We haven’t said the “L” word yet, but it’s there every night when we tuck Crissy into bed and every morning when I wake up with Nat in my arms, feeling like the luckiest man in the world that I get to spend another day working and playing with my favorite person.
So, basically, I should have known the shit was about to hit the fan.
In my experience, the universe prefers balance in all things, and that includes pairing giddy, romantic joy with an occasional gut punch from the uglier side of reality, just to keep a man’s feet on the ground.
Still, when I arrive home on Sunday morning—eager to do a quick load of laundry before heading back to Nat’s—to find Jess waiting for me at the kitchen table with a haunted expression, I don’t assume her doom face has anything to do with me.
I remain blissfully ignorant until she holds up a hand and shouts, “Wait! You can’t run away again until we talk. All of us. Together. Evie, Harlow, get in here, Cam’s home!”
Almost instantly, my other roommates pop out of their rooms, similarly fretful expression on their faces.
Dumping my dirty laundry bag on the floor by our pile of shoes, I kick off my boots and wander toward the table, my hands parked on my hips. “Okay. What’s up? I paid my rent and my share of the electric bill, and I’m going to take the garbage and recycling out before I leave later this afternoon. But I would encourage you all to get comfortable with the idea that you are also capable of taking out the trash. You know, just in case I end up moving out at some point. You won’t want to drown in your own detritus.”
“Nonsense,” Harlow says, “trash is a man’s job. At least around here. There are rats down there by the trash cans, Cameron. Big rats, capable of devouring little Evie or Jess in one gulp.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to be the one in charge when I’m not here, Stretch,” I say, nudging her playfully in the ribs with my elbow as she stops beside me.
But instead of the sarcastic comeback I’m expecting, she twines her arms around my neck and hugs me tight, whispering, “Okay, but I’m going to miss you if you leave for good. You’re like the brother I never had.”
“You’re like the brother I used to wish I had before Derrick softened up and quit treating me like a two-year-old,” Evie says, throwing her arms around both of us for a tight squeeze. “And you’re one of my favorite humans. I miss your face.”
“And your food,” Harlow says, her voice muffled against my chest. “Evie’s trying, but after all the gourmet stuff, my palate is distressed by stir-fry for dinner every night.”
“You can pick up a spatula yourself, then, princess,” Evie says pleasantly, still hugging us both. “You know I hate cooking as much as you do.”
“Impossible,” Harlow says, also pleasantly. “I hate it more than a UTI and fire ants in my pants combined.”
“None of which is what we’re gathered here to discuss today,” Jess says, frowning at Evie and Harlow as they release me with a sigh. “We’re here for Cam’s benefit, not to bitch about the garbage or Evie’s sub-par cooking skills.”
“Hey!” Evie says, grabbing a peanut from the bowl on the kitchen table and tossing it at Jess’s chest before she plops into her chair. “I’m trying, you know. Not everyone in this apartment can say the same, Jessica Allison Cho.”
“I’m sorry,” Jess says. “You know I love you. I just hate your stir-fry and the thought of learning to cook at this point in my life feels about as impossible as climbing Everest with a bag of feral cats strapped to my back. Now sit, Cameron. We have something important to discuss.”
“Okay,” I say, settling into a chair at the head of the table, opposite Jess. “What’s up?”
“It’s Natalie,” she says, pushing a red folder forward. Evie and Harlow shift it along until it’s resting in front of me. “There are things you should know.”
I shake my head and lift my hands at my sides. “No. No fucking way. I told you not to do the deep dive until I gave the go-ahead, Jess, and I didn’t give the go-ahead. I trust Natalie and she trusts me and I’m not going to fuck that up by nosing around in her past.”
“Even if her past includes a convicted felon who tried to kill her at least once?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Cameron
My heart turns to ice in my chest, making it hard to pull in my next breath. “What?” I ask, certain I must have heard her wrong.
Jess nods toward the folder. “It’s all in there. His name is Phillip Carver, which is a pretty fucked-up name considering he likes to attack women with knives. He stabbed a girl in college and his ex-wife three times in the chest. She nearly died, but she didn’t, so he was only sentenced to three years in prison. He ended up serving eighteen months of that before he was released for good behavior. He met Natalie about ten months after that.”