Camden by Shey Stahl
After a week, two surgeries on my leg and the longest flight of my life, I’m finally at home.
The day’s tick by, one by one, and agonizingly slow. I’m tired, in pain, annoyed at the lack of pain medication and wanting to be anywhere but in my parent’s house.
I mean, why couldn’t I at least be at the mansion?
Because my dad was being an asshole and made me stay here. Away from everything that goes on at the mansion. More importantly, people who come and go there and who’d find out his eighteen-year-old daughter got knocked up. It’s not that he gives a shit what people think it’s more that he’s trying to give us all some time to process and figure out what the hell is gonna happen next. With the pregnancy, my career, fuck, everything really.
And now here I am, on the couch, with Wyatt tormenting me. I love my parent’s house for what it is. A sanctuary away from the madness, until Wyatt is home. She’s a tornado of bullshit and I want nothing to do with her.
“Why are you so mean?” I ask, knowing she probably won’t answer me.
She stares at me, completely dead-faced and says, “Because my blood hates.”
Whatever the fuck that means. Actually, I know what it means. Wyatt Isabella is a product of the Wild Cat. My dad is O negative blood type. Scarlet jokes that it stands for off the rails crazy. I believe that looking at Wyatt because she’s the same blood type. Sorry if you’re O negative, but I might never trust you.
While Wyatt decides that hitting my cast is good fun, I fight the urge to smack her with my crutch. I have to remind myself she’s eight and I can’t do that. “If you do not stop hitting my leg, I’m going to kick your ass,” I yell at her for the third time.
Her dark eyes dance with laughter. She’s accomplished her mission. Pissing me off. “Dad!” I yell, knowing he’s not here today, but still, this will get her attention.
With wide eyes, she takes off running up the stairs and away from me.
I shift my position, attempting to get comfortable, but it’s hard to do with my leg. I have a hard cast now that goes from my foot all the way up over my knee where I broke my leg in four different spots. I got off lucky.
Lucky? I feel anything but lucky at the moment. I can’t believe I’m fucking pregnant, and I can’t believe I tried to pull a triple and botched the landing.
Actually, that one’s believable. The other, not so much. We used a condom. All four times. I think. I don’t remember the last time because it was around four in the morning and I think we were half asleep.
Sighing, I rest my hand on my stomach without even thinking, a place where apparently, life is growing inside me.
Just when I think I’ll be alone enough to continue binge-watching a series on Netflix, the door opens in the foyer and I wait to see if I can identify the footsteps before they enter the family room. Slow. Steady. I know who it is.
Fuck me. I knew he’d come here eventually. Did I want to see him? Yes. Do I want to have the conversation he wants to have? Nope. Not a chance.
Within a minute, he’s standing in front of me holding a box of donuts in one hand and a coffee in the other from my favorite hole-in-the-wall stand up the road.
He stares at me for the longest time, a battle of silent communication, one I don’t win. I don’t say anything. I don’t know what I want to hear. Maybe that he loves me and he’s here for me. That he wants this baby, and me. But I don’t know how to ask for that, and I’m too scared to say it.
“I come in peace,” he says but his tone is off. It’s distraught in ways he won’t let me see, but draws me in with that stubbornly determined smirk he offers.
It’s been nine days since he left that hospital room where he punched the wall.
Nine days since I refused to tell him what he wanted to hear.
Nine days since he walked out on me.
I stare at him and he holds up the bag, smirks, but I see it on his face. He’s a bit of a fucking mess himself. His eyes are bloodshot, hair’s all over the place but it’s the way the smirk fades. I hate that he’s upset. I hurt him because he hurt me and that’s not a game I want to play with him because this guy, he’s my ride or die. He’s always been there for me and I don’t want to be this person. I’m a lot to handle. Whether I like it or not I’m my father’s daughter. Savage. I go for the jugular without regard, but I don’t want to keep hurting him.
“I’m not asking for your help,” I tell him, staring at the box. As you can tell, I’m still harboring some resentment. I clench my jaw as I make eye contact with a man I suddenly feel I will never be good enough for. Shifting my gaze to the bag of donuts I say the only thing I can think of in this moment. “Is there a buttermilk one in there?”
He shakes his head, annoyance pinching his brow, and holds the bag and coffee higher, staring down at me. “Don’t act like that.” His voice is gruff, every word bleeding with misery.
I say nothing to him. Hell, I don’t even think I can look at his face. I’ll rephrase that one. I don’t want to look at his face because I know I’ll ease off the throttle on this one. He’s my weakness.
“So you’re just going to act like I don’t get a say with the baby?” he spits, anger rising in his tone. If I listen closely, I can hear the unstable beating of his heart from here. Camden, there’s a tenderness about him, a softness you wouldn’t expect. I think he gets it from his mom, because that’s not Jerad. But in this moment between us, this second in time where I’m hurting him out of spite, his father’s personality surfaces. He smirks and his eyes cloud. He’s testing me.
“The baby?” I snort. “It was a mistake, remember?” I’m being vengeful, like the one who raised me. Hurt before you’re hurt, that’s the motto, right?
“Cute,” he snaps, his posture rigid. “That’s not what I said at all.”
I scowl. “You said you regretted it.”
He stares at me pointedly. “You assumed it was a mistake. And I never said I regretted it. What I said was I regretted the action because it couldn’t go further. You and I both know we can’t be together in public. Your dad would never be okay with it.”
My heart beats faster, my anger rising. “So you’re choosing your relationship with my dad over me?”
His eyes fall away to the floor, my words only adding to the torture etched on his face. “No. Fuck, don’t you get it. I’m choosing your relationship with your dad over one with you.”
“I don’t even know what that means.” I blow out an exaggerated breath. “I’m tired of this shit with you. I don’t want to argue.”
“I don’t want to either.” He sits down next to me and sets the donuts on the table in front of me. “So are we going to have an adult conversation about this or keep playing games?”
I don’t say anything.
“If we go public with this shit, he’s going to lose his shit. It’s gonna cause problems between you and him, and that’s the last thing I want for you. Everything I said was only because I’m trying to protect you.”
“I never asked you to protect me. All I wanted was for you to want me.”
“And I did,” he points out, gesturing to my stomach.
I want to punch him in the face for saying that. And I would walk away from him, but as it turns out, I’m exceptionally clumsy on crutches. I groan, knowing he put the coffee and donuts out of the way enough that I can’t reach them. “What are you doing? Give me the donut.”
He knocks his hand against my knee. “We need to talk first.”
I stare at him. Sighing. I’m peering into the face of someone alone, vulnerable, and aching for me to take that away. But still, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t resist. “I can’t. I’m tired, sore, I’m freaking the fuck out and I can’t right now.” It’s an excuse, in part, but not entirely.
“Can you just say it?” He looks over at me and my stomach flips and tumbles, like a botched landing. “Can you just admit it to me?”
Guilt stabs my chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Stop teasing me. Can I have one of those?”
Smirking, he reaches into the bag, retrieves the buttermilk ones I love the most and holds it just out of my grasp. “First you need to say it. I want to hear you say it.”
“I hate you right now.”
“Just fucking admit it.” He shakes his head, annoyed. “Do you really want to keep hurting me like this?”
Hurting him like this? I draw in a deep breath. He’s like his father more than he wants to admit. The relentlessness of Jerad Rivera. Not gonna back down until you give him what he wants whether you want to or not. “You remind me of your dad right now.”
His eyes slowly slide to mine and he throws the donut on the table out of my reach. Fucker. “That makes two of us.” And then he starts to walk out.
I breath out, and then in again. He’s absolutely right. I’m being a child. “Camden,” I groan. “Don’t leave!” I twist and attempt to get up but fall to the ground because I’m not coordinated with a broken leg. Told you I’m exceptionally clumsy on crutches. Okay, in general with a broken leg.
“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, rushing to my side and wraps his arms around me. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to go after you.” Our eyes lock and I see the boy who used to watch the sunrise with me. My best friend. I’m scared because I don’t know what happens next. A baby? Me and him together? What happens to my career? What about his? And my dad? I feel like I’m a piece of plastic, like the decals we melt off the bikes when we’re changing them out, and someone is holding a heat gun to me. I’m melting, shrinking away and what will be left of me when I’m melted? Smoke?
How do I do this and still be me? How does he?
With a grunt as he hauls me into his arms and sets me on the couch. Taking my hand in his, he holds it. Like he used to when I was scared of the dark, but still insisted on meeting him on the track in the middle of the night. Like he did when I was thirteen and told him I loved him for the first time. “I know I’ve made mistakes, but we can’t keep doing this with each other. We’re friends, remember? Before all this shit. Before sex got involved and all this other shit. You are my friend, even now. That will never change. I will have your back no matter what.”
My heart swells and I know he’s right. He is my friend and regardless of where this went wrong, I still want him in my life. Always. “I know,” I whisper, my head falling into my hands.
He rubs my back slowly, studying my face. “Talk to me, Riv.”
I draw in another shaky breath before finally admitting it. “It’s yours,” I growl and reach for the donut.
He reaches for the donut and hands it to me, the corner of his lips twitch. “Was that so hard?”
“You have no idea.”
But as I’m sitting there eating my donut, the reality sinks in. Pregnant. Just my fucking luck, right? But to be honest, me and this guy, our lives were connected from the very beginning. From the day I was eight years old and comforting him after his dad hit him for the first time. That’s when I knew my bond with him would be unbreakable. This might break it though, right?
Then I’m crying, overwhelmed by emotions and these goddamn hormones that are controlling me. Looking over at him, he’s staring at me. He reaches up and wipes a crumb from my lip. “You didn’t sleep with Jonah and Maverick, did you?”
I shake my head. “Maverick, never. Jonah, not since you.”
He sighs with relief but he doesn’t relax. His brow bunches together and he leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Why did you bring Maverick into this?”
I swallow but I’m met with dryness. It doesn’t go down. Clearing my throat, I try again. “That night you left, he tried.”
His jaw flexes and he looks over his shoulder at me, his brow raised. “What do you mean he tried?” There’s a hint of anger in his voice, but he’s restraining it.
“He said it’d be the ultimate betrayal.”
It takes a minute for the reality to hit him and when it does, I fear for Maverick. I really do. His expression goes from disbelief to Imma fuckin’ kill him in seconds. “Seriously? What the fuck?”
“Come on, Camden. He’s jealous of you,” I tell him, watching his reactions intensify. “He knows he can’t beat you on a bike so he tried the next best thing. Your girl.”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket, looks at it lighting up and then shoves it back in his pocket. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“Careful there.” I laugh. “You’re starting to act jealous.”
He chuckles and his hands find his hair as he leans back against the couch. Our shoulders touch and he looks over at me, no smile, but his words are softer. “It worked,” he says, repeating what he said to me when I was trying to make him jealous with Jonah.
“Did you really think I’d fuck Maverick?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. I hoped not, but you were mad. I wasn’t sure what to think.”
I motion for the coffee and he hands it to me. Silence lingers between us and that’s when reality slams into me again. There’s so much to figure out. The anxiety surfaces and before I know it, I’m crying again. Stupid hormones.
“What should I do?” Tears roll down my cheeks slowly as I stare at the coffee in my hand.
“It’s decaf,” he notes, glancing at the cup and then me. “You can drink it.”
“Not what I meant, but thank you.” It’s the nicest I’ve been to him in over a month. I wonder if he notices. “I’m eighteen, Camden. I have no business being a mom.”
Tenderness softens his features and he blinks slowly. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. I think I’m in shock. I don’t think it’s sunk in yet.”
He laughs under his breath, his eyes scanning me as he leans in, his shoulder bumping mine. “Same.”
I regard him curiously. “Are you scared?”
At first, he sighs, blinks, but doesn’t say anything. Fear pricks my skin. “To be honest, I wasn’t planning on being a dad but now that it’s happening, I don’t know. I’m not as scared as I thought I’d be. It’s your body, I understand that. This is incredibly hard decision for you to make but I want you to know, if you decide to keep the baby, which I hope you do, I’m in.”
Turning toward me, he swallows. His hands cup my cheeks, his thumb brushing over my lips. “I’m going to do everything I can to support you and the baby.”
I want to believe him, I do, but after everything, he wants me now? “Why now?” I ask. “You walked away from me not too long ago and now because you knocked me up, you want in? Be honest, you’re only in because of the baby. Not because of me.”
We’re quiet, staring at one another and he sighs, as if he hates he has to explain this. He looks… broken, yet, so goddamn beautiful. His eyes meet mine and my chest tightens. “Just because I said I couldn’t be with you, it didn’t mean I don’t want to.”
I throw my hands up. “That makes no sense.”
He watches me and I think he’s going to kiss me. He doesn’t though. At least not right away. His hand grasps the back of my head, cradling my face in his palms again. I think he’s going to say something meaningful, full of wisdom, but no words are necessary. In the next second, his lips are hard, full of passion and everything we are together.
He kisses me like he needs me to believe him. As though there’s no place else he’d rather be. Like that kiss in the van in Naches.
He kisses me until I have to pull away to breathe.
His forehead rests against mine, our breaths shared. “Do you believe me now?”
I smile, my lips still burning with the taste of his kiss. “I suppose so.”
But do I? I know this isn’t forever. This is us finally coming into the staging lanes together, preparing for the jump.
