I didn’t like the way things were going. Well, that was an understatement. For maybe the first time ever, I was in a bad situation and I didn’t have a plan to get out of it.
I pulled up the wide leg of my pants and gazed at the bright pink and red flowers that adorned the scars. The beauty of it was breathtaking, the way something so ugly had been transformed into something so lovely, all by Camden’s very skilled hands and his very skilled heart. A rush of emotions began to flood up from my chest, choking me. It felt like an unending flow, the budding blooms the source, and I let out a small sob that caught me by surprise. I hadn’t let myself think about Camden, to feel, and now it was catching up with me. He wasn’t here. He was somewhere else. And until he was placed in danger again, because of something I would or would not do, I had to get over him. He wasn’t here with me. He was with his ex-wife and his kid and knowing the good person that Camden was, the messed up and angry but undeniably good soul that he had, he would be with her. Maybe falling in love with her again, or maybe not, but he was with her and I was alone. I was here. And though I’d lived so much of my life on my own, being with Camden, no matter how brief, brought me something I never had. He made me feel safe, whether I was in arms or at his side or just in his presence. For the first time, I had a protector – and I never knew I needed one until then.
Now he was gone and I was on my own. I’d been alone long enough to know I wanted more, someone to believe in me, to love me, to have my back and serve as a shield at the front. It made me realize that I wasn’t invincible, immortal, and that I wasn’t always going to be able to make it on my own. Of course, now I had no choice. Camden was gone and though I’d been good about keeping him out of my head, ignoring the little welts on my heart, the pain – the strange emptiness – was surprising.
My defenses were crumbling.
There was a knock at my door and I quickly shoved the pant leg down. Javier hadn’t seen the tattoo yet. I felt like if he saw it, he’d be intruding on a private memory, I’d feel like his very eyes would taint it.
“What?” I asked, brushing the hair off my face while checking to see whether my eyes had leaked tears or not. They hadn’t. I was good.
The handle was jiggled, followed by another knock. I sighed and got off the bed, unlocking the door. I took a step back and it opened. Raul stuck his head in. Not that I wanted to see Javier, but I especially didn’t want to see him.
“Are you alright?” he asked, all beaky nose and widow’s peak. “I thought I heard you crying.”
I glared at him. He couldn’t have looked less concerned, in fact it looked like he found the whole thing to be funny.
“I’m fine, do you mind giving me some privacy?”
His face grew still for a moment before he smiled. “Sure thing. You know, if you ever need to talk, to someone who understands, who is just outside of the equation, you know you can talk to me.”
As if that didn’t sound insincere enough, his eyes traveled down to my chest and back and he ran the tip of his tongue over his teeth.
Before I could tell him to get the fuck out he winked at me and then shut the door. I locked it again, hoping he could hear it, and went back to the bed. I put my fingers up my pant leg, tracing them over the scars, imagining Camden’s hands on top of mine. Then I lay on my side and hoped for sleep to come so I didn’t have to suffer a moment longer.
CHAPTER TEN
CAMDEN
We had gone as far as La Cruces, New Mexico when we met the first of Gus’s contacts. After following I-10 for the last few days, the blistering sun making the interior of the GTO swelter like a fat man’s armpits, with minimal stops for gas and sleep, La Cruces was a sight for sore eyes.
As was Gus’s contact. Lydia DuShane was a Louisiana native who gave up running her battered coffee shop after Hurricane Katrina to run a pie shop in La Cruces. Though she was an older lady, late fifties, she was one who’d aged better than any of the plastic-coated women in LA. Her skin was relatively smooth and freckled, hair a mixture of red and grey, and blue eyes that were nicely wrinkled from smiling too much. She made me feel immediately at home, which was a bit jarring considering what Gus had told me about her.
“When she’s not baking pies, she’s bounty hunting,” he’d said as we pulled into town.
“Uh,” I said, fidgeting in my seat, “isn’t that kind of a problem for me?”
Gus gave me a dry look. “Hey, kid, there’s no bounty on your head yet. Besides, you’re with me. You’re one of the good guys.”
I raised my brow. Right.