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Cameron opening the door to his apartment that first night. The way his burnished eyes went wide, pupils dilating as I stepped closer. When I kissed him, he froze for just a heartbeat before melting into me, his whole body softening like he’d been waiting for me his entire life. His hands came up tentatively to my shoulders, fingers trembling against the fabric of my sweater.

The way he felt in my arms afterward, solid and warm after years of wanting him from a distance. His heat against my chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my palm. The way his hair smelled, the way his skin was hot to the touch, flushed pink from arousal and exertion. I remember thinking that this was Cameron Rhodes. In my arms. Finally.

You did good, Cam. The way his whole face lit up, a blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. You’re so fucking perfect. Every word of praise made him glow, made him try harder, made him mine.

And the tenderness after. The way he’d curl into me, his head finding the hollow of my shoulder like it was made to fit there. His breathing would slow and deepen, his body going heavy and pliant with sleep. In those moments, the world was reduced to the feeling of his heartbeat against my ribs and the weight of him in my arms. It was everything.

My world finally clicked into place. Every jagged piece of myself that had never quite fit suddenly found its home. The chaos in my head went quiet. The constant striving, the performance, the desperate need to be enough, all of it faded when I was with Cameron. He made me feel seen. Not the version of myself I showed the world, but the real me. The broken, desperate, hungry me. And he wanted that version. He chose that version.

I loved him for years. From the moment I saw him and every time after. In the library leaning over his books, at the party on Culloden Moor, and again on the shinty field with mud streaked across his face and fire in his eyes, challenging me without words. I loved him through every brutal tackle, every stolen glance across the dining hall, every night I lay awake thinking about him until my body ached with want. I loved him when I hated him, when I hurt him, when I didn’t even understand what the feeling was.

And when I finally had him, when he was finally mine, it felt like coming home. Like everything I’d ever done, every choice I’d ever made, every mistake and triumph and moment of desperation had been leading me to him. To this. To the feeling of his skin against mine and his voice in my ear and his trust in my heart.

And now it’s over.

God, it hurts so much I can barely breathe.

But he’s safe now. That’s what matters. If I choose Cameron, I’ll have no future, nothing to offer him. I’ll only drag him down with me.

He’s angry, furious, probably, but he’ll move on. He’ll find someone else. Someone who doesn’t destroy everything they touch. Someone better than me.

The thought makes me want to scream.

It’s true that I manipulated him. I catfished him as Gwen, made him vulnerable, made him trust me when I had no right to that trust. I’m a monster. I kept Thom a secret. Even when Cameron asked, even when I knew it was eating him alive, I held on to it. Because I promised Thom I wouldn’t tell. But really because I was a coward.

And when I finally told him, I knew exactly what it would do. I knew it would end us.

I orchestrated this. Not consciously, maybe. But some part of me, the part that knows I don’t deserve Cameron, that knows I’ll only drag him down, engineered this ending. It was a clean break instead of a slow bleed, and it’s better this way.

But Cameron won’t see it like that.

He’ll see only the cruelty. The betrayal. The fact that I didn’t tell him that the person who taught me how to touch him, how to make him come apart in my hands, was the same person who made his life hell.

He hates me.

I pull the bedding over my head, cocooning myself in darkness and expensive fabric. I cry until my throat is raw, until my eyes are swollen, until there’s nothing left inside me but a hollow ache.

And even then, I keep crying.

Because I love him. Because I lost him. Because I had to.

Time will heal this, I tell myself. Time will make it bearable. I’ll move on. He’ll move on. We’ll both be fine.

But it’s a lie, right?

I cling to it anyway.

It’s all I have.

31

CAMERON

The apartment is shrouded in darkness. I stand in the entryway, my coat on, keys dangling from my hand. The silence is thick against my eardrums. My mind is blank. I stand there for minutes, maybe longer.

A door opens down the hall, and the sound breaks the trance. I pull off my coat, letting it fall to the floor.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Liam’s name appears on the screen. I stare at the message until the screen goes dark.