Page 13 of Cam
“Because I pretty much yelled at her and told her to get out of my sight.” Shame coursed through me, hot and potent.
Shep had half a bread roll sticking out of his mouth. Katie’s mouth fell open. Bray’s eyes narrowed. Ma had her glass of water halfway to her mouth but froze in place. Pops was turning a very furious shade of red.
Ma set her glass down, then stood. “Campbell James Wilder, you should be ashamed.”
I hadn’t heard Ma talk to me like that since thetime I stole the numbers off Mr. Peabody’s mailbox when I was seven.
“Is she yours?” Bray asked. He was beside me so he leaned close and murmured. It really was the question of the night. Did I want her? Was she mine?
I met his gaze with my own guilty one.
“Yes. She’s mine.”
He nodded and he took Katie’s hand in his on top of the table, showing his own possession, showing how he understood. “Then go grovel, brother. On your knees.”
7
TAYLOR
“There was no dinner.Where’s my meal? I’m hungry!” Dad shouted, camped out in his recliner that had seen better days.
The TV blared from the living room, the only light coming from the game show. He hadn’t even gotten up to turn on a light when it got dark.
I’d driven around for a little while, avoiding home as long as possible. It’d given me a little time to stop crying, but it did nothing to fix the ache in my heart. I’d spent the week thinking of Cam Wilder, longing for him and that hot, sizzling connection we shared.
I’d never had a guy look at me the way he did, as ifhe could see into my soul. As if he found me pretty and sweet and kind and smart and all the things he didn’t know he wanted in a woman. That was laughable, like a romance novel where the heroine got the hot, sexy, and smart hero.
I wasn’t in a romance book, I was in a fairy tale. Instead of an evil stepmother, I had a drunk, deadbeat father who I had to toil and clean for. I used to think he would change, that he’d get over Mom dying and try to be the man he used to be. Over the years, he only got worse. Got meaner. As if something from the accident that killed her was stuck in him, like a sliver that never got tweezed out. It had festered and turned him into the bitter man he was now.
I stopped just inside the entry, leaving my boots by the door since I didn’t want to track anything from the stable into the house. Except it didn’t matter that much. Glancing around, it looked like we lived inside of a barn. Dad’s coat had missed the hook and was crumpled on the floor. His shoes were strewn across the scratched wood. Mail littered the table by the door.
I hadn’t said a word but he’d heard the door shut and that was enough to set him off.
Looking left, I saw the disaster that was the kitchen. When I’d left early this morning, I’d done thedishes and wiped down the counters. Now, it looked like a high school football team had come through, eaten everything we had, then left a mess behind. Dishes piled the sink. A dirty pan was on the stove, something black and scorched still in it. The stinky trash was overflowing and an egg was broken on the floor. It also smelled sour, like milk had gone bad. Or Dad had stuck something rancid in the trash.
For someone who didn’t have dinner, he’d sure eaten a lot. Or at least tried.
Entering the family room like there was a bomb in there I didn’t want to go off, I gave Dad a little wave. “Hey.”
He was in jeans and a flannel that was misbuttoned. His salt and pepper hair was messy and he hadn’t shaved. His cheeks were sunken and his pallor was awful. He’d tried for a job at the park service earlier in the summer but he hadn’t gotten it. That was no surprise since employees had to show up to get paid. Since then, he’d pretty much been creating an ass groove in his recliner and pickling his liver.
“Go make me a sandwich,” he ordered, giving me a royal, but drunk wave. He held a beer can and kept his eyes fixed on the TV.
“Looks like you already ate something,” I told him.
Slowly, like a panther stalking its prey, he looked tome. “You backtalking me? You weren’t here to cook so I had to do something. You want me to starve? Be useful and make me a goddamn sandwich and while you’re at it, get me another beer.”
I winced, but was used to this. All I wanted to do was go into my room and throw the covers over my head, but that would have to wait. I knew better than to let my father wait for anything.
In the kitchen, I took out the fixings for a ham sandwich that was thankfully left, found the white bread in the cabinet and set it all on a small clear space on the counter. The house hadn’t been updated since I was little. I didn’t remember it any other way. Mom had been so pleased when they’d put in the dark green counters and she’d kept it spotless with pride.
Now, the counters were worn, the laminate floor chipped, and a handle was missing from the silverware drawer.
Swiping mayo onto the bread, I thought about how different life must be at the Wilder’s. A different kind of noise, a fun one, from having so many siblings. Family meals. Holidays loaded with tradition and maybe even something like flag football or boardgames to hold them over until dinner was ready.
“Hurry up!”
I stared up at the popcorn ceiling and took a breath.
