“You’ll probably die if you stay with me,” he told me.
“Then I’m dead either way, because I won’t survive without you.” There was nothing that he
could say that would convince me that being without him was the better option.
He sighed and shook his head. “Whatever I do just makes everything harder. Worse for you.”
It was in the flickering light of the fire that I noticed that familiar sparkle in his eyes and
suddenly I understood. The rush to get everything done, the fake yawn, the attempt at getting me
into bed, early … Cameron was right. I was broken. Probably beyond repair. But, in that moment,
and all those other moments, when it was just us, and especially when he looked at me like that,
smoldering, as if I were all he needed, I didn’t feel broken. Like a shattered coffee mug that
had been superglued back together—with him, I could barely feel the cracks. I felt whole.
I latched onto him. He kissed me and carried me to bed. The other stuff—life—was left behind
for another night.
Chapter Twenty-Six:
Deadly Risky Business
Cameron was sitting on the edge of the bed. The day had come, the one that we had both been
dreading. Today was Rocco’s funeral. Cameron had tried to avoid it as long as possible, waiting
until they found the rat—or at least until things got a little better. But it couldn’t be
pushed off any longer. Rocco needed to be put to rest, and we needed to move forward. The way
that Cameron was hunched over, his shoulders carrying the guilt of his little brother’s death,
this day was going to be difficult, agonizing for him.
In a movement that had become ours, I scrambled behind him and wrapped my arms around his
shoulders. There we sat, mentally preparing for what lay ahead, becoming one skin once again.
Dressed in black, we ascended the car. Cameron had shaved off the growing beard. I had missed
his face, but now I also missed the stubble. He was wearing a black suit and a tie, more
handsome than ever. I managed to find a wrinkled skirt that I had never worn and black flip-
flops to match. My duffle bag options were limited.
As we drove away, Cameron’s hand was squeezing mine so tight that my fingertips were going
numb.
“Tell me what you and the old man talked about back at the distribution plant,” he asked. His
voice was unsteady and his eyes never left the road in front of him.
I was content to provide his distraction. “His name is Jerry, but he likes to be called Pops,”
I started. While I gabbed, Cameron listened—or looked like he was listening. Perhaps he just
needed the noise. Although his hand never left mine, his grip slightly loosened after a while—
and I was able to feel my fingertips again. I told him everything, even shared Pops’s
perception of Cameron—but I did leave out his view on Cameron’s previous appearance of
inhumanity. This, I knew, would hurt him too much. Cameron found my reiteration of our debate
over the pros and cons of drugs to be particularly interesting.
“Does it bother you what I do?” he wondered.
I couldn’t lie to him, but I definitely did not want to tell him the truth. “It’s not …
ideal,” I said, treading very carefully.
“It’s okay for you to be bothered by what I do,” he said quickly. “In fact, you should be
bothered. It would be abnormal for you to think it was okay.”
Cameron paused in hopes of an answer, but I just shrugged my shoulders and remained silent. I
wasn’t about to fall for that one: the “it’s okay for you to tell me the truth as long as it
’s what I want to hear” trap.
“The old man whispered something to you as we left,” he continued with curiosity. “What did
he say?”
“Pops,” I corrected, “said that he hoped to see me again.”
“Absolutely not!”
“I know,” I sulked, “But you asked, so I told you.”
Cameron glanced at me and quietly chuckled at my lapse in maturity. After getting a small taste
of Cameron’s work, I was still convinced that I would be able to do some of what Cameron did.
But I could not fathom what it would be like to make those other decisions. My mind turned to
Griff.
“How did Griff end up working for Pops?” I kept my eyes on the road, tried to keep my voice as
unconcerned as possible.
“I needed to get rid of him, and they needed a guard. They owed me a favor anyway,” he
explained. Then he eyed me. “You thought I had him taken care of, didn’t you? Even after I
told you I didn’t.”
“The thought crossed my mind,” I admitted. I looked at him, trying to decipher his mood. He
didn’t look upset.
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” he reminded me.
“But you were also really upset the night he was caught climbing down from my room. Maybe even
a bit jealous?” I raised an eyebrow, testing.
“Maybe a lot jealous.” He chuckled embarrassedly. “But I knew it would have hurt you too much
if I had done anything to him.”