“I’ve told you I’m not going anywhere,” Cameron continued when Asher didn’t respond. “They’re not just words. I’ve backed it up by still being here.” He stared down at the peeling paint on the porch and shook his head. “I don’t know what else I can do.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m here, Asher.” Cameron’s head snapped up, and he pinned him with a stare so intense Asher swore he could feel it in his soul. “I’m in this. I can handle your drama, and if I couldn’t, I promise I’d tell you. I don’t need you to protect me.”
But Asher needed it.
He needed to keep Cameron safe, keep him whole and happy. No one would blame the guy if he wanted off the crazy ride that had become Asher’s life, least of all Asher. Hell, he’d walk away from it all in a heartbeat, but unfortunately, he didn’t have that luxury. Cameron did, and running in the opposite direction would be the best decision he ever made.
Cameron spoke into the silence. “Let me help you.” His voice was soft, almost pleading. “Let me be there for you.”
Asher wanted that, but he couldn’t accept the offer, not right then. His head was too fucked up, too filled with the past, and he needed to leave before he broke something between them he couldn’t fix. Until he got hisshit together, he wasn’t any good to anyone, least of all Cameron.
“I’ll call you. I just…I need to go. I need some time.”
Cameron looked as if he’d argue, but after a pregnant pause, he dipped his head once. “Yeah, okay. If you need anything—”
“I’ll call you,” Asher repeated.
Cameron stepped up onto the porch and shuffled a few steps backwards toward the door. “Okay, then. Goodnight, Asher.”
The pain in his voice and the dejected slump of his shoulders, lanced at Asher’s heart, but he couldn’t bring himself to call Cameron back.
He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what he wanted. Fuck, he didn’t even know who he was anymore.
The one thing he was certain of, however, was that he needed to figure it out, and fast, before he ended up irrevocably destroying the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Chapter Twelve
“Dude, you are seriouslydepressing.”
Sprawled on his sofa, Cameron rolled his head to glare at his best friend. “No one is making you stay. Feel free to leave whenever you want.”
Nico lounged back in the adjacent armchair and lifted a bottle of water to his lips, his gaze never straying from Cameron’s face. There was so much judgment in those dark eyes Cameron could practically feel it brushing against his skin.
For a long time, the only sound that filled the room was the patter of rain against the windows. It was a melancholy sound, as sullen and apathetic as Cameron’s mood.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Nico blurted into the uncomfortable silence. “Just call him.”
“He said he’d call.” That had been thirty-six hours ago. If Asher wanted to talk to him, he would have called.
“I don’t need to point out that you’re being fucking ridiculous, right? You knew what you were signing up for when this shit started.”
“Yes, and I think I’ve done a pretty good job navigating the press and still keeping my sanity.”
“Fair enough,” Nico conceded with a sharp nod. “That’s not what I meant, though. I’m talking about Asher.” He waved his hand as if erasing an invisible chalkboard. “Forget all this media bullshit. He was a douchebag long before that.”
Cameron bristled at the insult, pushing up on the sofa to glare at Nico. “That’s not fair.”
Sure, Asher could be a little rough around the edges. He was rash and impulsive, and Cameron had never met anyone so prone to self-sabotage or reckless idiocy. But he was also sweet, thoughtful, and incredibly generous. No, he didn’t trust easily, not that Cameron could blame him, but once Asher let someone in, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for them.
“The guy is fucking broken,” Nico responded flatly.
Tensing, Cameron clenched his teeth together until his jaw ached, pissed off and indignant on Asher’s behalf. “He is not broken,” he practically growled. “He’s just…”
What exactly was he?
He was resilient. Cameron didn’t think he could have lived through everything Asher had and ended up even half as well-adjusted. He doubted many could. Kyle Anders was a perfect example of that.
