Page 18 of Under Pink Skies

I sat up then, letting my feet ground me into the floor.

“At this point, Abbie and I were pretty serious. We’d been dating for over two years at that point. Toward the end of senior year though, I found myself overwhelmed. As much as I tried to be there for Abbie, my mind was elsewhere. You know my uncle wasn’t a great guy. I’ve never told you why because, frankly, I don’t talk about it. He was abusive in every way you can think of.”

Kameron’s face sank into horror. “God, Connor, I didn’t know.”

I held up a hand, fighting to calm my racing heart. I don’t know what had possessed me to share that part with Kameron, and I didn’t want to dwell on it.

“I didn’t tell you for pity, or because I want you to look at me differently. But going back to Watford is going to be really hard for me, and I want you to know why. So, if I’m extra grumpy or need more alone time than usual, don’t push me.”

Kameron nodded. “Of course. Thank you for trusting me with this. I can’t imagine how much of a burden that’s been to shoulder.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “You have no idea.”

“I’m really proud of you, Connor. You’ve accomplished so much since you got out. And I hope that this festival, and the work we’re doing at Winding Road, will help you make peace with your past, and with Watford.”

“Thank you,” I said earnestly, meeting Kameron’s soft expression. “I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without you. And I hope you know that I’ll do my best work at the festival, regardless of my personal feelings. I know how to compartmentalize.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” Kameron chuckled, taking the last swig of his protein shake. “You always were the best at that, even among a squad of traumatized assholes.”

I snorted before I could stop myself. “Thanks, I guess?”

At that moment, Lucas Morales graced us with his presence, making a cacophonous racket as he took the rickety farmhouse stairs two at a time to meet us in the loft.

“Are you runningfromsomething?”

“He has to be, with the level of obsession he has,” Kameron said, wiggling his eyebrows in Lucas’s direction.

“My worthless ex-wife, obviously,” Lucas said, reaching up to pull his earbuds out and stick them back in their case.

Kameron and I shared a quickis he seriousglance and quickly decided that yes, Lucas had finally decided to share something personal about himself, completely out of the blue.

“I’m kidding,” Lucas said, waving a hand towards Kameron.

Neither of us responded. Kameron slunk back in his chair, and I rubbed the back of my neck. I didn’t have a knack for this kind of intense conversation the way Kameron did. When someone shared personal traumas or experiences, it made me lock up, whereas Kam was able to jump into action.

This time, though, he left that where it was, and didn’t pursue any lines of questioning. Interesting.

“What’s up?” Kameron asked.

“I heard from the campsite in Watford. Turns out they just finished a massive renovation project—ten cabins, newly remodeled and updated within the last two years.”

My eyebrows shot up. Where the hell would the owner have gotten that kind of capital?

“They’d be happy to host us for the weekend. The town council will cover the cost of our stay with the grant money they received for the festival, and we’d be on our own for meals, transportation, and incidentals. Are we in?”

A heavy weight lodged itself in my stomach, but I kept an encouraging smile on my face for Kameron’s benefit. I’d spent five years of my life tucking my crap out of sight so I could do my job. I could handle a weekend in Watford.

“Hell yeah,” Kameron said, that familiar smile gracing his features.

“Sweet. I’ll call him and let him know the three of us will be there Friday afternoon.”

Friday afternoon. A little over a day and a half away.

While Kameron and Lucas began discussing travel plans in detail, I slipped quietly downstairs to pour myself a glass of water. I stood at the farmhouse sink, looking through the window with red plaid curtains tied neatly at the sides, focusing on the horses in the pasture and the chickens squawking in the yard. I took a deep breath, held it for several seconds, and released it, slowing my breathing.

I could do this. Iwoulddo this. For Kameron, and Winding Road, and all the men and women out there who needed this place to recover and find themselves again.

“Got your ID? Winding Road’s nonprofit paperwork? Extra pairs of socks and underwear?”

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