But it feels different.
Lighter somehow.
Cam steps in behind me and closes the door gently.
The click is quiet.
Final.
His hand lingers on the handle a second, like he’s making a decision with it. Then he turns toward me.
I’m still wrapped in his jacket. Still warm from the stage lights and the adrenaline and the fact that he saidwifeinto a stadium full of strangers.
We stand there for a beat, looking at each other like two people holding something fragile and enormous.
Then we move.
No big plan. No discussion. Just gravity.
We end up on the couch. Me first, cross-legged, tucking my feet under me. Cam sits forward, forearms on his knees, shoulders wide, posture protective without trying.
I twist the cuff of his jacket sleeve around my fingers until the fabric creases.
My voice comes out small.
“I thought I lost you,” I whisper. “That night we fought… I thought I ruined everything.”
Cam’s head dips. He stares at the floor for a second like he’s reading something there.
“I thought I ruined everything,” he says.
Cam’s mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. Almost.
“This whole time…” My fingers keep twisting. “I kept waiting for you to turn out like my ex.”
Cam’s jaw tightens. His eyes flick up, sharp, then soften when he sees my face.
“To cheat,” I continue, forcing the words out before they can rot inside me. “To walk away.”
Cam’s hands flex once on his knees. Controlled. Contained. Like there’s a tackle happening in his chest and he’s refusing to go down.
“So you pushed me away first,” he says quietly.
It isn’t accusation. It’s understanding. Which somehow feels worse and better at the same time.
“I didn’t want to,” I say, shoulders lifting in a helpless half-shrug. I can hear the embarrassment in my own voice. I hate it. “But fear got loud.”
Cam nods once.
Slow.
Steady.
“I can understand that,” he murmurs. “I was afraid too.”
I blink hard.
Because I didn’t expect him to give me that.
