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When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. Cameron’s hands are still on my face, his fingers working through my hair at my temples. His eyes search mine like he’s looking for reassurance, maybe, or proof that this is real.
“Come here,” I murmur, and guide him toward the bed.
We drop onto it together, trapped in a tangle of limbs and his winter clothes. The moment his coat is unzipped, my hands are underneath, gathering him close until his weight settles fully over my chest. He sinks into me, pressing his face into my neck, exhaling warm rushes of air against my skin.
I can feel him thinking, working up to something.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” he asks finally, his voice muffled against my neck.
The question catches me off guard. I haven’t let myself think about Christmas. I haven’t let myself think about anything beyond the next day, the next hour, the next moment of trying to survive without him.
“I don’t know,” I say carefully. “Probably nothing.”
His brow furrows. “Nothing?”
I shrug, trying to keep my voice casual. “My family’s not really an option right now. I’ll probably just stay here. The frat house is pretty empty over break.”
The thought of it, of spending Christmas alone in this house, surrounded by empty rooms and silence, twists in my chest. But it’s what I deserve, isn’t it? After everything I’ve done. After the way I fucked everything up.
Cameron’s frown deepens. “That’s depressing as hell.”
“It’s fine,” I lie. “I’m used to being alone.”
“Well, I don’t want you to be alone.” His voice is firm, decided. “Come home with me. To Connecticut.”
“What?”
“Come home with me,” he repeats, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Spend Christmas with us.”
My heart races, panic and hope mixing together. “Cam, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s Christmas. I can’t just intrude on that.”
“You’re not intruding. I’m inviting you.”
“Your parents don’t even know me.”
“They will.” He shifts so he’s propped up on one elbow, looking down at me. “I want you to meet my mom. I want you there.”
I want you there. It’s not like Cameron to be so direct. He’s acting like it’s not a huge fucking deal that he’s asking me to meet his mother, to be part of his family’s Christmas.
“I don’t deserve this,” I say quietly.
Cameron’s expression softens. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. After everything I’ve done.”
“Lucien.” He cups my face again, forcing me to look at him. “I’m not asking you because you deserve it. I’m asking you because I want you there. Because the thought of you spending Christmas alone in this fucking frat house makes me want to punch something.”
I let out a shaky laugh despite myself. “Violent.”
“I’m serious.” His fingers stroke my collarbone. “Come with me. Please.”
I want to say yes. God, I want to say yes so fucking badly. But the fear is still there, this gnawing certainty that I’ll ruin it somehow, that I’ll contaminate his family time with my presence. His mother might take one look at me and see exactly what I am. Broken, fucked up, not good enough for her son.
“What if she hates me?” I ask. I can’t help that I sound pitiful.
