For a split second, I think she’ll pull away. But then, suddenly, she throws herself into Grayson’s arms and clings to him as if she’s been treading water for hours.
My heart painfully twists the more their reunion unfolds. I’m happy for Grayson. Honestly, I am. But I’m also heartbroken. I want that type of connection, that kind of security. To be loved by a man who will search for me for years and still adore all my imperfections would be a dream come true.
While breathing deeply, I close the laptop before giving myself a few minutes to grieve what might have been. Then, I head straight to bed so I can mourn in private.
32
GRAYSON
Ipull into the parking lot outside Cameron’s apartment before switching off the ignition. It’s so quiet I can hear the engine ticking as it cools. The sun has already set, and the building’s lights sparkle in the puddle of an afternoon downpour.
Cameron sits beside me, quiet and with her hand clutching a designer purse. While she impatiently waits for me to jog around the hood of my car and open her door, I drink her in, searching for something familiar, for something that feels like the girl I once knew.
She is as beautiful as I remember—petite, with big striking eyes and the cutest nose—but when I look at her, all I see is a stranger.
It makes me wonder if my search all these years was for closure, not reunion.
I’m relieved she’s stopped acting like she doesn’t know who I am. I needed that. I needed something to anchor me to a pursuit I’ve been apprehensive about since I shouted her name for the first time in years. But more than anything, I needed to remember that she didn’t ask for this to happen to her. She is an innocent in this sick and twisted game we call life.
I can’t forget that.
It’s just really fucking hard when the person you’re interacting with isnothinglike you recall.
Cameron isn’t bubbly and full of life. She’s cold and withdrawn and, at times, snarky. She snapped at the waiter for taking too long to refill her coffee, and when I jokingly said she should consider switching to tea, she refused to speak to me for the rest of our lunch date.
Her iciness is most likely my fault. I’m not known for hiding how I feel, and I’ve felt uncomfortable many times today. She’s probably been walking on eggshells all day.
There was a moment earlier, while I was tinkering with her motor, when I almost threw in the towel before the referee had even announced the start of the match. I didn’t want to force Cameron to interact with me, to dredge up memories she most likely wants to leave buried. But I also couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal I’ve mentioned previously.
Macy is encouraging my reunion with Cameron—she gave me tips on how to woo her, for fuck’s sake—but it still feels wrong.
After making sure Cameron got to her appointment on time, we spent the day together. We ate at a little café she said she liked, though she barely touched her food, before we browsed local boutiques. Our day included snippets most people would rate as a successful first date. It’s been good, I guess. But it feels forced.
Cameron carefully measures every word she speaks, as if she is reading from a script instead of her heart. Even the way she invites me in for a nightcap is weird. Anyone would swear she’s hosting a guest she can’t wait to see the back end of.
I still say yes, though.
Responsibilities are hard to forget, and I’ve been hoarding mine for years.
After opening her door and gathering the items I purchased for her today, we walk side by side down the corridor of Cameron’s apartment building. I search for words to make this feel less like a blind date between two people who couldn’t be more opposite, and more like a reunion, but my mind comes up blank.
“So…”Fuck, Grayson. Not a good start.“How long have you lived here?”
Cameron’s shoulder notches toward her ear as she shoves a key into the lock of her apartment. “A few months. It’s quiet, and no one asks questions.”
I nod, not sure what to do with that tidbit of information.
Following her inside, I want to question her about her life, but I keep quiet to avoid being reminded of how badly my father fucked this up for me.
I doubt anything could stop me from confronting him if I were once again pummeled with anger. Macy is miles away, and she’s the only person who can make me act rationally when the walls are crumbling in on me.
Needing something to take the edge off, I dump numerous boutique bags under the entryway table before heading to the small bar in the corner of the living room. Halfway there, I ask Cameron if she’d like a drink.
She glances at me with a disgruntled look, hardens her features, and then waves her hand over her midsection. “Can’t.”
“Shit. Sorry, I forgot.” I set down the pricy whiskey, then enter the kitchen. Though larger than Macy’s, it’s as empty as hers used to be before I showed up. “Do you have tea?”
Cameron shakes her head, her movements sluggish. “I probably shouldn’t drink, anyway. I’ll be up all night.”
