Page 82 of Stud

We sipped our coffee. The icemaker in the freezer churned. “A bit. Had to figure some stuff out.”

“And have you?”

A sly grin curved his lips. He didn’t reply, but the sound of a flushing toilet came from behind us, and my anger surged. I couldn’t keep it contained these days, but he was doing it again—using flings to avoid the one thing that truly mattered: love. It was bullshit, would only hurt him in the long run, when he had a shot at something real.

Lowering my voice, I hissed, “Fucking around isn’t the answer. I spoke with Cameron. He’s into you, and by the sounds of things, you feel the same. If you do this, start sleeping around again, he won’t be there at the end.”

“And what do you know about seeing things through?” he bit back. We faced each other, forearms on the counter, angry glares locked. “Jimmy called me this week, told me about Tessa’s stunt and said you’ve dropped down a wormhole over Ainsley. I thought I’d give you time to wallow, but you look like utter shit.”

“Fuck you.”

“I had plenty last night, thanks.” He winked, and I had half a mind to smack the smirk from his face. He barely paused. “You’re as screwed up as me, by the way. Terrified to let people go, then scared to hold onto something real. Tessa is certifiable. I’m pleased as shit she’s out of your life, but don’t let what happened with her ruin your chance with Ainsley.”

Except it wasn’t Tessa who’d ruined us. Not really. Ainsley had let her past influence her present and couldn’t trust me. She’d turned on me like Caroline and my other friends. Or did she need me to push harder, convince her I wasn’t like her ex? Drill it in that having faith in me wasn’t repeating her mistakes. If I’d done that, maybe I’d have found a way to do the same—realize loving her wasn’t repeating mine.

I wasn’t sure when this intervention had become about me, but I found myself weakening, my hurt and confusion spilling out. “I love her. I’ve never felt anything this intense before.” The truth had me sinking heavier on my stool. “But how do I know she feels the same? Tessa didn’t. I’ve owned stuff that went down between us, but she didn’t want me in the end, not until she couldn’t have me. So how do I know I won’t wind up here again, another breakup, more heartache? And Ainsley didn’t believe me. I told her the truth, laid it all out for her, and she still couldn’t trust me. If we don’t have trust, what the hell do we have?”

Before he could answer, footsteps padded toward us. I gritted my teeth, reminding myself to be nice. Telling Emmett’s latest fling to take a hike wouldn’t help matters.

“You guys look serious.”

I startled at the familiar voice and turned to see Cameron in his boxers, inked chest on display. He walked over to my brother, looped his arm around his waist, and kissed the back of his neck. He moved into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee, smiling as though it were any ordinary Wednesday. “I’ll have this in the bedroom. Leave you two to it.”

I chuckled to myself as he left, then knocked Emmett’s shoulder. “You sly dog. You’re actually giving him a chance.”

He spun his mug, a blush cresting his cheeks. “Took a while to realize he was worth the risk. And in answer to your question: you and Ainsley have love…and love, I’ve come to realize, is fucking terrifying. It makes trusting harder, because it means the fall if you get hurt could be crushing. It’s how I felt when Mom left, and I didn’t want to chance experiencing that again. My guess is Ainsley is dealing with similar crap over her ex. So, no—you won’t know for sure she feels the same or won’t freak out again in the future, like I don’t know for sure this thing with Cameron won’t backfire. But the idea of losing him was worse.”

Yawning, he rubbed his eye. “Look, no matter what else happens, we both have Nana. And”—he lifted the side of his tank top, displaying freshly inked ribs—“we’ll always have each other.”

“You got a tattoo?”

“It’s been an odd month.” He dropped the fabric before I could puzzle out the four cursive words. “You don’t need to read it though.”

“Why’s that?”

“You have the same tattoo. Only mine’s in English and not on my ass.”

Motherfucker. “I either stick you in a headlock right now, or you show me your tattoo.”

“But it’s been so fun, you not knowing what it means.”

“Emmett…” My warning tone held no humor.

“Calm your tits.” Instead of grinning his cocky grin, he lowered his voice. “The anniversary of Mom’s epic display of motherhood is coming up, which fed into me pushing Cameron away and getting the ink. But the night of your ass tattoo…what was it? The nine year anniversary of her leaving?”

I huffed out a sad laugh at the passage of time. Nine years back then meant this anniversary would be eighteen.

“We were both sloppy drunk,” he pushed on, “but you were worse. Fucking annihilated. You kept going on about how you’d never leave me. How you’d take care of me and make sure I was happy, as though you could fix what she’d done. Always taking on the role of mother and father.”

“It was my job,” I murmured.

“Self-imposed, maybe. But you admitted something to me that night. You were tanked and talking gibberish, but your eyes cleared at one point. You said something like ‘I’m not good enough. Not for her. Not for some father I never met. Probably not for you.’ It was the first time I saw the weight of what she’d done hit you.”

As kids, it had been on me to make sure Emmett brushed his teeth and went to sleep at a reasonable hour when left afloat in our hippie commune. I’d force him to clean up after dinner, taught him to kick a soccer ball and ride a bike. Always being the parent. I may have cried to Nana after she’d come to claim us, but never in front of Emmett.

I had to be the strong one.

“Back to the ink,” I said, my voice gruff.