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96harmony96 · 2 years ago

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Chapter 15

I stopped by Cary’s room before I left for work Thursday morning. I cracked the door open and peeked in. When I saw he was sleeping, I started to back out.

“Hey,” he murmured, blinking at me.

“Hey.” I entered. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m glad to be home.” He rubbed at the corners of his eyes. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah . . . I just wanted to check on you before I head to work. I’ll be home around eight. I’ll grab dinner on the way back, so expect a text around seven to see what you’re hungry—” I interrupted myself with a yawn.

“What kind of vitamins does Jauregui take?”

“Huh?”

“I’m never not horny, and even I can’t pile-drive all night like that. I kept thinking, ‘She’s got to be done now.’ Then she’d start up again.”

I flushed and shifted on my feet.

He howled with laughter. “It’s dark in here, but I know you’re blushing.”

“You should’ve put your headphones on,” I mumbled.

“Don’t stress about it. It was good to find out my equipment still works. I hadn’t had a chubby since before the attack.”

“Eww . . . Gross, Cary.” I started backing out of the room. “My dad comes in tonight. Technically tomorrow. His flight lands at five.”

“You picking him up?”

“Of course.”

His smile faded. “You’re going to kill yourself at this rate. You haven’t gotten any sleep all week.”

“I’ll catch up. See ya.”

“Hey,” he called after me. “Does last night mean you and Jauregui are okay again?”

I leaned into the doorjamb with a sigh. “Something’s wrong, and she won’t talk to me about it. I wrote her a letter basically puking out all my insecurities and neuroses.”

“Never put stuff like that in writing, baby girl.”

“Yeah, well . . . all it got me was fucked half to death with no better idea of what the problem is. She said it has to be this way. I don’t even know what that means.”

He nodded.

“You act like you get it,” I said.

“I think I get the sex.”

That sent a chill down my spine. “Get-it-out-of-your-system sex?”

“It’s possible,” he agreed softly.

I closed my eyes and let the confirmation slide through me. Then I straightened. “I gotta run. Catch you later.”

* * *

The thing about nightmares was that you couldn’t prepare for them. They sneaked up on you when you were most vulnerable, wrecking havoc and mayhem when you were totally defenseless.

And they didn’t always happen while you were sleeping.

I sat in an agonized daze as Mark and Mr. Waters went over the fine points of the Kingsman Vodka ads, achingly aware of Lauren sitting at the head of the table in a black suit with white shirt and tie.

She was pointedly ignoring me, had been from the moment I walked into the Cross Industries conference room aside from a cursory handshake when Mr. Waters introduced us. That brief touch of her skin against mine had sent a charge of awareness through me, my body immediately recognizing her as the one that had pleasured it all night. Lauren hadn’t seemed to register the contact at all, her gaze trained above my head as she’d said, “Miss Cabello.”

The contrast to the last time we’d been in the room was profound. Then, she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off me. Her focus had been searing and blatant, and when we’d left the room she’d told me that she wanted to fuck me and would dispense with anything that got in the way of her doing so.

This time, she stood abruptly when the meeting was concluded, shook the hands of Mark and Mr. Waters, and strode out the door with only a short, inscrutable glance at me. Her two directors scurried after her, both attractive brunettes.

Mark shot me a questioning look across the table. I shook my head.

I made it back to my desk. I worked industriously for the rest of the day. During my lunch break, I stayed in and looked up things to do with my dad. I decided on three possibilities—the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, and a Broadway play, with the trip to Ellis Island reserved for if he really had a desire to go. Otherwise, I figured we could skip the ferry and just check her out from the shore. His time in the city was short, and I didn’t want to overload it with a bunch of running around.

On my last break of the day, I called Lauren’s office.

“Hi, Scott,” I greeted her secretary. “Is it possible for me to talk to your boss real quick?”

“Hold on a minute and I’ll see.”

I half-expected to have my call rejected, but a couple of minutes later I was put through.

“Yes, Camila?”

I took the length of a heartbeat to savor the sound of her voice. “I’m sorry to bother you. This is probably a stupid question, considering, but . . . are you coming to dinner tomorrow to meet my father?”

“I’ll be there,” she said gruffly.

“Are you bringing Ireland?” I was surprised there wasn’t a tremor in my voice, considering the overwhelming relief I felt.

There was a pause. Then, “Yes.”

“Okay.”

“I have a late meeting tonight, so I’ll have to meet you at Dr. Petersen’s. Angus will drive you over. I’ll grab a cab.”

“All right.” I sagged into my seat, feeling a spark of hope. Continuing therapy and meeting my dad could only be seen as positive signs. Lauren and I were struggling. But she hadn’t given up yet. “I’ll see you then.”

* * *

Angus dropped me off at Dr. Petersen’s office at a quarter to six. I went inside and Dr. Petersen waved at me through his open office door, rising from his seat behind his desk to shake my hand.

“How are you, Camila?”

“I’ve been better.”

His gaze swept over my face. “You look tired.”

“So everyone keeps telling me,” I said dryly.

He looked over my shoulder. “Where’s Lauren?”

“She had a late meeting, so she’s coming separately.”

“All right.” He gestured at the sofa. “This is a nice opportunity for us to talk alone. Is there anything in particular you’d like to discuss before she arrives?”

I settled on the seat and spilled my guts, telling Dr. Petersen about the amazing trip to the Outer Banks and then the bizarre, inexplicable week we’d had since. “I just don’t get it. I feel like she’s in trouble, but I can’t get her to open up at all. She’s completely cut me off emotionally. Honestly, I’m beginning to get whiplash. I’m also worried that her change in behavior is because of Corinne. Every time we’ve hit one of these walls, it’s because of her.”

I looked at my fingers, which were twisted around each other. They reminded me of my mother’s habit of twisting handkerchiefs, and I forced my hands to relax. “It almost seems like she’s got some kind of hold on her and she can’t break free of it, no matter how she feels about me.”

Dr. Petersen looked up from his typing, studying me. “Did she tell you that she wasn’t going to make her appointment on Tuesday?”

“No.” The news hit me hard. “She didn’t say anything.”

“She didn’t tell me, either. I wouldn’t say that’s typical behavior for her, would you?”

I shook my head.

Dr. Petersen crossed his hands in his lap. “At times, one or both of you will backtrack a bit. That’s to be expected considering the nature of your relationship—you’re not just working on you as a couple, but also as individuals so you can be a couple.”

“I can’t deal with this, though.” I took a deep breath. “I can’t do this yo-yo thing. It’s driving me insane. The letter I sent her . . . It was awful. All true, but awful. We’ve had some really beautiful moments together. She’s said some—”

I had to stop a minute, and when I continued, my voice was hoarse. “She’s said some w-wonderful things to me. I don’t want to lose those memories in a bunch of ugly ones. I keep debating whether I should quit while I’m ahead, but I’m hanging in here because I promised her—and myself—that I wouldn’t run anymore. That I was going to dig my feet in and fight for this.”

“That’s something you’re working on?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. And it’s not easy. Because some of the things she does . . . I react in ways I’ve learned to avoid. For my own sanity! At some point you have to say you gave it your best shot and it didn’t work out. Right?”

Dr. Petersen’s head tilted to the side. “And if you don’t, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Yes. Worst-case scenario.”

“Well . . .” I splayed my fingers on my thighs. “She keeps drifting away from me, which makes me cling harder and lose all sense of self-worth. And we end up with her going back to life as she knew it and me going back to therapy trying to get my head on straight again.”

He continued to look at me, and something about his patient watchfulness prodded me to keep talking.

“I’m afraid that she won’t cut me loose when it’s time and that I won’t know better. That I’ll keep hanging on to the sinking ship and go down with it. I just wish I could trust that she’d end it, if it comes to that.”

“Do you think that needs to happen?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” I pulled my gaze away from the clock on the wall. “But considering it’s nearly seven and she stood us both up tonight, it seems likely.”

* * *

It was crazy to me that I wasn’t surprised to find the Bentley waiting outside my apartment at quarter to five in the morning. The driver who climbed out from behind the wheel when I stepped outside wasn’t familiar to me. He was much younger than Angus; early thirties was my guess. He looked Latino, with rich caramel-hued skin, and dark hair and eyes.

“Thanks,” I told him, when he rounded the front of the vehicle, “but I’ll just grab a cab.”

Hearing that, the night doorman to my building stepped out to the street to flag one down for me.

“Miss. Jauregui said I’m to take you to La Guardia,” the driver said.

“You can tell Miss. Jauregui that I won’t be requiring her transportation services now or in the future.” I moved toward the cab the doorman had hailed, but stopped and turned around. “And tell her to go fuck herself, too.”

I slid into the cab and settled back as it pulled away.

* * *

I’ll admit to some bias when I say my father stands out in a crowd, but that didn’t make it less true.

As he exited the secure security area, Victor Reyes commanded attention. He was six feet tall, fit and well built, and had the commanding presence of a man who wore a badge. His gaze raked the immediate area around him, always a cop even when he wasn’t on duty. He had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and wore blue jeans with a black button-down shirt. His hair was dark and wavy, his eyes stormy and gray like mine. He was seriously hot in a brooding, dangerous, bad boy sort of way, and I tried to picture him alongside my mother’s fragile, haughty beauty. I’d never seen them together, not even in pictures, and I really wanted to. If only just once.

“Daddy!” I yelled, waving.

His face lit up when he saw me, and a wide smile curved his mouth.

“There’s my girl.” He picked me up in a hug that had my feet dangling above the floor. “I’ve missed you like crazy.”

I started crying. I couldn’t help it. Being with him again was the last emotional straw.

“Hey.” He rocked me. “What’s with the tears?”

I wrapped my arms tighter around his neck, so grateful to have him with me, knowing all the other troubles in my life would fade into the background while he was around.

“I missed you like crazy, too,” I said, sniffling.

We took a cab back to my place. On the ride over, my dad asked me the same sort of investigative questions about Cary’s attack as the detectives had asked Cary in the hospital. I tried to keep him distracted with that discussion when we pulled up outside my building, but it didn’t do any good.

My dad’s eagle eyes took in the modern glass overhang attached to the brick façade of the building. He stared at the doorman, Paul, who touched the brim of his hat and opened the door for us. He studied the front desk and concierge, and rocked back on his heels as we waited for the elevator.

He didn’t say anything and kept his poker face on, but I knew he was thinking about how much my digs must cost in a city like New York. When I showed him into my apartment, his sweeping gaze took in the size of the place. The massive windows had a stunning view of the city, and the flat-screen television mounted on the wall was just one of the many top-of-the-line electronics on display.

He knew I couldn’t afford the place on my own. He knew my mother’s husband was providing for me in ways he would never be able to. And I wondered if he thought about my mother, and how what she needed was also beyond his means.

“The security here is really tight,” I told him by way of explanation. “It’s impossible to get past the front desk if you’re not on the list and a resident can’t be reached to vouch for you.”

My dad exhaled in a rush. “That’s good.”

“Yeah. I don’t think Mom could sleep at night otherwise.”

That made some of the tension leave his shoulders.

“Let me show you to your room.” I led him down the hallway to the guest room suite. It had its own bathroom and mini-bar with fridge. I saw him noting those things before he dropped his duffel on the king-size bed. “Are you tired?”

He looked at me. “I know you are. And you have to work today, don’t you? Why don’t we nap for a bit before you have to get up?”

I stifled a yawn and nodded, knowing I could use the couple of hours of shut-eye. “Sounds good.”

“Wake me when you’re up,” he said, rolling his shoulders back. “I’ll make the coffee while you’re getting ready.”

“Awesome.” My voice came husky with suppressed tears. Lauren almost always had coffee waiting for me on days when she’d spent the night, because she got up before me. I missed that little ritual of ours.

Somehow, I’d have to learn to live without it.

Pushing up onto my tiptoes, I kissed my dad’s cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here, Daddy.”

I closed my eyes and clung tightly when he hugged me.

* * *

I stepped out of the small market with my bags of grocery ingredients for dinner and frowned at finding Angus idling at the curb. I’d refused a ride in the morning and again when I’d left the Crossfire, and he was still following and shadowing. It was ridiculous. I couldn’t help but wonder if Lauren didn’t want me as a girlfriend anymore, but her neurotic lust for my body meant that she didn’t want anyone else to have me—namely Brett.

As I walked home, I entertained thoughts of having Brett over for dinner instead, imagining Angus having to make that call to Lauren when Brett came strolling up to my place. It was just a quick vengeful fantasy, since I wouldn’t lead Brett on that way and he was in Florida anyway, but it did the trick. My step lightened and when I entered my apartment, I was in my first really good mood in days.

I dumped all the dinner stuff off in the kitchen, then went to find my dad. He was hanging out in Cary’s room playing a video game. Cary worked a nunchuk one-handed, since his other hand was in a cast.

“Woo!” my dad shouted. “Spanked.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Cary shot back, “taking advantage of an invalid.”

“I’m crying a river here.”

Cary looked at me in the doorway and winked. I loved him so much in that moment I couldn’t stop myself from crossing over to him and pressing a kiss to his bruised forehead.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Thank me with dinner. I’m starving.”

I straightened. “I got the goods to make enchiladas.”

My dad looked at me, smiling, knowing I’d need his help. “Yeah?”

“When you’re ready,” I told him. “I’m going to grab a shower.”

Forty-five minutes later, my dad and I were in the kitchen rolling cheese and store-bought rotisserie chicken—my little cheat to save time—into lard-soaked white corn tortillas. In the living room, the CD changer slipped in the next disk and Van Morrison’s soulful voice piped through the surround sound speakers.

“Oh yeah,” my dad said, reaching for my hand and tugging me away from the counter. “Hum-de-rum, hum-de-rum, moondance,” he sang in his deep baritone, twirling me.

I laughed, delighted.

Using the back of his hand against my spine to keep his greasy fingers off me, he swept me into a dance around the island, both of us singing the song and laughing. We were making our second revolution when I noticed the two people standing at the breakfast bar.

My smile fled and I stumbled, forcing my dad to catch me.

“You got two left feet?” he teased, his eyes only on me.

“Camila’s a wonderful dancer,” Lauren interjected, her face arrested in that implacable mask I detested.

My dad turned, his smile fading, too.

Lauren rounded the bar and entered the kitchen. She’d dressed for the occasion in jeans and a Yankees T-shirt. It was a suitably casual choice and a conversation starter, since my dad was a die-hard Padres fan.

“I hadn’t realized she was such a good singer, as well. Lauren Jauregui,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand.

“Victor Cabello.” My dad waved his shiny fingers. “I’m a bit messy.”

“I don’t mind.”

Shrugging, my dad took her hand and sized her up.

I tossed the dish towel to them and made my way over to Ireland, who was positively glowing. Her blue eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” I said, hugging her carefully. “You look gorgeous!”

“So do you!”

It was a fib, but I appreciated it anyway. I hadn’t done anything to my face or hair after my shower, because I knew my dad wouldn’t care and I hadn’t expected Lauren to show up. After all, the last time I’d heard from her had been when she’d said she would meet me at Dr. Petersen’s office.

She looked over at the counter where I’d dumped everything. “Can I help?”

“Sure. Just don’t count calories in your head—it’ll explode.” I introduced her to my dad, who was much warmer to her than he was to Lauren, and then I led her to the sink, where she washed up.

In short order, I had her helping to roll the last few enchiladas, while my dad put the already chilled Dos Equis Lauren had brought into the fridge. I didn’t even bother to wonder how Lauren knew I was serving Mexican food for dinner. I only wondered why she’d invest the time to find out when it was very clear she other things to do—like ditch her appointments.

My dad went to his room to wash up. Lauren came up behind me and put her hands on my waist, her lips brushing over my temple. “Camila.”

I tensed against the nearly irresistible urge to lean into her. “Don’t,” I whispered. “I’d rather we didn’t pretend.”

Her breath left her in a rush that ruffled my hair. Her fingers tightened on my hips, kneading for a moment. Then I felt her phone vibrate and she released me, backing away to look at the screen.

“Excuse me,” she said gruffly, leaving the kitchen before answering.

Ireland sidled over and whispered, “Thank you. I know you made her bring me along.”

I managed a smile for her. “Nobody can make Lauren do anything she doesn’t want to.”

“You could.” She tossed her head, throwing her sleek waist-length black hair over her shoulder. “You didn’t see her watching you dance with your dad. Her eyes got all shiny. I thought she was going to cry. And on the way up here, in the elevator, she tried to play it off, but I could totally tell she was nervous.”

I stared down at the can of enchilada sauce in my hands, feeling my heart break a little more.

“You’re mad at her, aren’t you?” Ireland asked.

I cleared my throat. “Some people are just better off as friends.”

“But you said you love her.”

“That’s not always enough.” I turned around to reach the can opener and found Lauren standing at the other end of the island, staring at me. I froze.

A muscle in her jaw twitched before she unclenched it. “Would you like a beer?” she asked gruffly.

I nodded. I could’ve used a shot, too. Maybe a few.

“Want a glass?”

“No.”

She looked at Ireland. “You thirsty? There’s soda, water, milk.”

“How about one of those beers?” she shot back, flashing a winsome smile.

“Try again,” she said wryly.

I watched Ireland, noting how she sparkled when Lauren focused on her. I couldn’t believe she didn’t see how she loved her. Maybe right now it was based on superficial things, but it was there and it would grow with a little encouragement. I hoped she’d work on that.

When Lauren handed me the chilled beer, her fingers brushed mine. She held on for a minute, looking into my eyes. I knew she was thinking about the other night.

It seemed like a dream now, as if her visit never really happened. I could almost believe that I’d made it up in a desperate delusion, so hungry for her touch and her love that I couldn’t go another minute without giving my mind relief from the madness of wanting and craving. If it weren’t for the lingering soreness deep inside me, I wouldn’t know what was real and what was nothing but false hope.

I pulled the beer out of her grasp and turned away. I didn’t want to say we were done and over, but it was certain now that we needed a break from each other. Lauren needed to figure out what she was doing, what she was looking for, and whether I had any meaningful place in her life. Because this roller-coaster ride we were on was going to break me, and I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked.

I answered without looking at her, because doing so was too painful. “Can you see if we can get Cary out here? He’s got a wheelchair.”

“All right.”

She left the room, and I could suddenly breathe deeply again.

Ireland hurried over. “What happened to Cary?”

“I’ll tell you about it while we set the table.”

* * *

I was surprised I could eat. I think I was too fascinated by the silent showdown between my dad and Lauren to notice that I was stuffing food into my mouth. At one end of the table, Cary was charming Ireland into peals of laughter that kept making me smile. At the other end, my dad sat at the head of the table, with Lauren on his left and me on his right.

They were talking. The conversation had opened with baseball, as I’d expected, then migrated into golf. On the surface, both seemed relaxed, but the air around them was highly charged. I noticed that Lauren wasn’t wearing her expensive watch. She’d planned carefully to appear as “normal” as possible.

But nothing Lauren did on the outside could change who she was on the inside. It was impossible to hide what she was—a dominant person, a captain of industry, a woman of privilege. It was in every gesture she made, every word she spoke, every look she gave.

So she and my father were in the position of struggling to find who would be the alpha, and I suspected I hung in the balance. As if anyone were in control of my life but me.

Still, I understood that my father had only really been allowed to be a dad in the last four years, and he wasn’t ready to give it up. Lauren, however, was jockeying for a position I was no longer prepared to give her.

But she was wearing the ring I’d given her. I tried not to read anything into it, but I wanted to hope. I wanted to believe.

We’d all finished the main course and I was pushing to my feet to clear the table for dessert when the intercom buzzed. I answered.

“Camila? NYPD detectives Graves and Michna are here,” the gal at the front desk said.

I glanced at Cary, wondering if the detectives had found out who’d attacked him. I gave the go-ahead for them to come up and hurried back to the dining table.

Cary looked at me with raised brows, curious.

“It’s the detectives,” I explained. “Maybe they have news.”

My dad’s focus immediately shifted. Honed. “I’ll let them in.”

Ireland helped me clear up. We’d just dumped the cups into the sink when the doorbell rang. I wiped my hands with a dish towel and went out to the living room.

The two detectives who entered weren’t the ones I expected, because they weren’t the ones who’d questioned Cary at the hospital on Monday.

Lauren appeared out of the hallway, shoving her phone into her pocket.

I wondered who’d been calling her all night.

“Camila Cabello,” the female detective said, stepping deeper into my apartment. She was a thin woman with a severe face and sharply intelligent blue eyes, which were her best feature. Her hair was brown and curly, her face clean of makeup. She wore slacks over dark flats, a poplin shirt, and a lightweight jacket that didn’t hide the badge and gun clipped to her belt. “I’m Detective Shelley Graves of the NYPD. This is my partner Detective Richard Michna. We’re sorry to disturb you on a Friday night.”

Michna was older, taller, and portly. His hair was graying at the temples and receding at the top, but he had a strong face and dark eyes that raked the room while Graves focused on me.

“Hello,” I greeted them.

My father shut the door, and something about the way he moved or carried himself caught Michna’s attention. “You on the job?”

“In California,” my dad confirmed. “I’m visiting Camila, my daughter. What’s this about?”

“We’d just like to ask you a few questions, Miss Cabello,” Graves said. She looked at Lauren. “And you, too, Miss. Jauregui.”

“Does this have something to do with the attack on Cary?” I asked.

She glanced at him. “Why don’t we sit down.”

We all moved into the living room, but only Ireland and I ended up taking a seat. Everyone else remained on their feet, with my dad pushing Cary’s wheelchair.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Michna said.

“Thank you.” I looked at Cary, wondering what the hell was going on.

“How long are you in town?” the detective asked my dad.

“Just for the weekend.”

Graves smiled at me. “You go out to California a lot to see your dad?”

“I just moved from there a couple months ago.”

“I went to Disneyland once when I was a kid,” she said. “That was a while ago, obviously. I’ve been meaning to get back out there.”

I frowned, not understanding why we were making small talk.

“We just need to ask you a couple of questions,” Michna said, pulling a notepad out of the interior pocket of his jacket. “We don’t want to hold you up any longer than we have to.”

Graves nodded, her eyes still on me. “Can you tell us if you’re familiar with a man named Nathan Barker, Miss Cabello?”

The room spun. Cary cursed and pushed unsteadily to his feet, taking the few steps to reach the seat beside me. He caught up my hand.

“Miss Cabello?” Graves took a seat on the other end of the sectional.

“He’s her former stepbrother,” Cary snapped. “What’s this about?”

“When’s the last time you saw Barker?” Michna asked.

In a courtroom . . . I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry as sawdust. “Eight years ago,” I said hoarsely.

“Did you know he was here in New York?”

Oh God. I shook my head violently.

“Where’s this going?” my dad asked.

I looked helplessly at Cary, then at Lauren. My dad didn’t know about Nathan. I didn’t want him to know.

Cary squeezed my hand. Lauren wouldn’t even look at me.

“Miss. Jauregui,” Graves said. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you know Nathan Barker?”

My eyes pleaded with Lauren not to say anything in front of my dad, but she never once glanced my way.

“You wouldn’t be asking that question,” she answered, “if you didn’t already know the answer.”

My stomach dropped. A violent shiver moved through me. Still, Lauren wouldn’t look at me. My brain was trying to process what was happening . . . what it meant . . . what was going on . . .

“Is there a point to these questions?” my father asked.

The blood was roaring in my ears. My heart was pounding with something like terror. The mere thought of Nathan being so close was enough to send me into a panic. I was panting. The room was swimming before my eyes. I thought I might pass out.

Graves was watching me like a hawk. “Can you just tell us where you were yesterday, Miss Cabello?”

“Where I was?” I repeated. “Yesterday?”

“Don’t answer that,” my dad ordered. “This interview isn’t going any further until we know what this is about.”

Michna nodded, as if he’d expected the interruption. “Nathan Barker was found dead this morning.”

#lauren jauregui #camila cabello #lauren jauregay #camila and lauren #laurengip #camren gip #lauren and camila

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96harmony96 · 2 years ago

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Chapter 12

Lauren and I arrived back in Manhattan just before midnight on Sunday. We’d spent the previous night sleeping apart, but most of the day together in the master bed. Kissing and touching. Laughing and whispering.

By silent agreement we didn’t talk about painful things during the rest of our time away. We didn’t turn on the television or radio, because it seemed wrong to share our time with anyone. We walked on the beach again. We made long, slow, lazy love on the third-story deck. We played cards and she won every hand. We recharged and reminded ourselves that what we’d found with each other was worth fighting for.

It was the most perfect day of my life.

We returned to my apartment when we got back into the city. Lauren unlocked the door for us with the key I’d given her, and we entered the darkened space as quietly as possible so that we didn’t wake Cary. Lauren gave me one of her soul-melting kisses good night and headed to the guest room, and I crawled into my lonely bed without her. Missing her. I wondered how long we’d be sleeping apart from each other. Months? Years?

Hating to think of it, I closed my eyes and started to drift.

The light flicked on.

“Camila. Get up.” Lauren strode into the room and straight to my dresser, digging through my clothes.

I blinked at her, noting that she’d changed into slacks and a button-down dress shirt. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Cary,” she said grimly. “He’s in the hospital.”

* * *

A cab was waiting for us at the curb when we left my apartment building. Lauren ushered me in, then slid in beside me.

The cab seemed to pull away very slowly. Everything seemed to be moving slowly.

I clutched at Lauren’s sleeve. “What happened?”

“He was attacked Friday night.”

“How do you know?”

“Your mother and Stanton both left messages on my cell phone.”

“My mother . . . ?” I looked at her blankly. “Why didn’t she . . . ?”

No, she couldn’t call me. I hadn’t had my phone. Guilt and worry drowned me, making it hard to breathe.

“Camila.” She put her arm around my shoulders, urging me to rest my head against her. “Don’t worry until we know more.”

“It’s been days, Lauren. And I wasn’t here.”

Tears poured down my face and wouldn’t stop, even after we arrived at the hospital. I barely registered the exterior of the building, my attention dulled by the hard-driving anxiety pounding through me. I thanked God for Lauren, who was so calm and in control. A staff member provided the number of Cary’s room, but his helpfulness ended there. Lauren made a few middle-of-the-night phone calls that got me access to see Cary, even though it was well outside visiting hours. Lauren had been a very generous benefactor at times and that wasn’t easily dismissed or forgotten.

When I stepped into Cary’s private room and saw him, my heart shattered so completely, my knees went weak. Only Lauren kept me from falling. The man I thought of as my brother, the best friend I’d ever had or ever would have, lay silent and unmoving in the bed. His head was bandaged and his eyes blackened. One of his arms was stuck with intravenous lines, while the other was in a cast. I wouldn’t have recognized him, if I hadn’t known who he was.

Flowers covered every flat surface, cheerful and colorful bouquets. There were balloons, too, and a few cards. I knew some would be from my mother and Stanton, who were certainly paying for Cary’s care as well.

We were his family. And everyone had been there for him but me.

Lauren led me closer, her arm tight around my waist to hold me up. I was sobbing, the tears flowing thick and hot. It was everything I could do to remain silent.

Still, Cary must have heard me or sensed me. His eyelids fluttered, then opened. His beautiful green eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. It took him a minute to find me. When he did, he blinked a few times, and then tears started rolling down his temples.

“Cary.” I rushed to him and slipped my hand in his. “I’m here.”

He gripped me so tightly, it was painful. “Camila.”

“I’m sorry I took so long. I didn’t have my phone. I had no idea. I would’ve been here if I’d known.”

“S’okay. You’re here now.” His throat worked on a swallow. “God . . . everything hurts.”

“I’ll get a nurse,” Lauren said, running her hand down my back before slipping silently out of the room.

I saw a small pitcher and cup with straw on the rolling tray table. “Are you thirsty?”

“Very.”

“Can I sit you up? Or no?” I was afraid to do anything to cause him pain.

“Yeah.”

Using the remote lying near his hand, I raised the top part of the bed so that he was reclined. Then I brought the straw to his lips and watched him drink greedily.

He relaxed with a sigh. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, baby girl.”

“What the hell happened?” I set the empty cup down and grabbed his hand again.

“Fuck if I know.” His voice was weak, almost a whisper. “Got jumped. With a bat.”

“With a bat?” Just the thought made me physically ill. The brutality of it. The violence . . . “Was he insane?”

“Of course,” he snapped, a deep line of pain between his brows.

I backed up a half step. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t. Shit. I’m—” His eyes closed. “I’m exhausted.”

Just then the nurse came in wearing scrubs decorated with cartoon tongue depressors and animated stethoscopes. She was young and pretty, with dark hair and sloe eyes. She checked Cary over, took his blood pressure, then pressed the button on a remote wrapped around the guardrail.

“You can self-administer every thirty minutes for pain,” she told him. “Just press this button. It won’t dispense a dose if it’s not time, so you don’t have to worry about pressing it too often.”

“Once is too often,” he muttered, looking at me.

I understood his reluctance; he had an addictive personality. He’d traveled a short ways down the junkie road before I kicked some sense into him.

But it was a relief to see the lines of pain on his forehead smooth out and his breathing settle into a deeper rhythm.

The nurse looked at me. “He needs his rest. You should come back during visiting hours.”

Cary looked at me desperately. “Don’t go.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Lauren said, reentering the room. “I’ve arranged to have a cot brought in tonight.”

I didn’t think it was possible to love Lauren more than I already did, but she somehow kept finding ways to prove me wrong.

The nurse smiled shyly at Lauren.

“Cary could use more water,” I told her, watching her pull her gaze reluctantly away from my girlfriend to look at me.

She grabbed the pitcher and left the room.

Lauren stepped closer to the bed and spoke to Cary. “Tell me what happened.”

Cary sighed. “Trey and I went out Friday, but he had to bail early. I walked him out to grab a cab, but it was nuts right in front of the club, so we went around the corner. He’d just taken off when I got nailed in the back of the head. Took me straight down and whaled on me a few times. Never got a chance to defend myself.”

My hands began to shake, and Cary’s thumb rubbed soothingly over the back.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Teaches me. Don’t stick my dick in the wrong chick.”

“What?”

I watched Cary’s eyes drift shut, and a moment later it was clear he was sleeping. I glanced helplessly across the bed at Lauren.

“I’ll look into it,” she said. “Step out with me for a minute.”

I followed her, my gaze repeatedly turning back to Cary. When the door closed behind us, I said, “God, Lauren. He looks terrible.”

“He got knocked around good,” she said grimly. “He’s got a skull fracture, a nasty concussion, three cracked ribs, and a broken arm.”

The list of injuries was horribly painful to listen to. “I don’t understand why someone would do this.”

She pulled me close and pressed her lips to my forehead. “The doctor said it’s possible Cary will be allowed to leave in a day or two, so I’ll make arrangements for home care. I’ll also let your work know you won’t be coming in.”

“Cary’s agency needs to know.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you.” I hugged her hard. “What would I do without you?”

“You’re never going to find out.”

* * *

My mother woke me at nine the next morning, gliding fretfully into Cary’s room as soon as visiting hours began. She pulled me out to the hallway, drawing the attention of everyone in the immediate area. It was early, but she looked amazing in eye-catching red-soled Louboutins and an ivory sleeveless sheath dress.

“Camila. I can’t believe you went the entire weekend without your cell phone! What were you thinking? What if there had been an emergency?”

“There was an emergency.”

“Exactly!” She threw up one hand, since the other arm had her clutch tucked beneath it. “No one could get hold of you or Lauren. She left a message saying that she was taking you away for the weekend, but no one knew where you were. I can’t believe she was so irresponsible! What was she thinking?”

“Thank you,” I interjectedes because she was getting wound up and repeating herself, “for taking care of Cary. It means a lot to me.”

“Well, of course.” My mother took it down a notch. “We love him, too, you know. I’m devastated this happened.”

Her lower lip trembled and she dug in her bag for her ever-ready handkerchief.

“Are the police investigating?” I asked.

“Yes, of course, but I don’t how much good it will do.” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “I love Cary dearly, but he’s a tramp. I doubt he can recall all the women and men he’s been with. Remember the charity auction you attended with Lauren? When I bought you that stunning red dress?”

“Yes.” I’d never forget it. It was the night Lauren and I first made love.

“I’m certain Cary slept with a blonde he danced with that night—while they were there! They disappeared and when they came back . . . Well, I know what a satisfied man looks like. I would be surprised if he knew her name.”

I remembered what Cary had said before he fell asleep. “You think this attack has something to do with someone he slept with?”

My mother blinked at me, seeming to remember that I didn’t know anything. “Cary was told to keep his hands off ‘her’—whoever ‘her’ is. The detectives will be coming back later today to try to pull some names out of him.”

“Jesus.” I scrubbed at my eyes, needing my face wash badly and a cup of coffee even more. “They need to talk to Tatiana Cherlin.”

“Who’s that?”

“Someone Cary’s been seeing. I think she’d get a kick out of something like this. Cary’s boyfriend caught them together and she ate it up with a spoon. She loved being the cause of the drama.”

I rubbed at the back of my neck, then realized the tingle I felt was for another reason entirely. I looked over my shoulder and saw Lauren approaching, her long legs closing the distance between us with that measured stride. Dressed for work in a suit, with a large cup of coffee in one hand and a small black bag in the other, she was exactly what I needed at just the moment I needed her.

“Excuse me.” I walked toward Lauren and straight into her arms.

“Hey,” she greeted me, with her lips in my hair. “How are you holding up?”

“It’s awful. And senseless.” My eyes burned. “He didn’t need another disaster in his life. He’s had more than his share.”

“So have you, and you’re suffering along with him.”

“And you’re doing the same with me.” I pushed up onto my tiptoes and kissed her jaw, then stepped back. “Thank you.”

She handed me the coffee. “I brought some things for you—a change of clothes, your cell and tablet, bathroom stuff.”

I knew her thoughtfulness had to come at a price—literally. After a weekend away, she should be digging her way out of a small mountain of work worth millions, not running around taking care of me. “God. I love you.”

“Camila!” My mother’s startled exclamation made me wince. She advocated withholding the words I love you until the wedding night.

“Sorry, Mom. Can’t help it.”

Lauren brushed coffee-warmed fingertips down my cheek.

“Lauren,” my mother began, coming up right beside us, “you should know better than to take Camila away without any means of calling for help. You do know better.”

She was clearly referring to my past. I wasn’t sure why she thought I was so delicate that I couldn’t function on my own. She was far more fragile.

I shot a sympathetic glance Lauren’s way.

She held out the bag she’d brought for me, the calm and confident look on her face conveying her total comfort in dealing with my mother. So I left her to it. I didn’t have it in me to deal with her until I’d caffeinated myself.

I slipped back into Cary’s room and found him awake. Just the sight of him made the tears well and my throat close up tight. He was such a strong and vibrant man, so full of life and mischief. It was the worst pain to see him looking so broken.

“Hey,” he muttered. “Quit the waterworks every time you see me. Makes me feel like I’m gonna die or something.”

Hell. He was right. My tears didn’t do him any good. Instead, what little relief they gave me just put more of the burden on him. I needed to be a better friend than that.

“I can’t help it,” I said, sniffling. “It sucks. Someone beat me to it and kicked your ass before I could.”

“Is that right?” His scowl faded. “What’d I do now?”

“You didn’t tell me about Brett and Six-Ninths.”

“Oh yeah . . .” A bit of his old sparkle came back into his eyes. “How’d he look?”

“Good. Really good.” Very hot, but I kept that thought to myself. “Although right now, he might not look much better than you.”

I told him about the kiss and the resulting fight.

“Jauregui threw down, huh?” Cary shook his head, then winced and stopped. “Taking on Brett took guts—he’s a barroom brawler who loves a good fight.”

“And Lauren is a trained mixed martial artist.” I began digging through the bag Lauren had brought. “Why didn’t you tell me Captive Soul had signed with a major label?”

“Because you didn’t need to fall into that hole again. There are girls who can date rock stars; you’re not one of them. All that time on the road, all those groupies . . . You’d drive yourself and him insane.”

I shot him a look. “I’m in total agreement with you. But I’m insulted that you’d think I’d run back to him just because he made it big.”

“That’s not why. I didn’t want you to hear their first single if it could be helped.”

“‘Golden’?”

“Yeah . . .” He studied me as I headed toward the bathroom. “What’d you think of it?”

“It’s better than a song titled ‘Tapped That.’”

“Ha!” He waited until I came out again with my face washed and hair brushed. “So . . . you kissed him.”

“That’s the beginning and end of that story,” I said dryly. “Have you talked to Trey since Friday?”

“No. They’ve got my phone somewhere. My wallet, too, I’m guessing. When I came to, I was here, wearing this”—he pinched at his hospital gown—“freakin’ thing.”

“I’ll get your stuff for you.” I dumped my toiletries back in the bag, then went to sit in the chair beside him with my coffee in hand. “Lauren’s making arrangements to get you home with a private nurse.”

“Ooh . . . that’s a fantasy of mine. Can you make sure the nurse is hot? And single?”

My brows rose. Inside, though, I was so relieved to see him looking and sounding more like himself. “You’re obviously feeling better, if you’re feeling frisky. How did things go with Trey?”

“Good.” He sighed. “I’d worried that the party wouldn’t be his scene. I forgot that he knew a lot of the people already.”

Cary and Trey had met at a photo shoot, with Cary modeling and Trey assisting the photographer behind the camera. “I’m glad you had a good time.”

“Yeah. He was totally set on not getting laid.”

“So you tried . . . after you said you wouldn’t.”

“This is me we’re talking about.” He rolled his eyes. “Hell yeah, I tried. He’s hot and great in bed—”

“—and in love with you.”

He released his pent-up breath in a rush, wincing as his chest expanded. “No one’s perfect.”

I had to bite back a laugh. “Cary Taylor. Loving you isn’t a character defect.”

“Well, it’s not very smart. I was such an asshole to him,” he muttered, looking disgruntled. “He could do so much better.”

“That isn’t your decision to make for him.”

“Someone needs to make it.”

“And you’re volunteering because you love him, too.” My mouth curved. “Don’t you think that sounds ass-backwards?”

“I don’t love him enough.” All traces of levity were wiped from his face, leaving behind the wounded and lonely man I knew all too well. “I can’t be faithful like he wants. Just him and me. I like women. Love them, actually. I’d be cutting off half of who I am. Just thinking about it makes me resent him.”

“You fought too hard to accept yourself,” I said softly, remembering that time with more than a little twinge of sadness. “I totally understand and don’t disagree, but have you tried talking to Trey about it?”

“Yes, I talked to him about it. He listened.” He rubbed his fingers over his brow. “I get it, I do. If he told me he wanted to bang some other guy while seeing me, it’d bother the fuck out of me.”

“But not if it were a woman?”

“No. I don’t know. Shit.” His bloodshot green eyes pleaded with me. “Would it make a difference to you if Jauregui were banging another man? Or just another woman?”

The door opened and Lauren walked in. I held her gaze when I said, “If Lauren’s dick touched anything but her hand or me, we’d be over.”

Her brows rose. “Well, then.”

I smiled sweetly and winked. “Hi, ace.”

“Angel.” She looked at Cary. “How are you feeling this morning?”

Cary’s lips twisted wryly. “Like I got hit by a bus . . . or a bat.”

“We’re working on getting you set up at home. It looks like we can make that happen by Wednesday.”

“Big tits, please,” Cary said. “Or bulging muscles. Either will do.”

Lauren looked at me.

I grinned. “The private nurse.”

“Ah.”

“If it’s a woman,” Cary went on, “can you get her to wear one of those white nurse dresses with the zipper down the front.”

“I can only imagine the media frenzy over that sexual-harassment lawsuit,” Lauren said dryly. “How about a collection of naughty-nurse porn instead?”

“Dude.” Cary smiled wide and looked, for a moment, like his old self. “You’re the man.”

Lauren looked at me. “Camila.”

I stood and bent over to kiss Cary on the cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

We stepped out of the room and I saw my mother in conversation with the doctor, who looked dazzled by her.

“I talked to Garrity this morning,” Lauren said, referring to Mark, my boss. “So don’t worry about that.”

I hadn’t been, because she said she’d handle it. “Thank you. I’ll need to go in tomorrow. I’m going to see if I can get hold of Trey, Cary’s boyfriend. Maybe he can stop in while I’m at work.”

“Let me know if you need any help with that.” Lauren glanced at her watch. “You’ll want to stay here again tonight?”

“Yes, if that’s possible. Until Cary comes home.”

She took my face in her hands and pressed her lips to mine. “All right. I have a lot of work to catch up on. Charge your cell so I can reach you.”

I heard a faint buzzing. Lauren backed away and reached into an inner jacket pocket to withdraw her phone. She read the screen, then said, “I have to get this. I’ll talk to you later.”

Then she was gone, striding down the hallway as quickly as she’d arrived.

“She’s going to marry you,” my mother said, coming up to stand beside me. “You know that, don’t you?”

I didn’t, no. I still felt a little flare of gratitude every morning when I woke up and realized that we were still together. “What makes you say that?”

My mother looked at me with her baby blue eyes. It was one of the rare physical traits we didn’t share. “She’s completely taken you over and assumed control of everything.”

“That’s just her nature.”

“That’s the nature of all powerful women,” she said, reaching up to fuss with my no-nonsense ponytail. “And she’ll indulge you, because she’s making an investment in you. You’re an asset to her. You’re beautiful, well bred and well connected, and independently wealthy. You’re also in love with her and she can’t take her eyes off you. I bet she can’t keep her hands off you, either.”

“Mother, please.” I was so not in the mood for one of her lectures on the fine points of catching and marrying a rich man.

“Camila Cabello,” she scolded, facing me directly. “I don’t care if you listen to me because I’m your mother and you have to—or because you love her and don’t want to lose her, but you will listen.”

“Like I have a choice,” I muttered.

“You’re an asset now,” she repeated. “See that your life choices don’t make you a liability.”

“Are you talking about Cary?” Anger sharpened my voice.

“I’m talking about the bruise on Lauren’s jaw! Tell me that has nothing to do with you.”

I flushed.

She tsked. “I knew it. Yes, she’s your lover and you see an intimate side to her that few see, but don’t ever forget that she’s also Lauren Jauregui. You’ve got everything you need to be the perfect wife for a person of her stature, but you’re still replaceable, Camila. What she’s built is not. You jeopardize her empire and she’ll leave you.”

My jaw tightened. “Are you done?”

She ran her fingertips over my brows, her gaze shrewd and assessing. I knew she was giving me a mini-makeover in her mind, thinking of ways to improve what she’d given me from birth. “You think I’m a coldhearted gold digger, but my concern is maternal, believe it or not. I want very desperately for you to be with a person who has the money and wherewithal to guard you with everything they have, so I’ll know you’re safe. And I want you to be with a person you love.”

“I’ve found her.”

“And I can’t tell you how thrilled I am. I’m thrilled she’s young and still open to taking risks, so she’s more forgiving and understanding of your . . . quirks. And she knows,” she whispered, her gaze softening and growing liquid. “Just be careful. That’s all I’m trying to say. Don’t give her any reason to turn away from you.”

“If she did, that wouldn’t be love.”

Her lips curved wryly and she pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Come now. You’re my daughter. You can’t be that naïve.”

“Camila!”

I turned at the sound of my name and felt a rush of relief to see Trey hurrying toward me. He was of average height and nicely muscular, with unruly blond hair, hazel eyes, and a slight angle to his nose that told me it’d been broken at some point. He was dressed in faded, frayed jeans and a T-shirt, and I was struck by the fact that he wasn’t Cary’s usual flashy type. For once, it seemed, the attraction had been more than skin deep.

“I just found out,” he said when he reached me. “Detectives came by my work this morning and questioned me. I can’t believe this happened Friday night and I’m only just finding out about it.”

I couldn’t hold his slightly accusatory tone against him. “I just found out early this morning myself. I was out of town.”

After a quick introduction between my mother and Trey, she excused herself to go sit with Cary, leaving me to elaborate on the information Trey had gleaned from the detectives.

Trey shoved his hands through his hair, making it look even messier. “This wouldn’t have happened if I’d taken him with me when I left.”

“You can’t blame yourself for this.”

“Who else do I blame for the fact that he’s screwing around with another guy’s girl?” He gripped the back of his neck. “I’m the one who’s not enough for him. He’s got the drive of a hormonal teenager and I’m working or in school all the damn time.”

Ugh. Total TMI. It was a struggle not to wince. But I understood that Trey likely didn’t have anyone else he felt comfortable discussing Cary with.

“He’s bisexual, Trey,” I said softly, reaching out to run a comforting hand down his biceps. “That doesn’t mean you’re lacking.”

“I don’t know how to live with this.”

“Would you consider counseling? With both of you, I mean.”

He looked at me with haunted eyes for a long minute; then his shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. I think I have to decide if I can live with him cheating. Could you do it, Camila? Could you sit at home waiting for your lover, knowing they were sticking it somewhere else?”

“No.” An icy shiver coursed through me at the mere words. “No, I couldn’t.”

“And I don’t even know if Cary would agree to counseling. He keeps pushing me away. He wants me, and then he doesn’t. He’s committed, and then he isn’t. I want in, Camila, like he’s let you in, but he keeps shutting me out.”

“It took me a long time to break through to him. He tried pushing me away with sex, always coming on to me, taunting me. I think you made the right decision keeping it platonic on Friday. Cary puts his value on his looks and sex appeal. You need to show him that it’s not just his body you want.”

Trey sighed and crossed his arms. “Is that how you two got close? Because you wouldn’t sleep with him?”

“Partly. Mostly it’s because I’m a mess. It’s not as obvious now as it was when we met, but he knows I’m not perfect.”

“Neither am I! Who is?”

“He believes you’re better than he is, that you deserve better.” I grinned. “Me . . . well, I bet part of him thinks I deserve him. That we deserve each other.”

“Crazy fucker,” he muttered.

“He is that,” I agreed. “That’s why we love him, isn’t it? Do you want to go in and see him? Or do you want to go home and think about it?”

“No, I want to see him.” Trey’s shoulders rolled back and his chin lifted. “I don’t care what put him here. I want to be with him while he’s going through this.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” I linked my arm with his and led him to Cary’s room.

We entered to the sound of my mother’s trilling, girlish laughter. She sat on the edge of the bed, with Cary smiling adoringly at her. She was as much a mother to him as she was to me, and he loved her so much for that. His own mother had hated him, abused him, and allowed others to abuse him.

He looked over and saw us, and the emotions that swept across his face in that moment caused a tightness in my chest. I heard Trey’s breath catch as he got his first sight of Cary’s condition. I kicked myself for not telling him in advance not to make the mistake of getting weepy like I had.

Trey cleared his throat. “Drama queen,” he said with gruff affection. “If you wanted flowers, you should’ve just asked for them. This is extreme.”

“And ineffective, apparently,” Cary rejoined hoarsely, clearly trying to pull himself together. “I don’t see any flowers.”

“I see a ton.” Trey’s gaze did a brief slide across the room, then went back to Cary. “Just wanted to see what I was up against, so I could beat out my competition.”

There was no way to miss the double meaning in that statement.

My mom rose from the bed. She leaned over and kissed Cary’s cheek. “I’ll take Camila out to breakfast. We’ll see you in about an hour or so.”

“Gimme a sec,” I said, passing the bed quickly, “and I’ll get out of your hair, guys.”

I grabbed my phone and charger out of my bag and plugged it into an outlet by the window.

As soon as the screen flickered to life, I sent a quick group text message to Shawna and my dad, saying simply: I’ll call later. Then I made sure my phone was silenced and left it on the window ledge.

“Ready?” my mom asked.

“As I’ll ever be.”

#camren #camren fanfiction #camren smut #camren shipper #camren gip #lauren jauregui #lauren and camila #laurengip #camila cabello #camila and lauren #crossfire

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