No matter what their relationship felt like to him, she’d been going it alone the entire time. She would’ve laid her life on the line for Hannah, proof she’d known how to be a sister long before he ever figured out how to be a brother.
Jaime reached inside his coat, pulled out a flask, and tapped it against Campbell’s arm. When Campbell waved him off, he lifted it to his lips and drank like he’d been denied for years.
“I’m still hanging by a thread from last night,” Campbell explained, the thought of alcohol making him want to crawl into a corner and die a slow death.
Jaime nodded, took another sip, then tucked the flask away. “Ah yes, the gallery incident.”
Campbell dragged a hand through his hair and muttered an oath under his breath. “Listen, I know I’ve got to get usedto the small-town carousel, but I have to admit, it’s a definite downside to moving back to Promise.”
Jaime’s eyes widened, his lips twitching with a smile he tried—and mostly failed—to hide. Grasping Campbell’s shoulder, he turned him in the opposite direction and gave him a gentle nudge. “Room 105. Third door, left.”
Campbell’s vision dimmed, the hallway compressing as he stumbled down it. The floor was deserted. No clusters of distressed families clinging to hope, information, or miracles. That was ICU territory, where his mom had spent sixteen hours before his father made the appropriate arrangements, following a humane consultation with her doctors. A couple of them were his golf buddies, which made it easier, one would suppose.
It was the only time Campbell had seen his father cry, and for years afterward, he’d agonized over his own blank response.
Fontana had helped him break through.
He felteverythingnow.
Room 105’s door was open just enough for a thread of music to reach him. Billie Holiday—no mistaking that smoky voice. Jaime’s doing, Campbell would bet. Boombox will travel.
Emotion hit like a jolt, streaking through Campbell’s mind and body, rocking him where he stood.So this is what love feels like,he thought with wonder. Rubbing a suddenly damp palm over his chest, he edged into the room.
Fontana lay on her side, her injured arm curled protectively around her stomach, the only one to defend herself. The sight hit Campbell like a gut punch—guilt, rage, helplessness all crashing together. He hadn’t stopped her father. He hadn’t known. And worst of all, she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him.
He’d been falling in love, but fuck if he knew what she’d been doing.
Cut the anger, True.Being mad at the world wasn’t the way to start this conversation.
“Cam,” she whispered.
He looked up, realizing he’d settled back against the door, worlds away from her. He didn’t move. Couldn’t yet. He just took her in, trying to figure out where to begin.
This is the thing, Fon…
Why didn’t you trust me?
The crazy part is, I was already in it.
He sighed and knocked his head lightly against the door. No plan. Clueless.
She rose to her elbow, that gorgeous shroud of hair falling into her face. Her washed-out lilac dressing gown gaped, revealing the soft swell of her breasts, and he fought back a primal response. He wanted to run his hands over her, make sure every incredible piece was still in place.
As if she’d read his thoughts, Fontana’s eyes flooded with the color of the Ionian Sea, a rare blend of sapphire and lapis no lens could truly capture.
She smiled and crooked her finger. “Come here, Atlanta.”
He peeled off the door and crossed the room in a few strides, catching her face in his hands and bringing her mouth to his. “I need you to tell me everything. All of it.” The words were rough against her lips, torn from somewhere deep inside him. Pressing his brow to hers, he drew in a staggered breath, letting his mind begin to settle.She was safe. She was okay.“Not now, I know, butsoon.”
When I can bear to hear it.
She cradled his jaw, tipping his head until their gazes locked, the oxygen monitor on her finger pressing into his neck. A line of worry crept between her brows, as if she sensed that concern for her wasn’t the only emotion making him vibrate like a tuning fork. “I’ll tell you. All of it.”
His gaze landed on the vital signs monitor, the uglyhospital gown, the pulse clip. “They’re not letting you go tonight.”
A flat statement, another flare of fury.
He stepped back, his hands spreading wide. If he let her distract him with kisses and sighs that tore through him, she’d knock him off balance. Off course. Off track. They’d end up with no questions asked, no answers given. No faith. No trust.
