Page 9 of Cameron's Contract
“Yours?” I asked Decker.
“My brother’s.”
“I hate reading,” said Shay. “Don’t see the point.”
I arched an amused brow.
Shay was going for a fucking Oscar.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” I asked Decker.
“Charlotte.”
“What’s it like growing up there?”
“Grew up elsewhere.”
My movement was slow, deliberate, matching the way he leaned on his left leg, the way he held his hands to his chest defensively, and that tilt of his head.
“I was always in my brother’s shadow,” I whispered solemnly, matching that lilt in his accent, his tone, cadence.
A subtle mirroring.
“Me too,” he muttered.
“Hate to think about it. Bad memories.”
“Yeah, well.” He narrowed his gaze.
“I blame the way my dad was. Crazy son of a bitch.”
“Mine was drunk half the time. The rest of the time he was away at sea.”
“Where’d you grow up?”
“Alaska.”
“Bet that was fun?”
“If you like wide open spaces.”
“Wide open spaces.”
“It’s kind of lonely, actually.”
“Lonely?”
“Ever been?”
“Once.”
“I hated it.”
“He hit you?” I muttered. “Your dad?”
“Tried to make me a man.” He scoffed at that.
“Life hurts,” I murmured.
