Chapter 30
“Jack and Jill, get up and get off.”
-Aaron
We return to the safe house in silence. There are times when I feel as if no words are needed between Camellia and me. Then there are other times when her silence feels like a deep cavern that I’ll never be able to cross.
There have been many moments when I wish I could go back in time and change what happened with us. Watching Camellia’s face as she recounted finding out about Sabine. How she was relieved when Owen died.
I saw the guilt etched into her face. A guilt I often caught in the mirror when I wished I had never met Sabine. Even though I have my daughters, my life would have been much easier.
“What are you looking for?” I lean on the doorway into the kitchen.
Camellia is methodically tearing open the cabinet doors. “Tequila. There has to be some in here.”
“No, I meant - what are you looking for in life,” I rephrase.
She stops with her hand on the cabinet door next to the fridge. There’s a slump to her shoulders as she whispers, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me.”
“Not sure.”
That feels like a tiny kick to the balls. And since I know I won’t get anything else out of her while she’s on her tequila-seeking mission, I stride over to the fridge, open the cabinet above it, and pull out a full bottle of Patron.
Her face lights up when I hand it over. “You shouldn’t have.”
“No doubt about that,” I agree. “I’m sure I’ll regret having them stock this in here, but for now, you’re up.”
A shit-eating grin crosses her face. She whirls around on one heel and makes a beeline for the cabinet containing the shot glasses. “You remember that class of probies we took out for rotgut?”
I snort. “Do I remember? One of those fuckers puked in my boots!”
“Big Guts! I forgot about him,” Camellia pours two shots and hands one over.
“Aptly named,” I clink my glass against hers, and we drink. I try to hide the cough, to be a manly man who can hold my liquor, but it’s no use. It’s been a minute since I had straight alcohol.
Camellia pats me on the back as she laughs. “Smooth, Sparky. Smooth.”
She pours another, and this time, the tequila goes down easier. Warning sirens go off in my head. I don’t need to lose my inhibitions around this woman. She’s captivating enough without my defenses being down.
“Whatever happened to Big Guts?”
“Oh, you’ll appreciate this,” I smile. “He’s over in Jacksonville. Training new firefighters.”
That gets a laugh out of her. My body warms from the inside out. It could be the tequila. It could be the victory of making her laugh again. I know she lets loose all the time, but I wonder when the last time she relaxed.
“Those poor probies,” Camellia clucks her tongue and hands me our third shot.
I grab her glass before she shoots it back. “Camellia, if we drink any more shots, I’ll be done for tonight.”
Her eyes twinkle with mischief. “Really, Chief? What did you have in mind?”
I set our glasses next to the sink. “I had a mind to make love to you in an actual bed. We didn’t quite finish what we started at my house.”
She stiffens. “Yeah, well, whose fault is that.”
I point at her, then me. “Both of ours.”
