“And you have no idea what I’ve seen in him,” I fire back.
Silence crashes between us.
He runs a hand over his face, exhaustion replacing some of the fury.
“I trusted him,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
“He was my brother.”
“And you’re mine,” I say, stepping closer. “You always will be.”
His eyes lift to mine, and for the first time tonight, I see more hurt than anger.
“You almost got hurt once because of a baseball player,” he says, voice softer now. “I heard you screaming on that field. I can still hear it sometimes.”
My breath catches.
“That was different,” I say gently. “That was someone who didn’t care about me.”
“And you’re so sure he does?” Kamden asks.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
He studies my face, searching for doubt.
He doesn’t find it.
“He said he’d request a transfer,” Kamden mutters.
“I didn’t ask him to,” I say quickly. “I don’t want him to. I don’t want anyone sacrificing their career because of me.”
“You think he’d actually do it?”
“Yes.”
Kamden looks away, jaw working.
“I don’t recognize him around you,” he admits. “He’s different.”
“He is,” I whisper. “With me. He is.”
He sinks down onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees.
“I was scared,” I say quietly, sitting across from him. “Not of him. Of losing you. Of losing my internship. Of everything blowing up.”
“Well,” he mutters, “that part came true.”
Tears sting again.
“I love him,” I say.
The words hang heavy.
Kamden closes his eyes for a second.
“When did that happen?” he asks.
