Chapter Thirteen
Jesus Christ,it was hot out here. Cort felt a bead of sweat drip down between his shoulder blades as he stood behind Cam, who was staring at his company plane completely transfixed, as though he’d never seen the thing before. Was this one of those rich-guy eccentricities, staring in awe at a symbol of your own wealth? He rolled his eyes and felt the bad mood that had been riding him all afternoon kick up an extranotch.
Most of Cort’s sourness had begun when a town car showed up to collect him from his little duplex in Dorchester. He was fairly certain Mrs. Avila, who lived on the first floor, was gonna give him shit the next time she saw him, and she didn’t even know he was taking the car to aprivate planeat aprivateairfield.
One final envelope from Damon had arrived just that morning, long after Cort had woken up smiling and actuallyanticipatingthis weekend for reasons having nothing to do with solving a case, finding his brother, or getting justice. He’d been sitting with his phone out on his coffee table, thinking about what he should text Cam, how much overt flirtation Cam would put up with, when the intercom had announced a package for him.Overnight shipping.Weird.
As soon as he’d pulled the tab, the dull, black device slipped out onto the table, and realization had whacked him upside thehead.
This wasn’t supposed to be a romanticweekend.
He’d almost forgotten the originalpurpose.
Guilt had swooped in immediately, swamping any lust, any friendliness, anyanticipationCort had been feeling. How could he have forgotten Damon, when Damon should have been Cort’s onlypriority?
Then a paper had fluttered out a second later, a note in familiar, blocky handwriting - “Will message this weekend,” and the familiar resentment wasback.
There were no messages on the phone, no numbers programmed, not a single communication from Damon asking whether Cort was okay, or making sure he’d been able to find a way to St. Brigitte, just a simple expectation he’d bethere.
Not that he didn’twantDamon to expect him, butGod.
Bitterness churned in his gut, along with yet more guilt, a heaping helping of anxiety, andwhatever it washe felt for Cam but hadn’t quite put a name to yet. The combination set him on edge and made him sound like more of an ass than usual when he threw a hand out in the direction of the plane and said, “We gonna stand out here all day admiring the thing? It’s hot ashell.”
Cam startled and turned back to look at Cort. His eyes were wide andhurt.
Cortflinched.
He was being a jerk, but he wasn’t sure how the hell to distance himself from Cam mentally or emotionally when every instinct told him to do theopposite.
He grabbed Cam’s laptop bag from his hand, hefted his own backpack onto his shoulder, and nudged Cam’s arm to get himmoving.
Slowly, reluctantly, Cam walked forward, then paused at the base of the steps, as though he was having secondthoughts.
“Remember you’re doing this for Sebastian,” Cort warned, deliberately injecting a challenge into hisvoice.
As Cort had known he would, Cam sucked in a breath and straightened his spine resolutely. “Thanks so much,” he said sourly. “You’re nothelping.”
Cort shrugged. “Let’s just get in before Imelt.”
Cam scowled over his shoulder. “You do realize we are going to a Caribbean island, right? Near the equator? Where it’s likely going to be even hotter and more humid than it is inBoston?”
Cort rolled his eyes, only realizing after he’d done it that Cam wouldn’t be able to see him through his sunglasses. “Well, I won’t wanna stand outside down there, either, badass.” He nudged Cam again, and Cam ascended the steps quickly, only to pause again when he stepped into theplane.
The door was located near the front of the aircraft, just behind the cockpit. Straight ahead was a miniscule kitchen area with a refrigerator and sink, but to the right, the cabin opened into an area that looked like a tiny living room, the kind of thing rock stars had on their tourbusses.
There were two leather captain chairs, which swiveled round, along with a low wooden coffee table and matching end tables flanking a huge leather sofa. The sofa, complete with seatbelts - ran nearly the length of the cabin. At the tail of the plane, he could see an open door in front of large bed, and to one side was a closed door he could only imagine led to thebathroom.
All in all, this plane was nicer than most of the houses he’d lived in growing up, and the price tag could probably have bought and soldallof those houses twice over. He wasn’t sure why he kept fixating on money, except that it somehow reinforced that he and Cam, with their different backgrounds, had been doomed from thebeginning.
Cam seemed to be frozen in place again, staring at a picture mounted on the wall in the kitchen area. Three guys, definitely early 90s based on the way they were dressed, huddled with their arms over each other’s shoulders. There was a small shovel laid on a mound of dirt in the front of them, and they looked as giddy as toddlers who’d made a sandcastle. Cort recognized a younger Emmett Shaw, Levi Seaver, and Jonathan McMann. He had no idea why Cam was captivated by it,though.
“Cam?” Cort said impatiently. “You wanna move so I can get past you with the bags,dude?”
“What? Oh, yeah,” Cam apologized. He took a small step toward the front of the plane, and Cort edged around him to the rear, plunking their carry-on bags on the coffee table before throwing himself down on the sofa. The phones -twophones for fuck’s sake, when he’d rather not haveany- dug into his hip as he sat, so he placed them both on thetable.
“What’s the deal with the picture?” Cort asked. He didn’t like the way Cam stared at it - the tension in his shoulders, the way his face was pale underneath those gorgeous freckles despite the undeniable warmth in the air. As much as he tried to tell himself Cam’s feelings weren’t his problem, he knew it was alie.
Cam cleared his throat. “Uh, I forgot it was here, I guess, and it’s just strange to see mydad.”
