Page 63 of You Found Me in the Dark
Later today, I’d talk to Cam. I had to. Because if I were serious, and I was, then hiding it wasn’t an option anymore. I needed him to hear it from me. I needed to look him in the eye and tell him that what happened with Wren wasn’t a mistake. Not a fling or a phase. This was real. I cared about her.
I climbed out of the truck, shutting the door quietly behind me. Dax’s light was off. Porch dark. House still. Before heading inside, I decided I should unload the bed of the truck. But my mind still drifted to her. The curve of her spine when she stretched. The freckles on her shoulders. The way she moaned my name. I ran a hand down my face and sighed.
Tomorrow, I’ll deal with Cam. But tonight? I’d let myself replay every second in that truck bed until I fell asleep, knowing damn well I’d still feel her beside me when I woke up. I am pretty sure that woman is it for me. I am in love with my best friend’s little sister.
38
REED
The late afternoon air was sharp. It was one of those late spring days that couldn’t make up its mind. The sky hung low with clouds and threatening rain, but the sun kept elbowing through like it refused to be ignored. I rolled the window down halfway anyway, letting the chill slap some sense into me as I drove.
Each mile felt heavier than the last.
The road to Cam’s house wasn’t long, but it might as well have been a year. Every turn twisted tighter in my chest, every landmark reminded me of what this drive meant. This wasn’t just some drop-in. This was a line I had to cross.
Cam had been my best friend since we were eighteen. He was the guy who punched the first idiot who mouthed off to me when I started at the high school. He was the one who showed up when my mom’s addiction got worse, causing my dad to abandon us, and I couldn’t breathe for three days. He’d been constant. Solid.
And I had fallen for his sister. It wasn’t just some crush. Not my usual one-time thing.
I was in love. The real kind of love. The kind that wrapped around your ribs and lived under your skin and made you feel like the world had color again. That night with Wren hadn’t just changed things, it had wrecked every plan I thought I’d made for my life.
Cam didn’t know that part yet. All he saw was betrayal. All he heard was silence from me when I should’ve said something. I should’ve told him sooner.
I gripped the steering wheel harder, knuckles pale. Every word I rehearsed last night was gone. All I had now was a gut full of guilt and the image of Wren’s face still tucked in the back of my mind. The way she’d looked at me, half-asleep in the truck bed, like I was the safest place she’d ever been.
God, I wanted to be that for her. Her safe haven.
But what did that mean for me and Cam? Was love worth trading loyalty? Or was I just telling myself that because I didn’t want to give her up? Could I get Cam to understand how I was feeling? Could this ever turn out okay?
The truck bumped over a pothole, snapping me out of it. I could see the house now. The porch light was off, and the blinds were still drawn. Cam might not even be awake yet.
I pulled into the driveway slowly, engine low, gravel crunching like it didn’t want to wake the street. Then I just… sat there. Hands on the wheel. Heart thudding. Mind racing.
He’s your best friend, but she’s not just some girl.
I closed my eyes for a second and let my head fall back against the seat. Wren’s smile flashed behind my eyelids. That soft, real one she gave me just before I left. The one that made me think maybe, just maybe, I could be enough.
Then I opened the door and stepped out into the cold. Whatever happened next, I’d face it.
For her.
And for the part of me that already knew this love, this messy, complicated, all-consuming love, wasn’t something I could walk away from. Even if it costs me everything else.
The sound of metal clanged from the open garage door as I walked up the driveway. There was a sharp echo, followed by a muttered curse. Cam was under the hood of his Mustang, sleeves pushed up, grease smeared across his forearms. Classic sign: he only worked on the car when he was pissed or trying not to be.
Cam’s Mustang was the kind of car that looked like it had a story even when it was parked.
A ’67 fastback, black with hints of primer gray still peeking through from the panels he hadn’t gotten around to painting yet. The body was straight now—he’d spent years pulling dents, sanding it down, replacing what needed replacing—but it still looked like it had clawed its way out of a junkyard.
He loved that damn thing. Not in the flashy, show-it-off way some guys did, but in the way a man loves something he’s bled over. Hands scraped raw from tightening bolts, long nights under the hood when he couldn’t sleep. That car had absorbed more of Cam’s frustration than any punching bag ever could. He rebuilt it himself—piece by piece, paycheck by paycheck. Never let anyone else touch it. Said no one else knew how to handle her.
I’d teased him once, called it his girlfriend. He didn’t laugh. Just said, “She never let me down.”
That car was just like Cameron. It was stubborn, reliable, and built to outlast the worst of it. Even now, as he worked under the hood, it was like he was trying to fix the only thing in his world he still had control over.
And I was about to crack it all open.
I stood in the doorway, watching for a minute. He hadn’tnoticed me yet, or maybe he had and just didn’t care. Either way, I cleared my throat.
