Page 8 of My Sweetest Agony
My heart lurches into my throat.
That isn’t Drew.
Tears pool in my eyes as they sweep up to the mantle—where the cardboard box sits. Exactly where I left it—him—when I answered the call from Marlo.
An inked arm reaches up and switches on the lamp in the corner behind his chair, bathing the room in a warm glow and enough light to see that the man sitting in the leather chair most definitely isn’t Drew—even though he has the same face.
God, I’ve missed seeing him…
But it isn’t quite right.
Longer hair that, in its current wet state, curls haphazardly over his forehead and around his face. Small silver hoops hang in his nose and ears. Slightly broader, more muscular shoulders and arms fill the chair. Tattoos over his exposed skin when Drew refused to ink his. And the eyes—though they’re the same vibrant blue—seem haunted. Somehow shadowed more than the ones I’ve stared into for the past four years.
It takes a second for my brain to fully get on board with what it’s seeing. For it all to finally click.
I suck in a sharp breath. “Camden?”
He clears his throat, shifting forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The movement shifts the collar on his T-shirt, showing a glint of a silver necklace. “I’m sorry about how I just…showed up like this. I should have called to warn you I was coming…”
“What?”
Shaking my head, I try to clear away the remaining cobwebs, try to make sense of what’s happening.
His uneasy gaze darts to the front door, then back to me quickly. “You…called me Drew and passed out on the porch. I caught you and brought you inside to the couch.”
I did what?
Cam swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing under tanned skin. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like…opening the door and seeing me…” He shoves a trembling hand through his wet hair, shifting it away from his face, only to have it fall right back. “I should have thought about what a shock it would be and called first.”
My mind spins.
Flashes of memory return.
Wanting to go out in the warm summer rain.
Opening the door.
Someone standing there.
A flash of lightning.
Drew…
I squeeze my eyes closed against the wave of despair that washes over me. It threatens to drown me under its catastrophic power, twisting me violently, heaving me toward the truth I managed to forget for a few blissful moments.
My fingers curl around the soft fabric of the blanket Cam must have covered me with when he brought me to the couch.
Cam!
That wasn’t Drew.
This isn’t Drew.
No matter how many times I repeat it to myself, when I reopen my eyes, the man sitting across from me still looks like Drew. My heart still stutters seeing his face again. I’ve missed it—missed him—so damn much.
I never thought I’d see him again anywhere except in old photographs.
But it’s like he’s here with me even when he isn’t.
