Cam shakes her head. “That sounds like one hell of a martyr act, Beckett Donnelly. If I say yes to this, then you have to benefit somehow. Otherwise, I’ll feel like I’m taking advantage of you, and that’s not okay. So try again. What’s in it for you?”
I exhale, letting my chin dip down to my chest. Truthfully? I don’t know how to answer in a way she’ll accept. I sure as shit can’t tell her the truth — that seeing her hurting, is the most devastating feeling in the world. And I would do anything within my power to make it stop.
She means more to me than anyone outside of my family. But Cam won’t accept that.
“Remember in third year when I got mono? You slept on my couch for two weeks, made me soup, and collected assignments from my professors. Hell, you cleaned my apartment. I know you failed a midterm exam because of it, and it almost cost you your scholarship. Consider this my way of repaying you for that.”
Her arms fold across her chest as she stares at me, unflinching. “First off, I didn’tmakeyou soup. I heated up some canned soup. Second, your apartment was always clean, you’re Mister Neat Freak. Third, failing a midterm exam didn’t almost cost me my scholarship. I failed the class because the professor was a dick who didn’t like me contradicting his opinions on cost-reduction initiatives for nonprofit societies — that’s what almost cost me my scholarship.”
I throw my hands in the air in mock frustration, then lean forward, placing my forearms on the counter and stare straight back at her. “Okay, you’ve clearly got an answer ready for any reason I might have for wanting to do this for you. Just this once, Cam, can you let me in? Can you let me help you?”
To my surprise, Cam’s expression softens. The fight leaves her almost instantly. I start to worry it’s because I’ve pushed too far, but then she lets out a long, slow sigh and gives me a rueful grin.
“I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m being obtuse and difficult and stupid and —”
“Don’t forget stubborn and willful,” I say wryly, earning a slap to my arm. This time her eye roll has a bit more life to it — with fire, but the good, playful kind of fire.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
I nod slowly, my eyes never leaving hers. “Positive. It’s a simple thing, for all that it sounds complicated. A piece of paper and a few words said in front of a witness or two.”
She tugs her lip between her teeth again, and it’s torture holding myself back from smoothing it out with my thumb.
“There’s going to be stuff to organize. I don’t even know where to start. It’s not like ‘plan a quickie wedding’ was ever on my life goals.”
I hear the acceptance, and I hear the overwhelm. And finally, I give in to my need to touch her somehow, to ground her. Walking around the counter, I spin her on the stool to face me and place my hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. “Listen. If you’re going to let me do this, then let me. God knows you’ve got enough on your mind right now, you don’t need to be worrying about this as well. I’ll contact city hall in the morning, and we’ll go from there.”
Her slow nod sends a shot of relief through me. “Thank you. Just one request. Can we not do it at Cliveden City Hall?”
I chuckle at the annoyance in her tone, grateful it’s not directed at me. “No, not Cliveden. We’ll go into Brandon. Leave it with me, I’ll get the ball rolling in the morning. All we need is a license and a couple of witnesses.”
Cam stands up and stretches before smiling softly.
“I guess we’re getting married.”
I clear my throat before replying, suddenly choked up with an emotion I don’t want to admit to now or ever.
“Guess so.”
Chapter five
Beckett
The next day, I launch into action. A search of Manitoba’s provincial vital statistics website confirms that all we need is the license, two witnesses, and an officiant. If we take care of it at Brandon City Hall, that handles the officiant, and I’m banking on Wilbert’s lawyer to be one of the required witnesses, which leaves us only missing the second.
But first, we need a license.
Cam wakes up a couple of hours after me, and when she ambles into the kitchen and heads straight to her coffee maker, I’m happy to see she looks rested. Well, more rested than she seemed the last two days.
I wait for her to take the first few sips of coffee, remembering from our university years that she’s incapable of coherent conversation until she’s caffeinated.
Sure enough, after a couple of swallows and a soft hum of satisfaction, Cam shuffles past me with her mug in hand, mumbling “morning” under her breath. I follow her into the living room, watching her settle into a corner of the couch with her eyes still half closed.
“I see you’re still not a morning person.”
One eye cracks open a little more than the other. “Nope.”
A low chuckle escapes me as I lift my own mug to my lips and take a drink. “Let me know when you’re functional enough to talk.”
