Page 23 of My Sweetest Agony
Most of what I know about Cam came from Nancy or the little Drew told me prior to completely shutting down any conversation. Bits and pieces. Small stories and memories. And even though it wasn’t a lot, it was clear Cam was always a bit rebellious, a little rougher around the edges. Less worried about school and social norms, as most artists tend to be.
But seeing him now, I think it was more than that.
Cam was broken by something.
Maybe not even one thing.
He takes the photos from me. “Drew spent most of his time studying, making sure he had the highest grade in every class.”
“What’d you spend your time doing?”
He snorts and pulls out another picture from the stack—of him with a bong.
I gape at him.
“Yeah.” One corner of his mouth quirks up. “While he was doing extra work in the chemistry lab, I was experimenting behind the gym with other things.”
It’s so hard to believe that they’re so different yet can look so much alike.
I flip back to the first picture. “Did you two ever try to trade places?”
His spine stiffens for a moment, and his gaze stays locked on the photos as he nods. “When we were younger. Mostly elementary school and middle school. He enjoyed math and science. I always loved English class and art…”
“So, you switched and took each other’s classes?”
The corners of his lips tilt into a devious grin that further confirms my belief that this man is dangerous. Mischief dances across his gaze. “We did get caught. Turns out there was a very easy way to get to tell us apart prior to this.”
He holds up his arm, showing off his tattoo.
“Yeah.” I raise a brow. “What’s that?”
Because looking at the earlier photo of them together, I wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to even begin trying to guess who was who.
Cam runs his thumb across his bottom lip. “Get us to open our mouths.”
I snort.
“Drew loved school and was always brown nosing the teachers, sucking up to them, wanting to be head of the class. I just didn’t give a shit. I wanted to take a sketchbook and go sit behind the gym and smoke weed. And I guess that came out very distinctly in the way we talked to the teachers. Even when we were young.”
“Did you get in trouble?”
He nods. “Yep. Mom said it was the only time she wished our dad was here to punish us because he would’ve made us see God.”
“She didn’t miss him otherwise?”
His shoulders tense, his gaze dropping away from mine again. He clasps his hands in front of him, suddenly shifting on the couch, his thigh brushing against mine. “We were barely six when he died, and I don’t think she ever let herself miss him, to be honest. She just had to suck it up, be a single mom, and figure it the fuck out. But she didn’t know what to do with us when we hit the teen years, especially me.”
“I bet.”
Mom always told me I wasn’t particularly easy during that time, but at least she had Nonni to help her. Nancy was all alone with two little boys who missed their father. While I never had one at all.
It couldn’t have been easy—for any of them.
I return the pictures to him, and he sets them back in the stack that appears to mostly be photos of the two of them together.
That pang in my chest returns.
No matter what happened, Cam still loved Drew—that much is clear.
