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Camden’s expression doesn’t change, and I swear, somewhere, Eloise is laughing at me.

“But you already knew that.”

Man, Liam and I need to have a talk about honesty.

Camden reaches out, his big hand cupping my elbow lightly.

It’s the gentleness that does it. If he’d grabbed my arm, I might have yanked myself away and actually tried to hit him with my car. But the softness from this strong man has me hesitating. The touch of his hand, even through layers of fabric, sends a confusing cocktail of neurological signals through my body. I’m drunk on memories.

Longing, heat, regret, longing, confusion.

“What do you want, Cam?” I ask, my voice coming out in a pained wheeze.

His eyes do a quick sweep of my face before he drops his hand. “It’s Liam. He’s fine,” he adds quickly, though my heart is already racing with panic, “but he got hurt during practice.”

It’s pure reflex when my fist swings toward his face.

* * *

Before Liam, I never really understood the termmama bear. Now, I know what it’s like to instantly go grizzly in defense of my kid. It is a nuclear option. A burn the world down, whole body reaction. It is me in feral beast mode.

Which is why, ten minutes later when I’m in some kind of medical room with Liam trying to brush off my hand and my concern, Camden has an ice pack held to his face.

I didn’t shoot the messenger; I decked him in the eye.

I know I’ll feel bad about my knee-jerk reaction later. It’s not fair to Camden, who did nothing but tell me what happened. He didn’t cause the accident.

He’s likely the reason Liam got interested in hockey, but even that isn’t something Camden did on purpose. It’s more a by-product to his very brief but apparently impactful presence in Liam’s life. Proof that I shouldn’t get involved with a man until Liam is older. My heart—my hope—isn’t the only one at stake.

So, Camden didnotdeserve to be decked. I’ll apologize—and probably feel a lot worse—later.

For now, I’m still buzzing with the BMBE—Big Mama Bear Energy. There is no room for apologies or regrets or anything other than the need to protect my cub and tear the limbs off anyone who stands in my way.

“It’s fine,” Liam tells me for what is probably the fifth time, but he shuts up when I glare at him.

He might be hurt, but that doesn’t mean he’s above getting the stink-eye from me.

“It’s not fine. You needstitches,” I seethe from between clenched teeth. I narrow my eyes, making sure to send silent threats to every man currently in this room. By the way they all shift on their feet—everyone but Camden, that is, who doesn’t react—they sense the danger and smartly keep their mouths shut. “How did this happen?”

I’m not even sure who I’m asking, but I glare at every adult in the room. Liam, apparently giving up on trying to mollify me, doesn’t say a word.

“It was an accident,” says one of the men. A trainer or medic—I’m not sure.

I wasn’t really listening to introductions when I flew into this room somewhere in the depths of the Summit. It looks almost like a large room at a doctor’s office with a few exam tables bearing the Appies logo and glass-fronted cabinets with bandages and other supplies. Everything looks shiny and expensive and professional. Maybe it should put me at ease, but I’m not sure that’s possible right now. I’d happily take a pair of surgical scissors to the vinyl exam table right now.

“A little kid got going too fast and couldn’t stop. He tripped over a barrier and tangled up with Liam,” Camden says, adjusting the ice pack on his face. “The boy’s skate blade made contact with Liam’s forearm.”

The thought alone turns my stomach. Thankfully, I haven’t seen the injury yet. The blood on the cloth Liam has pressed to his arm is bad enough. I immediately looked away when I saw it, my stomach turning inside out. One of my biggest weaknesses in the mom department is my inability to stomach the gross things.

When Liam barfs, I barf. And when he bleeds, even if it’s a simple skinned knee, I get nauseous then woozy. I have been known to pass out.

Which Irefuseto do today. I will show zero weakness in front of Camden.

Thankfully, my BMBE is keeping me steady. For now.

“It didn’t do any serious damage to the muscle or tissue underneath,” the same trainer or medic says. “Just a superficial cut. Nothing to worry about.”

The man clearly doesn’t value his life. Before I can lunge at him, Camden anticipates my move and his hand curls around my shoulder. He holds me in place with the same gentleness he used in the parking lot outside. I like his touch too much.