duke?”
He sighs, getting off the bed. I set the spoons aside and open my eyes. He stands with his back to me, as though he’s ready to walk out but for some unknown reason, he can’t find it in himself to physically do so. His head drops, and he looks to the floor as he admits the reason for this detailing of my faults. “You drive me crazy with your annoying habits, Cam, and yet …”
Yet? I scoot up in the bed, holding on for his next words.
“And yet that piece-of-shit car breaking down was the best thing that’s happened to me in a hell of a long time.”
I fold the covers back and move to the edge of the bed, hanging my legs over the side as an amused smile curls my lips up on one side. “Why, Duke. Would that be a compliment you just gave me?”
His laugh is low and throaty, supressed. “I guess.”
What is it about this man that he can’t let himself loosen up? I get that he’s angry about what happened to him, but damn, live a little, laugh.
He drops a frustrated sigh as he runs a hand through his hair. “I put those pictures on top of your sideboard. Figured you could reframe them when you felt the time was right.” He takes a step toward the door and hesitates, looking back at me over his shoulder. “Get some sleep, okay?”
“Sure. Thank you for the spoons.” I give him a soft smile and let him go, more for his own relief than mine.
I could have kept him close for longer, picked his brain and possibly, maybe, got him to kiss me again. But I’m not blind; he needs space to think things through. He needs to work out exactly how he feels about what just went down.
As do I.
Sleep. Yeah, I won’t be doing much of that. Taylah’s death cemented two things for me: one, endless sleepless nights where, if I’m lucky, I snatch a few rough hours, and two, that I will never ever take medication to aid my insomnia again.
After all, why should I sleep when my baby is doing enough for the both of us?
NINETEEN
Duke
All she had to say was one little thing about a damn sofa and I lost focus of why this woman can only ever be a passing phase in my life. We’re so different, yet she selflessly offered to do something that makes me feel better, and I’m left with a burning gratitude for how effortlessly kind she is.
She gives her love without expectation of reward, offering only the best part of her. Even when that douchebag ex came over to bully her into picking an estate agent, she never faltered. She could have sliced that sharp tongue of hers across his wounds and cut him down, thrown the fact that the arsehole left her when she needed him most in his face, but she didn’t.
Because that’s not Cam.
When you’re blessed with the ability to feel love and empathy to such a level, you’re also cursed to wear the scars such connection brings. No wonder the woman guards her pain so fiercely. She’s not just unable to move on for fear of losing the last connection she has to her daughter—she’s afraid of spreading her pain to the people she loves.
She’s afraid of influencing others’ lives in a negative way.
One more reason why we’re so different. All I do is layer my anger and resentment over those around me, unsatisfied until they understand why I can never let go of the misery and hate I carry at how that one event ruined so many lives.
With my arse to the timber, I scoot my back into the junction of the sofa and the wall and do my ritual sweep of the room. How long will I be like this? Living in fear despite the fact I’m halfway around the world from where the real threat of attack resides?
This isn’t how to live. It’s not how a man behaves. Shit, if my father could see me now he’d hang his head in shame. I might have lost respect for the arsehole when he cut my mother down and left to be with his mistress, but he still stamped the basic macho beliefs in me that no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake.
Men don’t cry.
Men don’t whine about their troubles to whoever will listen.
Real men stick their proverbial middle fingers up to the world that treads on them, and battle on.
I should be battling on, but here I am, sitting in a stranger’s house, thinking about what a waste my life is. My future was in army greens. My destiny was to either die young or retire when my ravaged and beaten body couldn’t take another tour. I had purpose, an outlet for my anger. I had respect.
I had the love of a good woman to return to. A new family.
Now … nothing. I’m nothing, nobody. And worst of all, I contribute nothing to this world. I suck oxygen, I eat produce, but what do I give back?
So many bad things are happening right now, so many fights for survival taking place this very second, and where am I? Huddled under a blanket looking for the fucking bogeyman.
Goddamn fucking disgrace.
I reach across and pick up my phone—torch on as always. The light illuminates my lap as I tap out a message to Cody.
How’s that cash coming along?
Knowing the dork, he’s probably still awake playing Xbox. Sure enough, three dots dance on my screen.
Sorry, bro. Not this week.
For fuck’s sake. I tap out half a dozen replies, deleting each before I send them. There’s no point getting mad at him, because just like our old man, he doesn’t give a shit if he puts you out. It’s all for him, and all about him.
A week or hopefully less, and I’ll be out of here and on my way to doing something for me. If I only I knew what the fuck that was.
**
“Duke.”
Nudge. Nudge.
“Duke.”
Fuck me, I’ve been asleep? Feels as though I only just drifted off. “What time is it?”
“Eight. I have to leave for work, but I’ve left you some breakfast in the oven.”
Cammie stands over me, gorgeous as always in a pair of black leggings, an over-sized white shirt, and a cropped cardigan. The boots on her feet are almost as big as she is, covered in studs and buckles. I’ve never paid much mind to women’s fashion before, but this girl certainly knows how to dress to bring out her best assets: legs that go on for days, and a trim waist that’s offset by her rounded arse and full tits. She’s every man’s perfect hourglass.
“In the oven?” I rub my hands over my face with a yawn.
“Yeah, to keep it warm.”
Cooked breakfast. She’s turning more and more into wife material. “Thanks, Cam.”
“I’ve left you something else as well.” The keys in her hand rattle as she darts across to the table, returning a short time later with a notebook. “I was thinking about how you said you had counselling starting soon, and I know when I had some sessions after Taylah, that I’d get there and my mind would go blank.” She smiles, despite looking at the book in her hands with sad eyes. “The therapist would ask me all these questions, and I’d sit there like a mute. So, I thought maybe if you wrote down your nightmares, your thoughts even, then you’d have material to talk about.” She thrusts the notebook at me, a pen tucked into its spine.
I take the offered gift, feeling incredibly rude that I’m still seated on the floor … but morning wood. What else can I do, but wait it out?
“Thanks.” I set the book aside, not too sure how writing and I mix.
She frowns a little, cocking her head to the side. “It was just an idea. But I’ve got to go, so I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”
“Sure.”
She paces from one foot to the other and lets out a cute little huff. “Damn it.”
I can’t help but chuckle as she squats down and then leans forward, bracing her weight on her hands as she stretches toward me. Her crisp eyes hold mine, seemingly brighter given the dark liner she’s ringed them with.
“Come on, Duke. Don’t leave me
hanging.”
I know what she wants, and yeah, I’m stoked that she’s got the balls to be so forward about it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not arsehole enough to play with her a little just so I can hear her say it. “Hanging how? What’s the matter?” I feign confusion at why she’s crouched down, leant over my legs like this.
“Duke …”
“You’ve got something in your eye?” I squint a little as I check out each one.
“Don’t be an arse.” Her arms start to shake as she holds her position.
“Tell me what you want, Cam.” I steady my breathing, waiting on those words from her delicate lips: for you to kiss me.
“I want proof that it wasn’t a mistake,” she says instead.
Oh, I can do that. Kissing her last night might have taken me by surprise, but it was no mistake. How can it be when I reacted on raw instinct alone?
I reach out and place my hands on her hips, pulling her forward so she’s forced to drop to her knees. Cammie slides in closer as I urge her forward, her knees pressed tight against my thigh. She’s poised, ready for my next move, when a relatively important thought pops into my head. “Do I have morning breath?”
“What?” she says with a laugh, her eyes crinkling adorably at the corners.
“I mean, I’d hate for this epic moment to be ruined by a bad experience with halitosis. Maybe I should go brush my teeth real quick.”
She sighs out her nose, holding a single finger up. I watch as she dives into her bag and pulls out a tin of breath mints. A small blue tab drops into her hand, and pinching it between forefinger and thumb, she jerks her chin toward me. “Open up.”
The mint burns on the tip of my tongue as she drops it on, dissolving quickly as I crunch it between my teeth and shift the powder all around my mouth. I huff into my cupped hand, satisfied with the result.
“Okay now?” she queries.
“Think so.” Her breath hitches as I trail a fingertip under her jaw. “Where were we then?”
“You were about to convince me that you didn’t kiss me by accident, that you don’t regret it, and that the thought of your lips on mine has plagued you as much as the thought of mine on yours has driven me crazy this morning.”
“Come here.” I tuck my index finger under her jaw, pressing into the soft flesh to coax her forward.
Her lids droop, her pupils flaring into deep black pools as she looks down to focus on my mouth. The sight of her so focused on our kiss does nothing to make the stiffy in my boxers disappear. If anything, the velvety feel of her painted lips as she teases them against mine only thickens my cock until I’m twice as hard as I was when I woke up.
Inhibitions and doubts aside, I kiss this girl as if it’s the first time we’ve met, as though neither of us are chained to the ghosts of our pasts, and as though somewhere, somehow, in an alternate reality, chalk and cheese like Cam and I could actually get along enough to have a future together.
She shifts the knee closest to me between my legs, settling herself on my thigh. I groan as the warmth at the apex of her thighs heats my leg, her pussy pressed flush against my quad. Grind it, baby. The thought settles in my mind as she pinches my bottom lip between hers, soft, slow, sensual. Grind those hips, girl.
“Duke …”
“Yeah?” Don’t get off.
“We’re stopping it here.”
I groan. “Why?”
She smiles, those eyes bright as she does indeed climb off and straighten her clothes. “I’m convinced.”
Damn it’s good to see those eyes bright again. “Good.”
Cammie collects her bag and keys, tossing the set in her hand as she seems to think over what to say next. She chooses not to speak, which is fine by me, because to be honest, I don’t know what to say either.
I met this woman four days ago. It hasn’t even been a week, and yet, I’m struck by how easy it is to connect with her. Especially since we both faced our fears and shared with each other the innermost parts of who we are.
Who we were.
Maybe who we can be.
Only time will tell.
TWENTY
Cammie
“Second day in a row, honey.”
I roll my eyes at Mum’s statement. She wouldn’t come out and actually say it, but I know what she hints at—she’s usually lucky if I call her twice in a week. I’m so stubbornly independent.
“Well, because I’m sure your visit yesterday had a little something to do with it, I thought I’d share a milestone with you.”
“You learned how to shop for real food?” She laughs at her own joke.
“No, Mum.” I take deep breath, twisting my grip on the steering wheel. “I opened Taylah’s door.”
She falls so quiet, I have to check the dashboard display to make sure I haven’t dropped the call. “Mum?”
“How did you go?” she asks softly. “Are you okay today?”
Truthfully? No, I’m not. I spent the majority of the day at work stumbling my way through my tasks with the blind focus of a zombie. My thoughts were trapped amongst the images of Taylah the day she died at her kiddie table, eating her lunch. The last positive memory I have of her, considering what we did in the following hour was never more than a blur. The next clear memory I can dredge up is the flash of blue and red as I opened my eyes to an officer shaking me awake.
They thought I had overdosed. I wish I had.
“She’s been on my mind a lot, but I think I’m okay with that.”
“Duke?” she says. “What did he do?”
“Talked me off a ledge.” A smile creeps onto my lips as I think back to this morning. “He was great about it all, really.”
“That’s good, honey. I’m honestly so glad to hear it.”
“You know,” I say with slight jest to my tone, “it’s a bit low to enlist the help of a stranger like that.”
“He’s a nice boy,” she protests. “And it worked, didn’t it?”
“I guess.”
She lets the silence hang a while as I drive, my thoughts a jumbled mess. Taylah, Jared, the house sale, and now Duke. So many things demanding attention at once.
“Is there something else?” Mum asks carefully.
“Jared wants me to sell the house.”
Her sharp intake of air is deafening in the confines of my car. “Why? He agreed to let you stay there as long as you covered the mortgage on your own. What does he want with it now? I knew we should have forced him to transfer his name off the documents.”
“We couldn’t, remember? To do that I would have had to draw down again, and I didn’t have the lending power on my own to do that.”
“Yes, I do remember now.” She sighs. “Damn it, Cam. What are you going to do? I hope you’re going to fight his sorry arse.”
“I tried, but he doesn’t want to hear about it.”
“How long has this been going on?” Mum asks.
“A couple of weeks.”
“And you’re only telling me now? Cam …”
I sigh, fingers flexing on the wheel. “I thought I might be able to talk him out of it, make him see reason and the whole thing would blow over. But I can’t. The sale is going ahead.”
She hesitates before saying quietly, “Maybe it’s for the best. Everything happens for a reason, sweetheart.”
“I know. I’m just not ready yet, you know?” I take a deep breath and hold strong before I let myself slip into the past once more. “I told him to list the house with an agent who’s related to Kell.”
“Cammie,” Mum drones. “What would you do that for? She’ll be biased.”
“Exactly. He wouldn’t let her get away with a cheaper price in the name of a quick sale, so if I have to sell, I may as well make the most profit I can out of it.” Perhaps, given inflation over the past five years, I’ll walk away with enough to put a healthy deposit on another old villa, this time on a smaller property, so I can follow through with my B&B idea. Got to look for that silver lining.
&
nbsp; “What’s the asking price?”
“Why, Mum?”
“What’s the asking price?” she repeats more matter-of-fact.
I sigh, shifting gears to turn into the driveway. “The last rateable valuation put the house and land at a bit over four hundred thousand.”
“I’ll talk to your father,” she says before promptly hanging up.
“Mum!”
It’s no use. She’s left me with that statement knowing I’d give her heaps about the crazy plan she’s no doubt cooking. She can’t afford to buy it, let alone be a guarantor for me. But Dad … Dad has the lending power, and she knows I’d never ask him for a huge helping hand like that. Damn it all.
I park the car and then head into the house to find Duke, find out what he’s been up to today. Hearing him talk about anything at all sounds like heaven. He could recite the things he ate in chronological order and I’d be grateful for the distraction.
The place is quiet as I set my bag down on the side table in the entrance, save for the sound of running water.
Not going there, Cammie. Totally not thinking about my stranded traveller in the shower … naked … wet.
“I’m home!” I call out, as much to take my mind off the visuals I’m conjuring up as to let Duke know.
“In the shower!”
Lord, baby Jesus …
Fanning myself with one hand I make my way through to the living room and come to a grinding halt. The sofas have been rearranged exactly how I suggested, but on top of that, he’s pulled some of my framed pictures of Taylah and me out of the sideboard and arranged them on the lamp table.
My arse hits the seat cushion as I collapse and reach for the foremost photo. I forgot about this one, how it used to be my favourite. She’s so pretty, all decked out in her overalls and gumboots as she helps Jared clean the back porch with the water blaster. The photo’s just of her though; I wouldn’t know Jared were there if the day wasn’t set in my memories.
Twenty-five degrees and not a cloud in the sky. We’d planned to visit his parents, but because it was the first fine Saturday we’d had in weeks, we took the opportunity to do odd jobs around the house instead. The two of them—father and daughter—finished off the last of the work for the day, late afternoon, while I ducked inside to prepare dinner. I’d happened to step out to check on Taylah, make sure she wasn’t getting in Jared’s way, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take a snap.