13

 

Bad news: Vaughn was right about the pizza situation. By the time we show up, all that’s left are grease-stained boxes filled with empty parmesan containers and chewed-on crusts.

Good news: Ellie’s been around these guys and their monstrous appetites for so long she knew back-up snacks were a necessity.She brought all the party-food essentials: crackers and cheese, pizza rolls, miniature quiches…you name it, she supplied it.

“Thank you, Ellie,” I mumble as I stuff a warm puff pastry into my pie hole. No one else is in the kitchen, so I take the opportunity to pile seven more on my paper plate along with three giant chocolate chip cookies.

I just ran up and down a field for ninety minutes straight—cut me some slack.

As I continue scouring the tempting assortment, a bowl of green grapes catches my eye. I should probably refuel with some healthy crap, too. Some actual nutrients to offset my carb and cookie intake.

I pluck a few from the vine, the smooth fruit settling in my closed palm. I toss one in the air, say “ahhh” as I open my mouth so wide my dentist would be proud, and try to catch it on my tongue.

Is there any other way to eat grapes?

Unfortunately, my aim is pathetic. The grape somehow misses my wide open trap, jabbing me straight in the eye instead.

“Oww!”

With a groan, I rub my irritated cornea and hit the floor in search of the offending object.

“Aha!” I spot the grape and snatch it up. “Gotcha! That seriously hurt, you know? An apology would be the right move here, Mr. Grape. Go on. I'm waiting.”

I realize this must be quite the sight: me, scuffling around the kitchen on all fours like a beagle tracking down a scent, scolding an innocent piece of fruit.

Good thing no one’s around to see th—

“Should I even ask, Baby Blue?”

Busted.

I dip my head back, looking up into Cameron’s amused gaze.

“What are you doing down there?”

“Nothing!” I immediately jump to my feet—sore quads screaming at the abrupt movement—and hold out the fruit. “Just being a respectful guest and picking up this grape I dropped.”

“Dropped, huh? Is that what happened?”

“Yep!”

“Alright. Sure.” He winks, a half-grin lifting one side of his mouth and letting me know he witnessed exactly what went down.

Oops.

He sets four brown paper sacks on the island, each one stuffed to capacity.

"Need a hand unloading?"

I point towards the liquor purchases and he nods.

“That’d be great. Paine should be the one helping out, but he always pulls a disappearing act when it’s time to put shit away. Or clean house. Or do anything that requires some semblance of organizational skills.”

“Oh, Weston.” I shake my head. “And I bet he’s front and center when it’s time to eat, drink, or make a mess.”

“Nailed it.”

We start pulling out the bottles one by one, cautiously setting the breakable items on the marble until the bags are empty.

“So.” Cameron breaks the silence as he opens a cabinet above the fridge, the barren space usually stocked with alcohol. “Is this the kind of party-goer you are? The type who hides out in the kitchen? Has conversations with the fruit and veg instead of the guests?”

“I was not talking to the food!” I insist as color floods my cheeks.

He gives me a knowing smirk and motions for a drink. I hand him the honey-colored Fireball whiskey.

Looks like the baseball boys lost the battle of the booze.

“For your information,” I begin as I place another bottle in his grasp, “I’m the kind of party pooper who scopes out the place for the pets. None of y’all have any, though, so demolishing the snack bar was the next best option.”

“Won’t argue with that.”

I cock my head to the side. “It’s strange that no one has an animal. A dog, a cat, a singing cockatoo…The Treehouse needs a mascot!”

“I think a monkey would be the most fitting for this jungle oasis,” Cam says with a laugh. “But most of these guys can barely take care of themselves, let alone a stubborn kitten or hyperactive puppy.”

I grin. “Good point.”

“Also, the lease doesn’t allow it.”

“Really? Why not?”

“A couple of years ago, one of the seniors bought a pet ferret for the house. He named him Mr. Slinky and spoiled that damn thing rotten. Let him have free roam over the entire property, prepared him organic meals, built him a fancy dollhouse type of thing to sleep in…he really went all out for the snake-rat. Mr. Slinky was a real chick magnet at parties, but he had a shiny item fetish. All of our shit was constantly going missing. Car keys, watches, even our cell phones would disappear. Dunno how he managed to drag those off, but he did. We looked fucking everywhere, but we couldn’t track down his stash of expensive stolen goods. It was actually starting to become a financial burden.”

Cameron opens the freezer, stuffing a large bottle of vodka inside as he continues. “It all came to a head when this one defender who lived in the Redhouse was going to propose to his long-time girlfriend. Being a broke-ass college student, it took him an entire year to save up for the perfect ring.”

“Oh no.” I grimace, aware of where this story is headed.

“Oh yes,” Cam confirms. “The day of the planned proposal, the ring disappeared. Vanished into thin air. Mr. Slinky strikes again.”

“Mr. Slinky strikes again,” I repeat in disbelief.“Y’all never found it?”

“Nope. The stash is still here somewhere. Maybe some Warriors will find the infamous pile of shine in a decade or two.”

“So what did he do? Cancel the proposal?”

“Nah. Poor guy had to go to Walmart and buy a cheap replacement. He promised his girl he’d get her a nicer one before the wedding, but she was really chill about the whole thing.”

“Dang. That’s wild. But you have to admit it—ferrets are so adorable.”

“Adorable? No way. Ferrets are so evil,” he amends my statement before shaking his head. “Anyway, after that little fiasco, the ‘no pets’ addendum was added to the end of the lease.”

He looks over his shoulder in the direction of the front yard. “New dude seems like the type to break that rule. He probably has a fucking boa constrictor or a tarantula crawling around his room."

“A pair of hissing cockroaches is my guess,” I add with a shudder.

“Wouldn’t surprise me one bit.” Cameron points at the final bottle on the counter. “Give me that last one.”

My eyes bounce to the familiar white container—Malibu Rum.

Or, as I like to call it, Malibu Yum.

So delicious. So tropical.

So misleadingly deadly.

I start to hand it over, but just before Cam’s fingers brush the glass, I yank it back.

“You know what? I think I’ll hold onto this one for the night.” I cradle the bottle in my arms, tucking it away from view. “Do y’all have a giant straw I can use?"

He grunts at my words. “You think you get that entire thing to yourself, Baby Blue?"

“Of course. You did get it for me, did you not? I’ll consider it my prize for scoring the game winner."

“It was a good goal, but…” He steps forward, one brow raised high. “I dunno if it’s worthy of the whole bottle."

“What? Are you saying you would’ve saved my shot?” I click my tongue playfully. “Doubtful."

“It’s cute you think that.” With a cocksure smile, he reaches out, those long fingers wrapping around the base of the drink. “I definitely would have blocked it."

“Maybe. Maybe not."

“You know I can read you like a book, Sydney. You wouldn’t stand a chance against me."

He steps even closer, that cocky demeanor emanating off of him in waves. His brilliant gray eyes latch onto mine, a challenge swimming in their depths.

“Just wait," I say with a sly grin. "I’ll crack the code to schooling you soon enough."

He gently pulls the bottle, I pull back, our flirtatious game of tug-o’-war brought to a halt when someone clears their throat behind us.

Immediately, we jerk away from one another, both of us releasing our grip on the alcoholic beverage. Bottle meets floor in an explosive shatter, the kitchen tile quickly covered in a mess of glass shards and sticky, island-scented liquid.

“Party foul!” someone shouts from the next room.

“Dammit. My bad."

“I’m so sorry! Shit."

Our words mesh together in a chorus of expletives and apologies.

“It’s my fault.” Parker, the sneaky throat-clearer, rubs the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to startle y’all. I just wanted to let you know we’re about to put in the movie. Diego’s demanding everyone’s presence in the living room for the show."

“Okay, cool. Can’t wait!” I exclaim with slightly too much enthusiasm. I sound guilty as hell, but I’m not sure why.

It’s not like he caught me and Cameron doing anything wrong.

Parker opens the fridge, head cocked at the two of us. “What are y’all doing in here, anyway?"

I let calm and collected Cam take the reins on this one.

“Just restocking the liquor supply. You want anything?"

“Sticking with H2O tonight, but thanks for the offer."

He cracks open his bottle of water and gives us one final perplexed look before exiting the kitchen.

Cameron pulls open a drawer, grabs a washcloth, and holds it under the running tap. I start to tear off a chunk of paper towels to help, but he shakes his head.

“I’ll clean it up."

“Are you sure?"

“Yeah.” He tips his chin towards the door. “Go watch the movie. I think I’ll survive missing the first few minutes."

I join the crowd of soccer players and girlfriends in the living room. Most of them are gathered around Rayne and Vaughn as they play some dumb game on the Xbox, so I snatch prime seating while I have the chance. The small loveseat is the comfiest couch at the Treehouse—a fact I learned when I crashed here a few weeks ago. I plant my butt on its cloud-like cushions before anyone else can claim the spot.

The couch fits two, and I get the strong urge to stretch my legs across the entire thing and save the additional spot for Cameron.

A myriad of conflicting thoughts fly through my mind.

Would it be overkill to wave him over and offer him the seat?

Am I sending the wrong message if I do that?

Is he gonna think I’m being a clingy weirdo?

Shit…would he even want to sit by me?

I don’t know why I’m freaking out over something so trivial, but the good thing is it doesn’t last long. Victor, a Warrior player with an impressive man-bun, kicks the empty space beside me.

“Is it cool if I chill here?"

“Go ahead,” I say politely.

There. Internal dilemma solved.

“Sit your asses down!” Diego hollers as he shuts off the video game console with his toe. He squats down, a shiny disc in one hand. “I promised my ‘cuz we’d watch this. He wants an honest opinion, okay? Dude wants to go to film school in the future and he needs some constructive criticism."

“Wait a minute.” Weston’s brows squish together as he tugs Lexie onto his lap. “Is this the cousin who looks like a leprechaun? Short ginger kid? The one in high school?"

“Yeah, Connor. That’s the one."

“Oh shit.” A hearty laugh escapes Weston as he shakes his head. “This is gonna be good."

Diego pops in the disc and hits Play. “Okay, it’s show time. Everyone shut the fuck up!"

He does a hurdle-type leap over the coffee table, landing directly on top of Ellie and Liam.

“Christ, Mendoza,” Liam grumbles as he attempts to push the wild child off his legs. “Lay off the breakfast tacos, mate. You’re heavy as shit."

“It’s called muscle, bro. Something your scrawny ass could use some more of.” Instead of moving, Diego puts an elbow on Ellie’s thigh, propping his head up so he can see the television. “Not a bad seat—kinda comfy. Pass the popcorn?"

“Diego!” Ellie squeals as she slaps at his side. “Get off or you’re gonna regret it! You have three seconds. Three…Two…"

Diego remains unbothered, but the moment she hits “One” and starts viciously tickling his ribs, he loses it.

“Oh sh—Ellie—fuck—basta!” Painful laughter flies past his lips until he finally surrenders. He rolls off their laps, hitting the hardwood floor with a loud thud. “Y’all are no damn fun."

“Nicely done, Peaches."

Liam and Ellie exchange a fist bump as Diego pulls himself to a sitting position. He gets settled in his new seat on the floor and the film finally commences.

Opening credits begin to roll, the neon green text in Comic Sans.

Using the worst font known to mankind…

Not the most promising start.

And as I read what the words actually say, I realize this movie is gonna be downright terrible.

The Old Abandoned Haunted Grocery Store

A film by Connor Mendoza.

Directed by Connor Mendoza.

Produced by Connor Mendoza.

Music by Connor Mendoza.

“New drinking game, fellas,” Victor calls out. “Take a shot every time it says ‘Connor Mendoza’. We’ll all be getting our stomachs pumped in ten minutes flat!"

“Ay! Zip it!”

Starring Connor Mendoza as Ralph.

Starring Connor Mendoza as Annie.

Starring Connor Mendoza as the ghost.

It doesn’t take long for the complaints to start coming in hot.

“Is this a joke?” Liam scoffs.

“Diego, man, seriously?” Vaughn groans. “I thought you said this was a legit movie, not a fucking school theater project."

“For real! What is this shit?!” Andre throws a balled-up napkin at the TV and Weston starts cracking up.

“Shhh!"

A shaky close-up of a suburban home, some horribly out of tune piano playing, and then there’s the infamous Connor Mendoza gracing the screen—a freckle-faced, red-haired boy who can’t be more than fifteen or sixteen.

The camera starts to zoom-in on him—a slow and jerky movement—and he keeps glancing directly into the lens and back down again.

“Annie. Tonight’s the night.”

Connor’s words are stilted, almost like he’s reciting his lines from a sheet of paper. When I hear the crinkling sound of a notebook and see his eyes cast downward, I realize he actually is reading from a script.

Just four words out of this kid’s mouth and something is crystal clear: out of all the filmmaking titles he’s given himself—director, producer, etc.—actor is the biggest lie of them all.

“Tonight’s the night I visit the old abandoned haunted grocery store. Alone.”

“Good Lord.” Ellie’s ice-blue irises are clouded with disbelief.

“Did he film this with his fucking phone?” one of the sophomore defenders asks, a handful of loud snickers following his question.

The answer is yes, by the way.

“Shut up, dude. Give it a chance.” Diego rests his arms over his kneecaps, staring at the television with a look that is equal parts horrified and confused.

It’s the kind of expression one wears when observing a train wreck.

The scene cuts to a new shot of Connor’s bedroom. He’s in the center of the screen, wearing the exact same outfit as before, but now with the addition of a scraggly blonde wig and a messy coat of red lipstick.

“Ralph, no!” he squeals in a horrendous attempt at a female voice. “No, you mustn’t!”

Okay…this is worse than a train wreck.

I’m moments away from calling it quits and heading back to the kitchen for another round of snacks, maybe partake in some more grape-tossing. I might even get lucky and temporarily blind myself with one—anything to avoid witnessing whatever the hell is on this screen right now.

But just as I’m about to make my stealthy escape, Cameron walks up to the couch.

I think the food can wait.

“Sorry, Vic," he says. "You gotta move."

“Why?"

“That’s my seat."

He wants to sit by me.

The realization has me biting back a smile.

Victor frowns. “I thought you liked the armchair?"

“Well, tonight I prefer the loveseat.” He jerks a thumb behind him, leaving no room for argument. “Thanks, dude."

Victor sighs in defeat before removing himself from the cushion.

“That was easy.” My brow crinkles as Cam slides in beside me. “You’re really the boss around here, aren’t you?"

“Team captain has its advantages.” He shoots me a haughty grin before glancing at the television. “What’d I miss?"

“Nothing worth rehashing. Trust me.”

Annie is on the screen, crying hysterically and mumbling about Ralph putting himself in danger. Cameron leans forward, squinting at the TV in utter horror. “What the—Is that Diego’s cousin?"

“Mhmm. That’s Connor Mendoza—the man, the myth, the legend. Hollywood’s next big star.” I shake my head, lowering my voice to just above a whisper. “This is literally the worst thing I’ve ever seen."

“Here. This should help.” He offers me a mixed drink in a bright blue cup. “Nothing a little buzz won’t fix."

I inspect the mystery liquid. “What is it?"

“I found some rum hidden in the back of the pantry.” He gives a nonchalant shrug. “It’s not coconut-flavored, but I added some pineapple juice for that Caribbean touch. You’ll like it."

“I love pineapple.” A big smile spreads across my face. “Thanks."

“No prob." He taps his beer bottle to my glass and winks. "Enjoy your game-winning prize."

 

 

 

For the next thirty minutes, everyone watches the movie and guzzles alcohol to make it tolerable. The boys are dying laughing, hyena cackles and wheezy breaths abundant.

I, on the contrary, haven’t laughed once, and it’s not because I have no sense of humor.

I totally do!

It’s just that I’m having an extremely difficult time concentrating on the film.

In fact, the only thing I’ve been able to focus on for the past half hour is the guy sitting to my left. I’m so aware of his presence, so oddly infatuated with his every movement.

The way he drinks his beer, tipping that long neck bottle back, throat muscles contracting and relaxing as he swallows the liquid.

The scent of his clean, woodsy cologne swirling in an intoxicating cloud around me.

The feel of his thick, jean-clad thigh rubbing against the bare skin of my knee.

Oh jeez...

A shiver makes its way down my spine at the innocent touch, my stomach twisting with pleasure.

I pull the sleeves of my jersey up above my shoulders—a desperate attempt to get some air on my flushed skin. I’m burning up, fiery heat scorching my flesh despite the near-freezing temps the boys keep the house at. My head is spinning, too, like I’ve got a serious case of vertigo.

Either I’m coming down with the flu or I’m actually getting turned-on just sitting next to Cameron Collins.

The ache in my lower core points to the latter.

What is wrong with me?!

Maybe it’s the dark room with its hazy purple rope lights and intimate vibes.

Or maybe it’s the sweet rush of liquor pumping through my veins, sending wicked, inappropriate desires to the surface.

All I know is I’ve never felt this kind of attraction towards someone. Ne-ver. And it’s not from a sizzling kiss or a sensual brush of fingertips over my body; it’s from nothing more than our close proximity.

So freaking weird.

I start to turn my head, wanting to see if he’s feeling the same thing, when Diego throws his hands in the air in exasperation.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! That’s it! That’s all I can take."

His sudden shout snaps me straight back to reality, and thank goodness for that. I have no idea what the hell that was, but I need to erase it from memory ASAP.

I quickly scoot to the far right side of the couch, putting as much space between me and Cam as possible.

“I gotta FaceTime him,” Diego says as he yanks his cell from his back pocket.

A handful of rings later and the teenage boy from the TV is now on Diego’s phone.

“Hey, D!"

“Yo, Lucky Charms. ¿Qué pasa? I’m watching your movie, dude."

“You are?” Connor’s face brightens. “What do you think? Scary, isn’t it?"

“Oh, it’s frightening, broski. Nightmare worthy. But in a much different way than you think.” Diego snorts as Annie makes another appearance on the screen. “Why are you playing the girl? Couldn’t you find an actual chick to play the part?"

“It’s a solo project,” Connor explains with pride. “It was a stylistic choice."

“Stylistic…right.” Diego rolls his eyes. “Where’d you get that wig?"

“Lost and found at school. I’m almost positive it belonged to our vice principal at one point. Looks nice, doesn’t it?"

“Looks like roadkill."

“Do you like the premise? The supermarket downtown let me use their freezer section after hours to film some of the key scenes."

“It’s an interesting plot line, man. Very, uh…unique."

Connor scratches his chin. “So what you’re trying to say is…” He pauses for a moment, face lighting up with a wide smile as he reaches a conclusion. “You love the movie?!"

“Negative, primo. That’s not even close to what I’m trying to say."

Diego’s blunt response doesn’t faze his young cousin.

“That’s alright, D. Horror movies aren’t everyone’s cup of tea. Too spooky for ya, I suppose."

Before Diego can set Connor straight, a police car pops up on the screen, flashing lights and blaring sirens bright and loud.

Like, really bright and loud.

“The volume levels are fucked.” Diego frowns and plugs a finger in one ear. “What’d you film this part with? Sounds like there’s an actual cop car right outside. Damn."

Ellie twists around, brow furrowing as she squints at the front of the house. “That’s because there is!"

Parker hits Pause as everyone follows her gaze, the red and blue lights reflecting through the windows.

“No! Who called the po-po?” David, a skinny and geeky-looking sophomore, gulps like he’s twenty seconds away from soiling his pants. “I’m too broke to get fined for underage drinking. Plus, my mom will kill me. Don’t let them in!"

“Maybe they’re here for the new guy?” Andre offers the possibility, a few of the guys nodding in agreement. “He seems like the type to have a photo album’s worth of mugshots."

“Fuck, that’s gotta be it,” Weston says with conviction. “Zion’s a damn fugitive on the run—I’ve said it from the start. Here’s hoping he gets arrested."

“Would you lot relax?” Liam stands, stretching his arms above his head with a casual yawn. “I’ll go check it out."

As he saunters off to investigate, I turn to Cameron, still keeping a safe distance. “Is this a normal thing? Cops crashing?"

He shrugs. “Depends. Noise complaints are definitely common, but the police are usually pretty chill about it. They wouldn’t put their sirens on for that. And we’re being quiet tonight, so I dunno what the deal is."

“They’ve parked the vehicle out by the front gate.” Liam’s voice drifts from the foyer into the living room. “An officer's stepped out."

“Oh man. Oh man. Oh man!” David paces the room in anguish. “I need to lawyer up."

“You’re fine, David,” Ellie insists.

He shakes his head repeatedly, holding out the half-empty beer bottle in his hand. “I must destroy the evidence!"

Before anyone can stop him, he pours the remaining amber liquid into the snake plant pot in the corner. All of the guys groan in unison.

“The cop’s just opened the back door.” Liam continues his play-by-play as we listen intently. “Someone’s getting out of the backseat—someone quite short. Looks like a child. A girl. Jesus, that’s some flashy hair. Redder than Connor’s. No way that’s natural…"

The realization hits Cameron and me at the exact same time, our gazes clashing with identical concern.

“Fuck.” Cam curses before expelling a frustrated breath. “It’s Coach’s daughter. I’ll deal with it."

David crumples onto the floor, his paranoia instantly soothed by the news. "Thank God."

“Would you like some help, Cam?” Ellie asks, already hopping to her feet to assist.

“Yeah, dude. We can join you.” Weston points between him and Lexie in offering.

“Thanks, but it’s cool.” Cameron shakes his head and rises from the couch. “I got it."

“So it’s a false alarm? Sweet. Back to the freak show!” Andre grabs the remote and hits Play.

I take a quick sip of my drink before settling into the cushions. Just as I’m getting comfy, a hand grips my shoulder.

Pivoting my head, I find Cameron’s deep gray gaze on me. He nudges his chin towards the front door.

“Come with me."

His voice is quiet, a whispered request in the dark.

Before agreeing, I sneak a glance at Vaughn. Rayne’s tucked under one of his arms, his fingers gently caressing her bronzed skin. His other arm is elbow-deep in a massive bowl of popcorn, all of his attention on the television screen.

He looks sufficiently distracted, so I mouth a silent “okay” to Cameron.

I slip away unnoticed, following him into the warm night. Sticky, humid air suffocates me as I jog down the staircase, trying to keep up with the tall goalkeeper as he takes the wooden steps two at a time.

We cross paths with the police officer and Ms. Trouble-Maker near the pool.

“Are you Cameron Collins?"

“That’s me.” Cam nods as we both come to a stop, me slightly hidden behind his broad stature. “What’s the problem, Officer?"

“I found this one smoking cigarettes with a group of high schoolers behind the mall.” He places a hand on Bev’s shoulder, guiding her forward a few steps. “Not only is she breaking the city curfew for minors, a few of the older kids had drug paraphernalia on them."

I feel Cameron's body go tense at the information. “Dammit, Bev. Are you kidding me?"

She crosses her arms over her tiny frame and kicks at the grass, but doesn’t say a word.

“Beverley here had me take her to this address. Claims you’re her guardian.” The officer gives him a skeptical once-over. “What exactly is your relation to her?"

“I’m her manny."

The man in uniform juts his head forward, eyebrows so high they practically touch his hairline. “You’re her what now?"

I bite down on my tongue to keep from laughing. The title never fails to make me giggle, but it’s really not the time nor place for inappropriate cackles.

“Never mind.” Cameron quickly backtracks. “I know her parents. I can get her home safely."

After the officer exchanges a few words with Bev to make sure she’s comfortable with the situation, he leaves. The moment his vehicle is out of view, Cameron turns to the tween, eyes narrowed and lips tight.

“Follow me."

For the first time tonight, she looks worried. “You’re not going to tell my aunt and uncle, are you?"

“Just follow me, Bev."

His tone is serious and sharp—a glaring indication he’s pissed-off.

Before anyone can utter another syllable, he pulls his keys from his back pocket and makes a beeline for the front gate. Bev shoots me a conflicted glance and I wave her along.

“You heard the man. Let’s go."

We all pile into his car, Cam opening the back door for her and then the passenger door for me.

Even glowering in anger, he’s still a southern gentleman.

He starts the engine, quickly jabbing a knob to turn off the radio, and heads down the dimly-lit road. For the first five minutes of the drive, we ride in complete silence.

I keep my head facing forward, but I can’t keep my eyes from drifting towards the boy steering the vehicle. He looks deep in thought, a white-knuckle grip on the wheel as his jaw ticks periodically.

After what seems like a lifetime, he finally addresses the girl in the back seat.

“I was twelve the first time the cops busted me. Same as you. In fact, the circumstances of the situation were oddly similar. Me, behind a mall, hanging out with a group of older thugs and druggies."

Another clench of his jawline as he grinds his back teeth together. “But it wasn’t just cigarettes I was messin’ around with—I did my first line of cocaine that night. I was in 7^th grade."

My stomach drops at his words.

A 7^th grader doing cocaine?!

I was still playing with Vaughn’s old Hot Wheelsand sleeping with a night light at that age. The thought of someone that freaking young snorting a fine line of white powder…Shit. It’s hard to fathom.

He takes the ramp onto the highway and continues.

“The police officer took me home to the hellhole I was living in, blasting the sirens and lights to try and scare me straight. He woke up my foster parents and revealed exactly what I’d been up to that night. They acted concerned, pretended to be shocked as they received the news. But the second that officer was gone, you know what they said? ‘Be more discreet next time. Don’t get caught. We have other kids to deal with; we don’t need another 2 a.m. wake-up call because of you’.” Cameron shakes his head in disgust. “They didn’t give a damn. No one did, so I kept on with the behavior. Two more years of drugs and smoking and shit like that—every cop within a thirty mile radius knew me by name."

I sneak a peek into the rearview mirror, analyzing Bev’s reaction. Her forehead is pressed to the window, a frown etched onto those painted-black lips. At first glance it would appear she’s tuning him out, but the way her brows are pinched together says otherwise.

She’s listening.

“After a typical night of drinking and partying one summer, I was out at the rival high school vandalizing it. Coach Hanson was the soccer coach there, up bright and early for the team’s morning practice when he caught me tagging the brick. Instead of turning me in, he just talked to me for a while. When he noticed my height, he asked if I wanted to stand-in for one of his goalies at the scrimmage. I didn’t have anything better to do, and since he hadn’t snitched, I agreed. I’d never played before—hadn’t even watched a soccer game in my life—and my performance wasn't exactly high caliber."

He changes lanes, taking the next exit as he carries on.

“But Coach must've seen something in me. Potential, promise, or maybe just a reckless teen who needed some guidance. He took time out of his busy schedule to work with me the rest of the summer, helping to fine-tune my skills. Even had me over to his house for Erika’s home-cooked meals and motherly advice. They didn’t have to do shit for me, but they did. Coach got the offer for the Windhaven job in early August—it was too good an opportunity to pass up, so they moved down to Texas. He promised if I joined my school’s soccer team and kept out of trouble and graduated, he would have a spot for me on his college squad."

He pulls into a quaint neighborhood, the streets quiet and still.

"The Hansons helped me out of a bad situation, and they're trying like hell to do the same for you. Don't take advantage of them. Don't give them shit because all they're trying to do is help, kid."

She shuffles in the back, denim scratching against the leather seat.

“Coach gave me my wake-up call.” Cameron's eyes flit to the rearview mirror. “And now I’m giving you yours. Don’t go down this path, Bev. I know it’s tempting, I know life has dealt you a shitty hand—I get it. But it’s not worth it. Believe me."

He flips the car lights off as he turns down the final street and puts the vehicle in park. He places a hand on his seatbelt and hesitates.

Bev and I watch his every movement, curious if he’s going to march her to the door and rat her out.

With a sigh of defeat, he removes his hand.

“Which window did you sneak out of?"

“The one in the office."

“Go back in that way and don’t wake them up.” His commands are followed by one final instruction. “Promise me you won’t do this again."

The tween mumbles an incoherent response as she goes for the door handle.

With quick reflexes, Cam hits the automatic locks. He turns in his seat, facing her square-on.

“I’m serious, Bev. You can’t sneak out anymore."

“Fine,” she snaps out. “Whatever. Just let me leave!"

She hops out and slams the door before jogging to the back of the home.

Cameron’s head rolls back as he rubs the back of his neck. “Did she even hear a goddamn word I said? Or was my monologue for nothing?"

"She definitely heard you. So did I," I say softly. "I had no idea..."

My eyes latch onto his, a rare vulnerable expression on his face.

"I don't usually talk to people about that stuff," he admits before shaking his head. "And I shouldn't've dragged you into all this shit. I just thought she'd be more willing to hear me out if you were around. She likes you, and I took advantage of that to make this easier. Selfish as fuck of me, honestly."

"No, you're not being selfish. I'm glad you wanted me here," I insist. "I like tagging along, no matter the reason."

"Yeah?" He studies me for a moment or two before a genuine smile appears on his face. Reaching over, he places a hand on my thigh and squeezes. "I like you tagging along, too."

My flesh burns at his touch, like an ice-cold steak placed on a sizzling griddle, and the fiery sensation remains long after he removes his palm. He puts the car in drive, rolls the windows down, and we ride back to the Treehouse in quiet contemplation.

Everything's been so laid back and casual with our previous meet-ups, but now it's as if I've been introduced to a whole new side of him. A boy with a troubled past, a man who is more than muscle and sports and good-looks.

The things he had to overcome, the struggles he had to endure at such a young age...

And seeing the way he obviously cares for Bev, the desire to protect her from harm and bad decisions.

It just solidifies a fact I already knew.

Cameron is a freaking amazing guy.