“You tried. You called, texted, you even sent money on occasion. It—it’s not you. It’s me, I just—” Her eyes gloss with unshed tears, and I wish I could take all of her hurt and confusion away this second.
“You had nobody, and it’s like you’re trying to make up for that by seeking out attention from anyone that will show it to you.” I fill in the missing pieces, telling her exactly what is going on. No sugar coating it.
She picks at her dress mindlessly and I know I nailed the problem.
“Yeah, maybe,” she mutters.
“Have you thought about therapy?” It sucks, but it can help. I went on occasion at the college, it helped some, but only briefly.
“Ha! That costs money. Believe me I’ve looked. Drugs on the street are cheaper.”
And… I’m pretty sure Mom just rolled over in her grave.
“You know Dad would help you get into therapy, he himself went for a while.” I remember Dad going for an hour a day the week Mom died. I swear it made him angrier though.
She sits up, her eyebrows pinching forward so hard her face scrunches.
“Tate, do you know how much debt Dad is in? All the doctor bills from Mom, and treatment facilities, and that funeral… he’s about to lose the house!”
My stomach knots. “How do you know that?”
“I was cleaning up while he was in the hospital and found all the past due bills stashed in a drawer.”
“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath. “We can’t lose the house, it’s the only thing left we have to remind us of Mom.” When I was little Mom told me the story of how she got the house. Mom spotted it and knew it was the one, but it wasn’t even on the market. Dad found another house across town and right before Mom and Dad made an offer on the house across town, the one she wanted went for sale but was out of their budget. Mom sold her car, which she worked for everyday as a teenager, just to get the house. She said she knew it was the one to raise a family in. There were so many flaws, but her and Dad fixed them all over the years to make it our home.
“Davis?” A doctor in a white coat calls from the double doors. Journey and I both jump up and head toward her. Her black hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she’s got wrinkles under eyes from lack of sleep.
“Davis, that’s us,” I inform, reading her name tag. Dr. Angela.
“Right, your father has suffered a mild heart attack, he seems to be fine but we want to keep him and run some tests. Also I will be prescribing him some nitro pills just in case this should happen again—”
“Again, this will happen again?” Journey panics.
“Well, unfortunately after they’ve had one, they’re more susceptible to having another. It’s just for precaution at this point, after we run more tests we should know what we’re dealing with a little bit more,” Dr. Angela informs us kindly. My head hangs, I can’t lose another parent.
“Can we see him?” I ask, wanting to see him alive, my only comfort at this point.
“Yes, go ahead.” She smiles, and makes her way to the nurse station.
“Tate?” Turning, I find Camden. My body temperature instantly rises seeing him here. I can’t help but rake him from head to toe. His hair is wet from a fresh shower. He’s wearing a fitted blue shirt and dark jeans with a brown belt. You can’t even tell he’s been in a fight, unless you look at his knuckles. They’re bruised with fresh cuts. “I saw them wheel your dad into the back of the ambulance. Is he okay?” His forehead wrinkles in worry and I realize he didn’t even know why I was fighting Scotty in the first place.
“Go ahead, I’ll be right in,” I instruct Journey.
Turning, I step closer to Camden so everyone in the waiting room doesn’t hear our business.
“Yeah, he had a heart attack. Scotty punched him in the chest, and I just… lost it on him.” I close my eyes, replaying everything in a blink of an eye.
“Good thing I didn’t know that, I’m not sure Scotty would be breathing right now,” Camden informs casually as he slips his hands into his jean pockets.
My chest constricts as I fall in love with Camden all over again. His need to protect my family the most romantic thing ever.
“Well, the doctor just said he’d be fine.” I breathe a sigh of relief.
Camden reaches for my face, his fingers trailing under my left eye. His touch leaves behind a blazing trail of desire, and I hold my breath.
“You’re going to have a black eye, you should put some ice on that.” His jaw ticks, as his eyes harden. He drops his hand and I finally breathe. The way just one touch from him affects me bewilders me. My body has never responded to anything or anyone like it does with Camden.
“My first black eye, I guess I can say I’m well on my way to the pros, huh?” I try to make light of the situation, but my eye really does freaking hurt now that he points it out. Placing his hands in his pockets, he looks the other way. He’s not seeing the humor in it.
“Hey, Dad wants to see you,” Journey grabs my attention from the double doors.