“Yeah,” I agree quietly.
“I hate that it’s just…sitting there,” Cameron admits, voice low.
“Pops wanted to wait,” I remind him.
Cameron nods, jaw flexing. “I know. It’s just—” He cuts himself off, breath tight. “It makes it real.”
The word hangs in the kitchen like smoke.
My throat burns. I keep my voice steady. “It’s real either way.”
Cameron’s eyes flick to me. He studies me for a beat—like he’s checking if I’m still here, if I’m still solid, if I’m still the guy he can lean on.
And it makes my stomach twist, because the thing I’m not saying sits in my chest like contraband:
I kissed your sister.
Cameron looks away first, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits.
That makes two of us.
The honesty hits hard because he doesn’t admit that. Cameron is the guy who has a plan. Cameron is the guy who calls plays and runs drills and makes other people feel like everything’s under control.
I swallow. “None of us do.”
He huffs a laugh that isn’t funny. “Sloane thinks she does.”
My mind flashes to her girls’-day softness disappearing the second she stepped into the kitchen. To the way she snapped at me like anger is the only emotion she trusts.
“She’s…trying,” I say carefully.
Cameron’s eyes narrow slightly. “Yeah. She’s trying so hard she’s gonna snap.”
I nod once, because he’s right.
Cameron’s gaze flicks toward the hallway, then back. “Just—” He exhales. “If she starts being…extra.”
“Extra,” I repeat.
He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. If she starts picking fights over nothing or acting like she’s fine when she’s not—don’t take it personally.”
I almost laugh at the irony.
Because I’m takingeverythingpersonally.
I nod anyway. “I won’t.”
Cameron’s shoulders loosen a fraction, like that answer matters.
Then his eyes lock on mine again, serious. “Promise me you’re not going anywhere.”
My chest tightens.
Not “promise you’ll stay until dinner.”
Not “promise you’ll help with Pops’s meds.”
But “promise you won’t disappear back into your life and leave us with this.”
