Page 49 of Dirty Little Mistake

Cam's words hung in the air, sharp and final. 'You know the way out.' It was exactly what I'd expected, but that didn't dull the ache in my chest. I'd hurt her more than I'd realized. I had taken the one thing that was most important to her—her family—and I didn't even know it.

She was too drunk to have this conversation tonight, so I willingly left even though I didn't want to. I wasn't giving up that easy. I would be back to check on her.

I rounded the back corner of the house, heading to Jax's bike parked around the front. A loud squeal, followed by a soft thud and splash, echoed through the silent night. I paused, straining to hear. It sounded like someone fell into a pool. My eyes widened. "Cam."

I spun around and bolted back to where I'd left Cam. She wasn't there. "Fuck." My legs burned as I sprinted, heart in my throat. Through the rippling water, I caught a glimpse of pale skin and floating hair. Cam. I pushed my legs harder and faster.

Without a second thought, I plunged into the icy water, my boots and phone forgotten. The chlorine stung my eyes as I pushed through the water, my lungs burning for air. My fingers grazed skin before I hooked an arm around her limp form and kicked desperately toward the surface.

I sucked in a harsh breath as I broke the surface. "Cam," I shouted, pulling her to the edge. "Camryn, please say something." My muscles burned and trembled as I fought against the water's resistance, dragging us both to the shallow end. Chlorinated waves sloshed around my waist, and my wet clothes clung to my body.

With a grunt, I heaved Cam's limp form over the pool's edge as I climbed out after.

"Camryn," I cried out, shoving her onto her back, the thought of losing her consuming me so tightly I struggled to breathe. "Camryn, I need you to breathe, baby. Please breathe." Time seemed to warp and stretch, each heartbeat thundering in my ears like a drum. Seconds crawled by agonizingly slow, every breath filled with fear and desperate hope.

Her body convulsed suddenly, a violent cough racking her frame. Water gushed from her mouth in a torrent, splashing onto her chin and neck as she gasped and sputtered, fighting for air.

"Oh, thank god." My shoulders sagged, and I exhaled sharply, tension draining from my body as Cam coughed and sputtered.

She fell back, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. Her unfocused eyes, glassy from alcohol and fear, finally locked onto mine, filled with a mix of confusion and relief. "You're still here."

I nodded. "And I'm staying. You're too drunk to be alone."

"I'm fine," she breathed.

"Yeah." I rolled my eyes. "You are, but I'm still staying. If you want me to sleep downstairs on the couch, I will, but I amstaying. If you want me to leave when you've sobered up in the morning, fine, but I am staying."

"Wha'ever," she slurred, struggling to sit up.

"Let me help you inside," I said, wrapping my arm around her back and the other under her knees.

Her hands pressed against my chest, fingers splayed wide. "Do not touch me." Her voice was a mix of anger and vulnerability. She pushed again, harder this time.

"Cam." I cupped her face, wrapping my fingers around the back of her neck and forcing her to look at me. "I just thought I lost you, and I don't think I've ever been that scared. So, please, just let me help you. I need to know you are okay."

Sighing, she nodded, and I scooped her off the ground. Extending to my full height, I carried her into the house, soaking wet. I walked through the kitchen, into the living room, and up the stairs to her bedroom.

"I'll wait outside while you get out of your wet clothes." I shifted to set her on her feet. "If you need me, just yell." Her feet hit the ground, and I released her. Cam swayed, her knees buckling. In an instant, I was there, my arms circling her waist, her body dead weight against my chest as I struggled to keep us both upright.

"I don't..." she swallowed hard, face paling, "...feel so good." She leaned to the side, her stomach muscles tightened, and she vomited on my pants and boots.

"Shit," I muttered, grimacing. Water dripped from my clothes, forming a puddle at my feet. The pungent smell of vomit filled my nostrils as I looked down at the mess.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"It's okay." I deserved way worse.

I shouldered open her bedroom door and stumbled through the darkened room. Our wet footsteps squished into the plush carpet as I half-carried, half-dragged her toward the bathroom.

"Do you feel better, or do you think you're going to be sick again?" I was trying to gauge whether I should set her on the floor in front of the toilet or on top.

"I think I feel better."

"Okay. I'm going to help you get out of your wet clothes and into the shower." And then I was going to get out of my clothes that were covered in vomit. The only problem was I didn't bring extra clothes with me.

She lifted her arms, and I peeled her wet shirt up, dragging it over her head and tossing it to the floor. She wasn't wearing a bra.

I forced my gaze upward, fixing my eyes on the textured ceiling. My teeth sank into my bottom lip, the sharp pain a welcomed distraction from the warmth of her skin and the curve of her body so close to mine.Focus, Trystan. She needs help, not... that.

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