#AND THE WAY HE HAD BOSTON QUAKING IN HIS BOOTS

[misspoetree]

[iwantitiwriteit]

Love Lockdown - Part 5

Back to December - Part 1

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: In the December prior to the pandemic, you spend Christmas with Chris in Boston, a first time meeting between you and his extended family. You struggle with implications of seriousness this milestone has on your relationship with Chris.

Warnings: Angst, Pandemic backdrop, Profanity, healthy dose of Fluff, sprinkle of Sexual suggestiveness

Notes: So much was really working against me getting this up for y’all lol, but nothing worth having comes easy, right? Anyways, tried some new stuff I learned in some articles I read, more showing, less telling. Allusions and metaphors. We’ll see how it comes across. Christmas in October anyone? Read the previous part here!

The ding DONG of the doorbell echoes so exaggeratedly, it had to have been your imagination. No, I’m really here now. With your blood pumping loudly in your ears, you stare straight ahead at the barrier to entry,  and seemingly to your happy future. 

A Christmas-covered front door shouldn’t cause you this much stress, but here you were, feeling mocked by smiling snowmen and delicate, origami snowflakes. 

You try to focus instead on one of the many thoughts flurrying your mind.

What if they hate me? Valid question, but sooo not the vibe right now. You go for another.

What if I hate THEM? Nice. None of these thoughts are stilling your rapidly beating heart.

“Ow! Loosen up the vice grip, will ya?”

“Oh,” you look down at where yours and Chris’ glove-clad hands are joined, releasing them almost instantly. “I’m sor—“

“It’s alright, babe,” Chris chuckles. As if you could muster a strength close enough to hurt this man. He’s sure not to let your hand get too far, taking it back into his and bringing it up to his rosy lips for a chaste kiss. 

You wish you could feel it, the warmth of his lips on your knuckles, but that would mean braving the Boston blitz without a piece of your knit armour. You’re not sure you’re ready for that. You’re also not sure how he does it. He’s wearing significantly less layers than you, yet he’s perfectly content as if it’s a Summer’s day, while you are, quite literally, quaking in your boots.

He notices your shivering shoulders, knows it’s not just the cold getting to you. With his right hand in your left, and his left hand wrapped around a gift, he nudges you with his words. 

“Hey,” he starts, but sees the opulent wreath on the door still has your attention. “Hey you,” he tries again. You finally look up at him. You lock your widened eyes with his ocean calm ones as he scans your face. Your brows could almost touch with how deeply furrowed you have them and your lips are fixed in a tight line.

“Typically it takes a lot to get my girl all nervous and whatnot,” he states, but you knew it was more of a question of what's up with you.

“Yeah, well… I’m not nervous, Chris.”

“Really? Cos the bruise on my hand would say otherwise,” he jokes.

You roll your eyes at him trying not to laugh. “Even if I was nervous, which I’m not, could you blame me? This is a lot. This is big. This... This is your family.” Your features soften and voice drops in volume. “I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

“Impossible.”

“You sure? Think I already did by taking this long,” you mumbled. You look away, unable to hold Chris' intense gaze anymore. Being in front of his childhood home, for the first time since you’ve started dating over 2 years ago, you can’t help but feel… guilty. 

No use in taking the conversation there at this moment. Especially knowing that lately it led to some sort of shouting match. The ‘I can’t’s’ and ‘next time’s’ didn’t suffice anymore. 

Chris only responds with a sigh as he rings the doorbell for the second time. He looks back over to you, a snowflake floating then landing on your lash. You’re unaware of how whimsical you look to him. How well you’re going to fit in with his family and friends. 

He takes his thumb to brush the snowflake off and cup your cheek. Watching as you swallow thickly, Chris moves his thumb to your throat to massage away the lump you try to move on your own. You relax into his touch, and he flicks his eyes down to your gently smiling lips then back up to your eyes. You know what he’s silently asking. Placing your hand on his wrist was your silent answer. He leans in slowly, and you wish you could stay like this, just for a little while longer. But all good things...

“Uncle Chris!” a youthful voice exclaims as the door swings open. Chris swiftly removes his suggestive hand from your neck and himself from your personal space. He prays there’s some mistletoe hanging inside.

“Hey Kiddo!” Chris huffs out as he picks the child up, replacing her spot on the floor with the present in his hand. She goes to wrap her small arms around his neck as he asks her, “Did you grow since just last night?”

“No!” She giggles as he pinches her cheeks. “I missed you Uncle Chris! You weren’t here when we woke up,” his niece pouts. You look at Chris to see him with matching puppy dog eyes and poked out lip. 

“Oh, Kiddo, I’m sorry. I--”

“It’s ok,” she cut him off, causing you to chuckle at her brashness, “I saved the gift from you and your special friend to open last!”

“Well, speaking of...” Chris pulls you in closer to him by your hand, “This is her! I went to get her from the airport,” he beams down at you. The little cutie in Chris’ arm has turned more shy when speaking to you as you exchange names and a quaint handshake. 

In a not-so-quiet whisper, she tells Chris, “She’s really pretty. Good job,” with an added thumbs-up and shoulder pat. You can’t fight your giggle and the heat that rises to your face, and Chris can’t fight the laughter that erupts from himself.

Chris is joined in a chorus of laughter, the foyer now filled with Evans’ of all ages, tickled by one of their youngest and no doubt happy that Chris is home… and brought company. This is it… you think.

It’d been a long while since you’d ‘met the family’, having not made it that far with the relationships leading up to this one with Chris. You wonder if it’s like riding a bike, or if you should’ve read an article on how to during your last minute flight.

In the crowd of smiling Evans’, you spot Chris’ mom and brother. You’ve met them on numerous occasions, all in L.A., and know them pretty well. However, everyone else you knew from a picture, a story or would be meeting for the first time this afternoon. There was going to be a lot of meeting, greeting, questioning, explaining… 

You steel yourself for the day ahead. Chris looks at you and gives you a reassuring smile and squeeze on your hand. You reciprocate, tension releasing only the slightest as you look at his sunny face, your reminder of why this must go well.

————————————————��—————————

The first couple hours you were sure would be the hardest. It was a time of first impressions, and you only get one of those. Tasked with making the rounds to about 30 or so aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, in-laws, childhood this and that, Chris wanted to make sure you met every. Single. Body. And as soon possible.

“That way, we get you comfortable faster!” He rejoiced. Chris’ excitement was always infectious so you try to let wash over and enthuse you. 

You lost count of how many times you fake laughed at ‘Chris has finally brought you home! We were starting to think you weren’t real!’. But with Chris by your side, the worn out joke was just bearable. He found new ways to respond each time, no doubt to at least keep you entertained. ‘Who do you owe money, then?’ or ‘When you find a treasure, you try to keep it to yourself as long as possible *wink*’ or ‘She’s not even here… she’s a hallucination’ never failed to make you laugh or make your cheeks burn.

It’s actually really endearing to know that there was some anticipation for your arrival. Unbeknownst to you, Chris had been hyping you up to his family. Telling them your accomplishments and aspirations in your writing career, which apparently impressed them. He told them your hobbies and other passions that sparked conversations about their own, and prompted advice on your life trajectory. 

All in all, breaking the ice was more delightful than you thought it would be, and hoped that by sticking by Chris’ side the rest of the day would go in that way. But the universe had other plans.

At one point, you get whisked away to the kitchen by Chris’ mom, Lisa, under the guise of needing help with some dishes for dinner. You quickly realize that it's a set-up of sorts, with most of the women of the Evans family gathered around the island putting finishing touches on their dishes and slyly sipping spiked eggnog. These are the people who you feel you have to impress.

Their chatter and laughter came to a halt as they eyed you cautiously crossing the kitchen to the spot Lisa designated you. It was only a matter of time before the interrogation began.

“So… we’ll cut straight to the chase: why is it we’re just now meeting you? You’ve been with our Chris how long now?”

“Vicky!” Lisa smacks her arm warningly. “Have you no filter? You’ll scare the poor girl off before dinner!”

Chris has told you about his infamous Aunt Vicky. “A true cream puff; soft and sweet… once you get past the tough outside,” you remember him telling you.

“It’s fine,” you start, not willing to cower from the inquiry, “Chris and I have been together 2-½ years— 3 in June. And we’ve been happily taking things slow.”

“Good on you for taking things slow. Most women would— and do— jump at the chance to lock down our Chris. But not you, you’re a woman with her own sense of self. We like that,” you’re affirmed with a wink.

Whew.

“You are as pretty as our kid spy said; thought she was exaggerating.”

“Um thank you…?”

“She’s pretty, but can she cook?”

“Carole!” Lisa warns another woman and apologizes to you with her eyes. Chris also told you about his aunt Carole, Vicky’s ‘side kick’. The two of them made for a dubious duo.

“Yeah, what’s Chris’ favorite dish of yours?” Aunt Vicky prodded.

“I can cook, but not that often for Chris,” you respond, to which you’re met with crickets and cock-headed looks. You add, “He’s out of town a lot, and when he is in town, he’s the one doing the showing and proving of why I should stay with him,” you joke (kind of), and to your relief, they find it funny.

“Oooo I like her!” Vicky and Carole say in unison, causing the kitchen of women to laugh. You really did try to keep your expectations low for this visit, not necessarily wanting to seek Chris’ extended family’s acceptance, but you can’t help the relief you feel in this moment.

The next couple hours pass of helping out with dinner dishes and dessert, giggling over glasses of cocktails and family stories. You’d narrowly avoided questions about marriage and babies, but that’s to be expected. For the first time today, you’re able to forget your worries and your boyfriend and actually enjoy yourself. Speaking of...

“Hey you,” Chris is waiting by your seat that’s next to his which he pulls out for you when you arrive at it. An early Christmas dinner is about to be served, and you and Chris are reunited at the table for the first time in hours. “Missed you,” he says with a kiss on your temple. “Can’t wait to hear about your day,” he adds. But there wasn’t much talking between you two throughout the meal, though. 

No, the Evans’ family theatrics don’t allow for it. All of them talk with complete genuineness, laugh with their entire beings, opine with their whole chests, and you see where Chris gets it from. Turning to your boyfriend, you find him smiling and laughing along with the rest of the table, looking full of warmth and love. Completed by his family. Your heart gets a little heavier thinking about how he doesn’t have these moments as often as he’d like. In part by his job, yes, but a small part of you feels like you may also have something to do with that. A thought that pains you to wade in too long.

After dinner you try to help with the dishes, packing away leftovers and to-go plates. You don’t get too far, instead get shooed out of the kitchen by the elders, being told to ‘spend the rest of the evening with your man’. You oblige, realizing you barely talked to each other since earlier in the day. In your quick scan of the house, you couldn’t find him, so you shoot him a text.

Some of the kids and teenagers were gathered around some games in the den. Their antics and wittiness remind you of your nieces. They happily let you join in, and at one point, you acquired a little one on your lap as your game partner. The two of you bond over beating her cousins in these games as you school them in a few rounds of Uno, Connect Four, and Jenga. 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you smile as you check it.

“Oooooo is it from Uncle Chris?” she cheekily asks as you get up, setting her on your spot on the floor.

“They’re probably gonna go make out under the mistletoe,” one of the older kids teased. The room of adolescents erupt into a fit of giggles and chorus of ‘ews’

“Are you two gonna get married?” the little cutie randomly asks you. “I heard my Grandma and Aunts talking about it!”

“Oh, wow, um… I gotta, I’ll see you all later.” With that you dash out of the room, as symphony ‘K-I-S-S-I-N-G…’ fading behind you.

——————————————————————————

The sky was shades of baby blues, pinks, purples and oranges. It’s a beautiful backdrop to the snow and ice kissed tree branches and lawns. The road had been freshly salted and freed of winter obstacles making it easier to stroll along as you and Chris often did after a meal.

It’s even more beautiful than he said, you think to yourself. For a second you wonder why you were ever hesitant to come here. There was no real reason, yet you used a million excuses. But this time around, you finally ran out.

Not that you weren’t tired of your fear. That was it. The real reason… was fear.

You look down at your boots, the ones you dust off just one week a year now. Striding beside them are a larger, more expensive pair; they too only see the snow on rare occasions. Your eyes follow up the long legs they belong to, taking in the nice slacks and chunky cable knit sweater under a heavy, well-made piece of outerwear. Your eyes finally land on the face of the man in the fine threads. 

Looking at Chris right now, you’ve never seen him fit in so perfectly somewhere. But why wouldn’t he on the roads he cut his teeth on. He could make you forget every fear and every doubt you’ve ever had. Hell, he could make you forget your name on a good day. And on those days, you didn’t know what to do with all of that, what to make of it. But it’s the most wonderful time of the year, so 

“Come here,” you say just above a whisper, tugging on Chris’ hand causing him to turn to you. You bring your hands to his broad shoulders, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles there. You languidly drag your right hand over to his chest as you notice a red stain on the light colored knit. “My love…” you humoredly drag out as you tap on the food stain.

“I know, I know. My mother already beat you to the scolding,” he chuckles.

“You’d think by this age you’d have learned to be more careful.”

“Hmm, now what fun would that be…” his sultry tone didn’t go unnoticed by you. Your eyes on his tailored, dinner party clothes, hoping to find a relief for your emotions somewhere between the stitches. You never know where to begin with your feelings. Surely it would be to start with the easy stuff, but it all seems hard. 

You rub your hands on his chest, not quite meeting his eyes. “What’s up? Whatcha thinking about?” Chris asks with a lopsided grin, resting his hands on either side of your waist. You smile at him nervously. Before you could say anything, there’s a gust of sharp, cold wind. You clutch on to Chris’ sweater, burying your face in his chest seeking refuge and warmth.

“M’thinking about how you got me out in this damn cold! You know my southern bones can’t take it,” your whines muffled by his sweater. He chuckles at your antics.

Chris slowly drags his large palms up from your waist, and this just ensures that there are goosebumps on your skin under your layers if the wind hasn't done so already. He rests one hand on your shoulder pulling you apart just enough for you to look into his hazy blue eyes. His other hand continues it’s trek until it’s rested on the side of your neck, his thumb stroking your jaw. “I know of a way to get you warm…”

“Was this part of your plan?”

“Mmmm… maybe…” Chris leans in close, surely to kiss you, but you have other plans.

“How’s it feel to be back home?” you inquired with faux aloofness, slipping out of his hold and continuing your walk towards his mother’s home.

Chris hesitates for a second, wondering if you really just swerved a kiss from him. He clears his throat, “Uh… yeah it’s great! There’s nothing like family, I know you can agree to that. Even if they are loud… and crazy,” to which you both chuckle. “So…” he starts as he wraps his arms around your middle causing you both to waddle up the front lawn. “How do you feel? Not so bad, was it?”

“No! Far from it! I really, really love your family Chris,” you say as you crane your neck to look at him briefly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Although, I strongly disagree with some of their choices in best music of all time, but I’ll learn to get over that. I got over it with you,”

Chris spins you around in his arms, hands firmly on your waist. “I don’t care what you say; Joel is the best music Billy of ALL TIME!”

“Yeah, ok.” you retort with an eye roll to his amusement.

“I’m glad you had a good time babe. They’ve been hounding me to meet you for a while now. I’m happy we made it happen.”

The words are right there on your lips. I’m sorry it took so long. I’m sorry I acted silly. I’m sorry I was scared to take the next step. But what if I’m not ready? What if we get it wrong? Your throat is dry, as it often is when it’s time to bare a little of your soul. At least Chris always has something to say.

“I can’t wait for you to see me this nervous when I meet your family…” You don’t know if that makes you feel better or worse. Chris looks into your eyes expectantly, lovingly. His features are soft and tender, and you think it’s the most beautiful sight on a man, on this man. Your man.

Chris looks at your lips then at your eyes. There goes that silent question again. You’ve never been one to give Chris what he wants when he wants it. He’ll never admit, but it’s one of the things he loves most about you. So, in true you-fashion, you make a run for it.

He’s baffled, but doesn’t waste much time in playing into your little game. You’re laughing hysterically as you look over your shoulder to see him bounding after you on the front lawn. You high tail it around the side of his childhood home, kind of hoping he catches you. Not even you, as stubborn as you are, would want to be running forever.

Chris walks into the backyard cautiously, but not cautiously enough as he’s met with a snowball in the temple. And your maniacal laughter.

“Oh, you’re in for it now!” Chris sneers as he scoops up the most perfectly compacted snowball.

“Oh shit!” You slowly make for the backdoor, walking up the deck stairs backwards, hands up in surrender “C’mon babe, you don’t have to do this,” you plead.

“Yes. Yes, I do. Cos all I wanted was an innocent, sweet kiss.”

“I’ll give you a kiss! Just put the snowball down.”

“It’s too late, sweetheart.” The look in his eyes is sending butterflies straight to your heat. As much as you wouldn’t mind ‘losing’ this game, there’s too much at stake.

“Think of my hair!” You whine to appeal to his better nature. That gave Chris pause, but only for a moment.

“It’s in braids; you’ll be ok.” When Chris takes a step towards you, you take a step back, but instead of eating snow as you anticipate, you slip on a patch of ice and fall flat on your ass.

Chris is quick to race over to your side. “Babe! Are you ok?” he’s slightly panicked as he lifts your torso in his arms, checking your eyes for consciousness.

“Got the wind knocked out of me, but I’m fine, yeah,” you say through a dry laugh.

“Oh, thank god.” He says with a sigh of relief and a wide smile. You smile back at him as he strokes your cheek and says, “Now I won’t feel bad about this.”

“Wha—“ You see white as your face freezes over. Chris is dying of laughter as you sputter the snowball out of your mouth. 

“Ha ha ha. Keep laughing... you won’t get that kiss you’re wanting so bad.” He immediately stops laughing, deflates, and pouts, causing you to giggle. “Oh my goodness! Is it that serious?” you teased him a little further. Chris was done playing, though. He stood up and folded his thick arms over his chest to show you he was serious.

You stood up too, and began to tap and poke at his shoulders, chest and stomach. Chris wouldn’t look at you, trying his best to stand firm and not smile. “Look up, dummy!” you say eventually. He acts as if he’s doing you a favor, but can’t hide his giddiness at the sight on the ceiling.

A leafy green plant, with a cluster of red inedible berries, secured with a red ribbon.

You take his face into your hands, lightly grazing your fingers over Chris’ full, trimmed beard. The world is out of focus as you and Chris are now eye to eye. Neither of you can hide your eagerness. You rub your thumb over his plump bottom lip and wonder why you would ever deny yourself this man.

Pulling him into you, the gap is closed between your mouths. The kiss is gentle, shy even, after first. It dawns on you that you’d only shared a quick peck at the airport, and before then, had gone a couple weeks missing each other’s touch.

The neediness and desire within you is heightened at the thought. You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him closer. You start to get lost in him, in his warm taste and touch. You feel the yearning in Chris too. He wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you tightly to himself. His hands start to travel to places you desperately want them to be, but he catches himself, remembering where you are.

“Let’s go say our goodbyes,” he says through an out-of-breath smirk. You bite your bottom lip and reply with a quick nod of your head. 

The pair of you head inside to make your last rounds for the evening. Chris keeps it pretty brief with everyone, the both of you promising to see them again sometime soon in the new year. Early Spring seems to work for most everyone; the kids will be on spring break, Chris will be home before jetting off for a press tour, and you’ll have settled in to your new writing job, that isn’t exactly your dream gig, but a step in… a direction.

As you got into Chris’ car to head for his Boston home, waving to his family as you backed out the driveway, none of you could predict or prepare yourselves for the very different, sordid world that waits in the months ahead. How drastically it would change on grand and small scales.

You look adoringly at Chris from your spot in the passenger seat, unaware the beginning of your relationship’s treacherous slope was just a few days away. Had you known, you wouldn’t have left that kiss so soon, would’ve cherished his heated embrace a little more later tonight.

But it’s already been written.

——————————————————————————

What’d you think?

[cameron-malkin]

but always keep ‘em on a leash || Cameron selfpara || 6.14.20

  As the couple approached the house at the end of a cobblestone street, crystalline hues met with the oddly familiar bright red door. Vaguely, Cameron could recall the layout of the million-dollar home that awaited them. Small, but cold in its pristine quality, each item was placed perfectly on a shelf, as if out of a magazine. In spite of its kitschy decorations, these additions only added to the already unsettling atmosphere. The Bostonian home was, in a word, unwelcoming. The unrelenting grip of his fiancée’s hand was an apt precursor to an unnerving adventure as Cameron felt a crushing wave of anxiety wash over him at the prospect of meeting his future in-laws. Running his free hand down the front of his best white shirt, he tugged at the hem of his well-worn and well-loved leather jacket. Frazzled for what felt like the first time in his life, the reassuring smile gracing his features looked out of place as they entered Lexus’ childhood home. The 28-year-old half expected the Hales to greet them at the door with smiles but was left dumbfounded by empty halls, combat boots trailing behind Lexus as she searched for her parents, eventually finding them on the patio.

Their dispassionate welcome left a foul taste in his mouth, vacant smiles and muttered greetings speaking volumes. Not only did it strike him odd that they refused to greet their only child, but Cameron knew immediately he was not accepted by her parents as the cold but familiar feeling of being unwanted set in. Leather jackets and tattoos made rich people nervous, which was perhaps the reason why he wore it so well, but an uncharacteristic sense of optimism clung to him. Maybe if I could just talk to them, he thought, I could change their minds. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, shoving them in and out of jean pockets as he desperately wished for a smoke, though part of him was worried he’d combust at the mere sight of his lighter, the sticky humidity of the East Coast coming to reclaim him with vengeance. Frazzled fingertips began to peel at the cardboard carton of smokes, hoping that would be enough for now, just knowing they were there. Judgemental stares and awkward exchanges cemented the fact that he was not what was expected — or maybe he was exactly what they had expected and that’s why he was such a disappointment — but he forced himself into a permanent gesture of nonchalance, back slumped as he draped himself in a chair beside Lexus.

“You have a really nice home,” He managed to cough out a compliment with an apprehensive smile drawn across full lips. Had it not been for the palpable tension in the air, the smile might have seemed genuine. Or maybe it was the way it was almost impossible for him to meet their stares, electric orbs focusing intently on the hanging light fixtures instead. Although his statement was true, he couldn’t stop listing the similarities between their home and the extravagant houses he’d plundered in the past. While it was one of the nicest homes he’d been invited into, fingers drumming soundlessly against his trusty Marlboros, he almost wished he was on the other side again. He occupied himself with musing about thwarting their security system.

Dinners were exhausting, the beast that lurked within all too aware of Lexus’ discomfort. It was obsessed with her, restless with her paranoia, her swirling feet driving it mad with each sign of her growing anxiety. Fleeting fingertips brushing against the bare skin of his wrist brought some comfort, made him feel a little bit more…Cameron. He was sure to take advantage of this fleeting solace and on more than one occasion (okay — twice, but he figured any further attempts would be far beyond the call of duty), offered topics of pointless conversation. Rich people like the weather, right? Wrong. He learned the hard way, as only Lexus responded.

Cameron’s favourite parts were the nights after dinner, finally alone as dusk fell over Boston’s city streets. Lexus showed him the secret places she’d hide as a teenager, his favourite of which being a particular blind spot on the roof. It was one of the only places he felt safely alone with her, the pink teddy bear in the corner of her room staring daggers at him all night long.

On their final evening, Cameron had finally broken the ice. Instead of talking about the weather, he studiously complimented Mr Hale’s collection of books in the living room. Better yet, it wasn’t far from the truth, the poet in him genuinely in awe of the pristine collections of classic poets’ works. Although the heavy focus on materialistic possessions irritated him, he was quite proud to have broken the everlasting silence. Even Mrs Hale was happy to join in, the few crystal glasses of expensive wine (the beast counted five, a number Cameron hastily downplayed) loosening her lips. The most vicious part of the evening was how carefully they observed Lexus, their target. Each of the vertebrae in Lexus’ spine went rigid, not unlike the beast lurking within Cameron’s chest, as she sat with extraordinary posture. Both watching, both waiting. Though her parents said little to her, its glowing azure eyes watched their reactions closely, the bronze hues of her mother cold and calculating. Noticing her daughter on edge, the bottle blond finally pounced, her brutal attack slurred from between faintly wrinkled lips.

“I see rehab is clearly working for you.”

A sharp intake of breath caused his lungs to cry out, the beast now a battering ram as it slammed against his chest. Cameron nearly spat out his drink. Rarely caught off guard, the 28-year-old’s gaze fell to the matriarch once more, promising the beast he’d misheard the slur. Yes, Lexus had been drinking but not that much and not nearly as much as her mother. Surely her mother wouldn’t criticize her, a woman so eager to prove her superior intelligence would understand the hypocrisy of such a statement. Better yet, knowing their daughter’s medical history and uphill battle with mental health, Cameron refused to believe they’d abuse her in such a way. Were they not the ones that sought help for her? Wait, he plead with the beast inside. He set his jaw, squeezing uncomfortably as he fought for dominance in a battle he’d yet to win.

“Well, mother,” Lexus sighed, a flicker of pain registering on her features before her expression grew uncharacteristically hard, “At least I tried.”

“Did you? Because you’ve been in a mental hospital for a simple drug problem for, what, a year now? Year and a half? And you’ve made no notable progress. Picked yourself up a hooligan in the process to feed your diluted dayd—”

Wolfish teeth tore at the cage of his skin as if it were tissue paper. In a flash, snarling lips parted with a roar of a warning, “Enough!” 48 hours’ worth of pent up fury released in one statement, he was numb to the fingertips that constricted his thigh in what was perhaps admonishment, perhaps fear, though both inconsequential in a sea of red hot rage. Her father leapt to his feet, the wolf happily rising to the challenge as Mr Hale’s booming voice ricocheted off the old walls.

“Oh, I’ll tell you what’s enough! You dare to raise your voice to my wife—” He threatened, fist slamming against the table as he leapt from his seat. The beast sneered a laugh, recognising the ineffective scare tactic from a previous argument with Lexus. So that’s where she got it from. The thought only angered him more, wondering how many times that fist had frightened her in the past. Mouth parted to continue his tirade; Cameron’s swift interjection cut him off.

“Oh,” His gravelly voice chuckled darkly, eyes magical and radiant with the promise of violence. “Please, go on.” The threat hung in the air, a purposeful look in Cameron’s eyes just daring her father to speak another word. Hesitating, his features paled upon abruptly confronting the danger he’d unknowingly encountered.

Cameron will never forget the quaking of her voice, rough with fear. Fleetingly, he wondered if she feared him — of what the feral beast would do — but there wasn’t enough time to lose himself in such introspection.

“What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?” Ears back, eyes glued to burning ember hues, both the beast and Cameron were lost. “Can’t you see he’s the only one that had any fucking hope here? You fucking monsters! Who does this? Who actually does this?”

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his heart hammering between his ears amid being suddenly thrown into the height of a family fracturing. The beast took off, whimpering as it took cover from an unintelligible situation. Cameron struggled to process his thoughts, the hazy red glare of anger fading slightly as his eyes remained transfixed on the beauty of a breakdown. Seeing Lexus unravel somehow brought him back to a place of marginal restraint and, although it wasn’t as much as he would have liked, he was thankful for any improvement. Struggling to keep the tight grip around his self-control as the rope meant to leash a beast turned into a silky band of ribbon caught between clammy palms.

The dark flame of anger illuminated his pale features, a deep breath expanding his chest as he broadened his shoulders. Taking an intentional step towards the figurehead of the household, balled fists clenched at his sides.

“You might think you can do this to her because she’s your daughter, but when she’s my wife, think again,” He seethed, tightened jaw strangling his words. Years of torture suddenly made clear, both he and the whimpering beast prioritized their return to Lexus. Nerves turned his stomach, nauseous as he took the stairs two at a time.  

How long ago had she disappeared from the room? The image of her fury, from the shape of her grimacing mouth to the wild look in her eye, haunted Cameron. Would he greet a similar sight? It struck the fear of God into the non-believer, letting out an oath, “Fuckin’ hell.” Leather boots pounded across hardwood floors, following the cacophony of crashing and thudding up the staircase to the second floor. In passing, he noted with disgust that her parents remained seated at the dining table, motionless. “Lex!” Desperation clung to his tone as he called up the stairs, wasting no time invading the sacred privacy of her childhood bedroom.

Raven hair flew back at the sight of an open door, clearing the path for blazing mahogany hues to burn through azure eyes.

“Don’t.” She warned, one hand positioned in front of her, as if to dissuade him from coming closer. Again he wondered, had he frightened her? “Don’t, Cameron, don’t. I can’t, okay, I can’t. I can’t!” Tears slipping down her cheeks, he followed the instinctual tug towards her, unable to bear their separation. Stubbornly brushing past her idle warning, strong tattooed arms pulled her small frame to his chest.

“Shhh,” Although his heart was pounding, he eradicated all sense of fear from his voice, swallowing his own chaotic mix of emotions in order to ease the pain currently afflicting his fiancée. Gently, Cameron threaded his hand into her strawberry scented locks as she pressed an ear to his heart, “Shhh, it’s okay.”

To his astonishment, she began struggling against his chest, bracing against his forearms as she insisted, “It’s not! Fuck! I’m sick of this fucking — fucking — preformative bullshit! You know? I’m sick of being treated like a fucking pariah the minute — the absolute minute — they perceive me to be out of line. And what the fuck are their fucking lines? I mean, for the love of God, what the fuck did I do in there that warranted that? I mean — fuck — I just want something real, like, is that so much to fucking ask for?”

“Hey, hey,” Tattooed hands cradled her face, tone sharp and steady as he made it clear to her there would be no room for refusal, “Look at me.” Guiding a hand towards his heart, he continued, “This. This is real.” And like every time before, upon uttering the sentence, nostalgia stabbed him in the heart. His tone softened as full lips pressed gentle kisses to her temple, “Okay?” In his arms, she became undone, sobs tearing through her delicate frame as Cameron held onto her tightly, each muffled cry calling forth the searing hot pain of guilt.

As slow, steady breaths returned, spiteful words lingered on the tip of his tongue. Faced with the foreign territory of family dynamics, while Cameron knew the beast would gladly lend its voice to curse the people downstairs, he wasn’t quite sure it was best for Lex.  A harsh sigh pushed free from lips drawn into a thin line, a pitiful attempt at repressing the beast struggling to break free. Gently, he inquired, “What do you need from me?” Harsh truth clung to his throat. I don’t know what to do, but silent seconds ticked by as he wrestled the words out of his mouth. Muttering his defeat, he confessed, “I don’t know what to do, baby.” Lost and without answers, blood-red lips pressed apologetic kisses to her crown.

“I don’t know,” She shook her head, voice trembling in a way that alerted Cameron to her weeping. It broke him, soul aching at the sound. “I just — I just don’t wanna be here.”

Fine, he nearly answered in a gasp, that’s fine! We’ll leave! In fact, he was almost surprised by the level voice that answered her, “Okay, let’s get out of here.” As if it were nothing in the world, and in a way, it wasn’t. Heart pumping with increased regularity as he was faced with the need of an escape plan, Cameron recalled the nearest airport. They’d need a car. With a ghost of a frown, it became abundantly clear he couldn’t hot-wire a getaway car. Did she still have that credit card?

“What?” The voice from below squeaked, a mere echo in Cameron’s mind as he continued to work out the logistics of their escape. The credit card would allow them to purchase new tickets for an earlier flight. It was only six o’clock, surely there would be more flights to Seattle. Fuck, what about the ride back to Thornewood?

“Get your things,” He stated more plainly as he remained deep in thought, “We’re leaving.” Plan B, the ex-con decided, they’d stay in a motel until morning. It wouldn’t be much, but he had enough cash on him to at least afford that.

Cameron wasn’t aware of the silence stretching between them until she broke it.

“But how?” She wondered, large brown eyes peering up at him as her chin rested on his chest. Heart swelling with affection, Cameron fought the smirk flirting with his lips, instead pressing a kiss to her hair with a light chuckle. Times like this, doe-eyes wide with questions, assured the 28-year-old he still dazzled his fiancée.

“We’ll figure something out,” He cooed, self-assured, “We always do…you still have that credit card, don’t you?”

Her lips trembled, opening and closing as she stammered, “But, they pay for that.”

All resolve was broken, full smile gracing his lips as Cameron laughed heartily. Torn between the desire to confess his love for her and knowing he didn’t quite deserve to, he opted to dispel her disbelief. “Babe,” The New Jerseyan chuckled, “So? Fuck these people.” Stealing from the rich to give to themselves felt reminiscent of Robin Hood. They were poor enough, right? Besides, although Cameron would never voice his theory out of hurting Lex, he wondered if the Hales cared enough to check their daughter’s bank statements. Judging from the outburst tonight, it was clear she was “out of sight, out of mind” — regardless of how repugnant that behaviour was. Shaking off his thoughts and the beast that growled lowly from a place deep within him, with a few moments of encouragement, the couple were off.  

Blacked out windows hid exhausted features from pedestrians walking the streets of Boston, buildings and faces blurring as the sight of the city faded into the distance. Safety returned in the heat of the night. This he remembered. Nights so black that the darkness clung, sticking to his bones like a second skin. It was only then, in the midst of this familiarity, that he noticed the city streets red with blood, shimmering in the dim glow of the streetlights. The sickness struck him in the gut, twisting his insides without remorse. It wrenched the air from his lungs, chest tightening with an emotion unrecognizable.

Fear.

Sharp teeth tore into his bottom lip, resisting the urge to bark directions at the taxi driver. Faster! But it was worthless, already made aware of the ashes left in his wake. Another family destroyed, perhaps the only one that mattered.

Hers.

Wading through the murky waters clogging his thoughts, the river of guilt and disappointment ran deep.

“Talk to me,” A quiet whisper broke the silence, her soft touch along the back of his knuckles brought him out of the never-ending downward spiral. The only acknowledgement of her words was the whisper of a sigh that met the quiet command. Full lips hummed false happiness, hoping she would assume he was tired and leave it at that. Expectant eyes lingered. Fuck. This time, he shot for aloofness.

“About what?”

“About that, that look.”

There was very little fight left in Cameron to deflect the conversation away from the sea of doubt he was drowning in, no clear escape from the litany of thoughts corrupting every retort sitting on the tip of his tongue. He exhaled a large sigh, running his free hand through his hair.

“I’m supposed to protect you,” Hushed and delicate confessions caused his face to almost flush from the embarrassing fragility of his statement, had it not been for the A/C fanning his face. “Last time we were here, I promised you, like it or not, I’d protect you. Because I loved you. And — Lexus — I’ve only fallen more in love with you. Everything I felt for you back then...it doesn’t even scrape the bottom of the barrel. It’s not even shallow, it’s almost — I don’t know, it feels fuckin’ dumb,” A laugh, rueful and facetious, escaped his lips before continuing, “Like the way I imagine stupid fuckin’ 17-year-old little kids feel. And with that feeling, the way I feel about you now, I only wanna protect you more, y’know? And I know I’ve told you that, but...to know that this is my fault…” Grief-stricken hues shrouded by dark circles were painted a brilliant red by the colourful array of Boston’s nightlife. Briefly glancing across leather seats to Lex, he caught the unfamiliar sight of her unbuckling the seatbelt to crawl onto his lap. Forehead resting against his, he sighed, eyes slipping closed as a hand knotted into her hair. Gently, two hands caressed the sides of his face as if he were just as fragile as she, the pad of her thumb skimming over his tired features.

“Cameron,” She breathed, “You’re always saving me. You’re always protecting me.”

“Yeah?” His voice cut through the air in a low snarl, self-hatred dripping from every word, a pent up rage threatening to spill over and drown out her consolations with the tidal wave of his failures. “Is that what I was doing in the library? Huh? Let’s not forget I pushed you. Not Casey, you.”

“Because I jumped in the way—”

“Sweetheart, tonight. What do you call tonight?” His demand left exasperated lips. Hatred swelled with every syllable, lashing out against the feral beast that raged within his chest. There was no way to describe the near-constant power struggle between a man and his demons, both with an equally thin grasp of emotion. He continued, “If I never got involved, if I never stuck my fuckin’ nose where it didn’t fuckin’ belong, let’s be honest, you wouldn’t’ve been here. Y’know, I got so wrapped up in thinking that you were missing out on this great opportunity for a happy family — something I never had — I didn’t even realize I was walking you right back in to all your shit—”

The forceful guiding of her hand against his neck pulled cerulean hues to honeyed chocolate orbs, deep flecks of gold that seemed to emphasise the haunting notion that Lexus saw Cameron for what he truly was. In moments like these, as rare as they were raw, Cameron longed to see himself through her eyes. Flaws, mistakes and faults plagued his soul, yet she continually accepted and understood them. “What you did was admirable.” Despondent, Cameron attempted to turn away, until two stubborn hands held him tight, steadfast in her conviction. “No, honestly, Cameron. Listen to me, I’d rather you advocate for me and be wrong a million times than stand by and let me fall for everything like I used to. I mean, that’s what I’d do for you, y’know? And, let’s flip the tables — would you just want me to keep my fuckin’ nose where it belongs or whatever?”

He almost corrected her, you wouldn’t if I asked you to, instead he sighed in agreement. “Yeah,” He relented, thoughts inexplicably brightened by the tremor of her voice, weighty with truth. If all else failed, Cameron decided, at least she loved him. Fingers slipped beneath the fabric of her shirt as they skimmed over the sensitive skin of her hips, purposefully tickling her sides as he flashed her a devilish grin attempting to dispel the plague of unresolved frustrations, “But I’m right all the time.”

“You are not!”

“Oh, come on,” Came his teasing hum of disapproval, full smirk settling onto his lips as he affectionately nuzzled her strawberry scented locks before continuing to tickle her sides in the never ending quest to restore her infectious laughter. Ocean eyes found her, parted in the joy of laughter, suddenly irresistible. Catching her lips in a kiss, Cameron guided Lexus towards him, tattooed arms pulling her closer. For the first time since arriving in Boston, he felt Lexus relax against him, further encouraging their passion-fueled kiss — probably to the chagrin of the taxi driver, much to Cameron’s amusement.

Strong and profound worthlessness pulled him away, rejecting the joys of  pleasure as the city streets still ran red with the same blood coating his hands. “Lex,” The voice sounded strange, mangled in a way that made him wonder if it was his own. “If I were to tell you I’m sorry...would you know what I mean?”

Though his arms held her tight against his chest, he knew her brows furrowed as the quiet question slipped into the night, “What do you mean, ‘would you know what I mean?’”

Silence swallowed them all at once, tired eyes slipping closed with his nose pressed into her hair. For a moment, he imagined it seemed as though he intended to leave it there. Allow the question to be just that: a question, unacknowledged and unanswered, but he could never resist the temptation of her inquiries. Sighing against the crushing weight that fell onto his chest, constricting each breath that attempted to force its way free from his throat — now drier than the Sahara — Cameron was forced to confront the nature of her question.

It had been easier, once, to answer the onslaught of inquiries from his curious companion. Eyes wide with intrigue, Lexus’ thirst for knowledge was insatiable. For a quiet man, he never seemed at a loss for words, reveling in the power it gave him — that she gave him. Each answer was taken as gospel, as if he were the most trusted authority on every matter that came to mind. For the first time in his 28 years of existence, Cameron was taken seriously, his intellect not only trusted but praised.

Now, in the backseat of a taxi with her expectant eyes upon him, Cameron was speechless. Navigating blindly through the mess of residual anger, confusion pounded relentlessly between his temples. Something new lurked beyond the surface, tugging at him from below, endlessly dragging him ever closer towards the ghosts of his repeated failures as they rose beyond their desolate graves. Among that sad sea, three were freshly dug, all bearing the name of Hale. Heart pounding as if he had run a marathon, Cameron squeezed his eyes shut as chapped lips finally parted. Incoherent strings of syllables broke the silence first, until he found the semblance of a voice he made his own, “They’re just words.”

Soft and slow, it was a confession he admitted to no one. Two words he never spoke because they meant nothing. However, now, with the weight of a family crushed on his shoulders, Cameron was left nothing but those two empty words, uttered too often by people didn’t even mean it — or worse yet — had nothing to apologize for.

Alarms were ringing, red lights flashing as the startling realization smacked him with unrelenting force. How would he ever face himself now? Beyond every well placed joke that highlighted a fictitious sense of vanity, Cameron knew the truth: no amount of broken mirrors could ease the disgust he felt upon leveling his gaze with the two darkening hues that followed him throughout his entire life.

The black cloud of a stained reputation was nothing — a minor grievance or, most often, a badge of honor. The rumors weren’t unfounded, nor had they only surfaced in Thornewood. The talk surrounding him in Washington paled in comparison to the legend of his name in Camden. His name locked doors and drew shades. His hometown shrank from him. That was his job — better yet, it was nature. A door slammed as he walked down the street and Cameron smirked, which seemingly only terrified the town more, not unlike Mr. Hale’s paled features as he confined himself to a singular room of his own home, afraid of what monster accompanied his daughter upstairs.

For the first time in his life, Cameron regretted it. The pale features, the trembling voice — he longed to erase all signs of fear. The beast had gotten the better of him, and destroyed the Hales as a result. Lexus could never return home with him in tow.

“I don’t know how to make up for this — for any of this.” In a whisper, he voiced the sentiment bleeding from his open heart, “But I want to.” Opening his eyes, sapphire hues burned bright with exhaustion as he met her gaze. “Lex, you have to believe me, I never wanted this to happen. I just wanted to give you something I never had…and I blew it. I’m sorry isn’t enough. It doesn’t cover it. I—I don’t know how to fix this.” He shook his head, denying the arms that wrapped around him as his fiancé squeezed him. Rejecting his refusal, Lexus held him tighter, and he suddenly understood what she meant when she said sometimes it felt like he was trying to keep her together. Now, as Cameron unraveled under the cover of darkness, Lexus was the glue that held him together.