“Comfort food. Nana’s brownies.” I balance myself against the counter as I fish the whisk out of the drawer. I don’t even know why I have the damn thing. In six years here, I’ve neverusedit.
“Cam, come sit down with me for a few minutes. You look like someone broke your favorite toy. Which is about howIfeel.”
“I have to get these brownies in the oven.” The eggs froth under my vigorous attention, and when they look right, I set the bowl aside so I can add the chocolate to another dish for microwaving. Nana would chide me, but I don’t own a doubleboiler.
“I’m exhausted, angel, and I have to be…somewhere at 5:00 a.m. Take a break. Please.” West reaches for my arm, but I take astepback.
“You don’t understand. I have to do this right now.” Brownies have never been so important. Somewhere deep down, I know I'm being irrational, but I can taste those MREs, feel the baking sun on the back of my neck, hear my crew making fun of me for the lengths I’d go to for those brownies. And then Royce’s curt dismissal rings in my ears, and my eyes starttoburn.
“You can’t give me ten minutes? What the hell happened today that making brownies is moreimportantthan—“
My heart threatens to burst from my chest, and the edges of my vision darken as panic takes over. “Nothing else is working! My code is broken, I don’t know how I’m going to save the project, my best friend quit today—I’ve probably lost him forever—and everything hurts. I haven’t had these brownies in eighteen years, and I can’t even remember the damn recipe!” I turn away from West. As I reach for the bowl of eggs, I misjudge the distance through the haze of tears, and then the glass tumbles to the tile floor with a sickening crack and a splatter of egg-coatedshards.
“Dammit!” More tears threaten, and I try to brace a hand on the counter so I can stoop for the larger pieces, but West drops to his knees and starts piling the remains of the bowl inonehand.
“Hand me that towel.” Once he’s mopped up most of the liquid, he peers up at me, two of the larger pieces of the bowl balanced in his palm. “Can you call your mother for therecipe?”
“No.” I have to force the word out over the lump in my throat as I pull a second, smaller bowl from thecabinet.
After he tosses the broken pieces in the trash, he presses his hand against the small of my back to try to urge me from the kitchen. “Whynot?”
The dam breaks, and suddenly I’m shouting. “Because my parents kicked me out when I graduated high school! I haven’t spoken to my mother since I woke up in the hospital ten years ago, and thelastthing I need right now is a lecture on how I ruinedmylife!”
“I…” He wrestles with his words, the helpless sounds only driving my emotions higher. Pity, shock, and a hint of frustration play across his features, and the fresh egg slips from my fingers to roll across the counter. I track the fall, and as the shell shatters, sodoI.
"I don't have birthdays and holidays with cards and flowers and mom's apple pie. My life isn't this neat little package you can wrap into a bow, West. It's messy and complicated, and right now, it just fucking sucks. So don’t tell me to ‘call my mom’ or ‘sit down’ or ‘take a deep breath.’ I’mjustdone."
He doesn’t know what to do with me. That’s fine. I don’t know what to do withmyself.
"It's late, and I have to be at work at seven. And I still need to make these damn brownies. I think you shouldgohome."
He stiffens and balls his hands into fists as he closes his eyes, and a muscle in his jaw ticks until he speaks again. "Look, I'll help you with the brownies. You're upset, and I'm worried you're going to hurtyourself."
My walls rise, higher and stronger than ever before, and despite the urge to cut West a door so he can join me on the other side, I can only offer him a coldstare.
"I can take care of myself. Been doing it for a long time. I don’t needyourhelp.“
We face off with a broken egg and pieces of glass between us, the scent of chocolate perfuming the air. He breaks first, and as his shoulders slump and he shoves a hand into his pocket, I’m not sure if I’ve wonorlost.
"I thought—” He runs his free hand through his hair. “Never mind.” Then he turns on his heel. As he yanks open my door, he tosses a glance over his shoulder. “I won’t be around for a while, Cam. Just thought youshouldknow.”
The door slams, and I stare at the remnants of my feeble attempt at comfort. I’m spent. I couldn’t muster a tear now if I shoved half an onion directly into my eyes, despite the shame I feel. With a groan, I lower myself to the floor so I can clean up my mess. Well, one of them. The fractured pieces of my soul might be beyondfixing.
14
West
The droneof the plane’s engines—along with the stress and anticipation that kept me up all night—lull me into a Zen state. Neither asleep nor awake, I hover on the edge of consciousness, Cam’s last words onrepeat.
“I can take care of myself. Been doing it for a long time. I don’t needyourhelp.”
Fuck those goddamnbrownies.
“You ready for this?” Ryker’s booming voice through my headset jars me awake, and my heart stutters before I get my breathing under control. He peers down at me, a hand steadying himself on one of the plane’s support struts. “You looklikeshit.”
“Whose fault is that?” I gesture to the bruise above my right eye. Despite my training, Inara got a couple of good jabs in, and my knuckles still ache from the impact with Coop’s back. “You’ve seen me on mission. Once we hit the ground, I’llbegood.”
A shadow passes over Ryker’s scarred cheek. “Never saw anyone focus the way you do, Sampson. Analyze the situation for weak points, execute a plan without a single fault. I owe youmylife.”
