Page 5

CHAPTER 5

Naomi

The very first time I saw Camden, my reaction was similar to the one I’m having right now. I froze. Simply froze.

I don’t know what it is about him.

With his brown hair and brown eyes, there’s nothing overtly arresting about Camden at first glance. He has the build of an athlete but is not linebacker big or basketball tall. Cam is the kind of well-muscled height that’s more subtly noticeable in the way he moves and carries himself. He’s handsome, but his looks aren’t loud .

For me, though, Camden has an inexplicable but very physical impact.

Our first meeting was in Gator’s Groceries, Oakley Island’s tiny local grocery store. I was swinging a basket in one hand, humming under my breath. A Miley Cyrus song, which I only remember because I hated the song, but it earwormed its way into my head without permission and wouldn't give up residency. I also had the hiccups, which were almost as annoying as the song looping in my head.

A man I didn’t recognize was blocking the aisle, crouched down and reading a label—a habit I personally find very silly. Don’t we all know most food is filled with preservatives and chemicals that are going to kill us? Might as well eat, drink, and be happy, for tomorrow we die—thanks to food dye.

Case in point: I was there to grab some instant ramen for me, Kettle Chips (his favorite gluten-free option) for Liam, and a Diet Dr Pepper to get me through the afternoon. Not to say we live off that kind of food on the regular, but you’ll never find me taking up a whole aisle reading ingredients before making a purchase.

I paused for a moment, waiting for the most-likely-a-tourist to notice me and move. He didn’t. I cleared my throat. Still no movement. The guy was reading this label like it just hit the NY Times bestseller list and this aisle was the most comfortable reading chair in the world.

“Excuse me,” I said, trying to channel fake cheerfulness to cover up the annoyance I was actually feeling. A hiccup punctuated my words. Awesome .

The man took his time putting back whatever he was looking at—his body blocked my nosy eyes from seeing what it was—and stood, turning to face me.

That’s when I froze. Well—I froze after my fingers opened, dropping my basket to the floor. My hiccups instantly evaporated. Poof! Gone. Along with thoughts, rational and otherwise.

Just like now.

Whatever I was thinking moments ago, whatever Eloise had been talking about when I hung up on her, whatever planet I’m on—all of it’s gone.

There is only Camden, standing outside my car, staring intently at me. His eyes might be a medium brown, but the heat in his gaze is scorching hot.

So much for staying out in the car to avoid any possibility of running into him.

Even though I’m looking right at him, when Camden knocks on my window, I jerk, dropping my phone. It falls somewhere between the seat and my center console, the no-man’s-land of every car, never to be seen again.

I throw open my door, inadvertently slamming it right into Camden. He groans loudly and stumbles back, bending over. I jump out of the car, instinct making me reach for him. But since I absolutely can’t go around casually touching Camden, I stop short and wave my hands ineffectively in the air like I’m trying to fan him.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“You hit me with your car,” he grumbles.

“My car door . You make it sound like I mowed you down in the street with a moving vehicle. And why were you standing so close to my car?”

He glares at me, finally straightening up to his full height. “Why didn’t you just roll down the window when you saw me standing here?”

“The car isn’t running!”

“You’re sitting in the parking lot during winter without the car on? Aren’t you cold?”

I am, now that he mentions it. But I hadn’t been or at least hadn’t noticed. Now that I’m standing outside, my teeth are already starting to chatter.

Camden’s frown intensifies. “Why aren’t you wearing a coat?”

“I wasn’t planning on getting out of the car. I’m just waiting for Liam.”

But also … I don’t own a coat. I mean, I have some hoodies like the Oakley Island one I’m wearing, a scarf, and a hat. With all the expenses from the move, which were unfortunately not covered by my employer, I only had enough to buy him a coat. It hasn’t been pleasant these last two weeks, but my plan is to go coat shopping later today.

I have a feeling if I mention this, the frown on Camden’s face will only get frownier, and it’s a good look on him. So, I swallow down the words before I nervously babble a confession about not owning proper winter wear while living in the mountains.

His expression shifts. “I need you to come inside with me,” he says.

“No, thanks.” I cross my arms, a move that does double duty. I’m cold, but it also bolsters my words. It’s body language that communicates strength and determination I absolutely don’t feel. I’m about ready to buckle like a belt.

“Naomi, please.”

There was a time when a please from Camden would have dismantled any resistance. I can feel the one word attempting to melt my already pitiful resolve. But I bite the inside of my cheek and remind myself of how hard it was to hide the sound of my sobs from Liam in the months after Camden left Oakley.

Nope. Not going there again.

I start to get back in my car. “That’s okay. I’ll just wait here for Liam. He’s taking hockey classes.”

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 term mama 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 did not deserve 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 need stitches ,” 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 I refuse to 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.

Maybe I should punch him in the other eye. But I think I’m the one who needs punching. Or … to tamp down my violent instincts.

Shaking off Camden’s hand, I say, “A superficial cut needing stitches . How often does this happen?”

“Not often,” the trainer says, then pauses and scratches his head. “Actually, there was a time in the youth program last year when something similar happened. But it’s unusual.”

I’ve had enough. Of the surprises, of the excuses or explanations for my kid getting hurt, of the hockey. I take Liam’s good hand and give him a little tug.

“Come on, bud. Let’s figure out where the nearest ER is.”

“Mom, they can just do it here,” Liam says.

“ Who can do what here?”

Again, I glance around the room. The room might look like a fancy medical exam room, but this is no hospital. None of these men are wearing a white doctor’s coat. And other than the one with the blue eyes and a head that’s shaved to cover baldness, they barely look older than I am. “You want the people responsible for your injury to Frankenstein your arm? No, thanks.”

“Ma’am.” I zero in my gaze on the bald man, who steps forward. “I understand your concern. But these are the trained professionals who handle any of the injuries to my players during a game or practice. Dr. Samuelson”—he gestures to the second man, not the one who kept talking to me—”is more than capable of stitching up your son. With your permission, of course.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m Coach Davis,” he says, holding out a hand, which I do not have any intention of shaking. After a moment, he slides it into his pocket and gives me a tight smile.

“Thanks for the offer, but I think we’ll take our chances at the ER. Liam, let’s go.”

“Mom,” my son says, using his most reasonable voice, the one he uses whenever I’m overreacting to something. “It’s fine. They know what they’re doing. Plus, it’s free.”

“I’m not worried about money. And it’s only free because they’re worried we’ll sue.”

The only reason I haven’t sent Jake a preemptive text asking about a lawsuit is because he’d blow up my phone—which I managed to fish out of my car after I punched Camden. Jake might even get on the next plane if he hears Liam got hurt.

But suing is an option. Probably. Not one I’d likely do, but it feels like a piece of armor I can wear right now. I’m sure Liam signed some kind of waiver online pretending to be me, but I never signed. And even with waivers acknowledging the risks and responsibilities, lawsuits still happen all the time. That’s why the coach looks so nervous.

Liam levels me with a very grown-up look. “Mom. We’re not suing anyone. It was an accident. And you know you don’t want to pay for an emergency room visit right now.”

He’s right to appeal to my cheap side. Normally, I don’t want to pay for an ER visit, even if I don’t need this room full of strangers—and Camden—knowing that. While we do have insurance, the deductible is massive, and it’s the start of the year, so we haven’t touched it yet.

“Your health is worth any cost,” I tell him. “ You are worth it.”

“Naomi.” Camden sets down the ice pack, and I force myself not to wince at the redness around his eye. I’m the tiniest bit surprised I landed such a punch, though my knuckles are throbbing and regret is starting to seep through me like the cold air outside. “Please let them take care of Liam. I promise you, they’ll do a great job. It will take less time and far less hassle than going to the ER. Since it’s non-life-threatening, the hospital would make you wait hours there with all the germs. It’s better to take care of this here.”

“Come on, Mom. It’s fine.” Liam reaches for my hand. The towel he’s holding on his wound falls to the floor in the process, revealing his arm for the first time.

I draw in a breath. I don’t care what the guy just said about it being superficial—the cut on Liam’s arm is long and open and immediately starts oozing blood.

Sparks dance across my vision as my stomach lurches and dives.

“Oh, shoot,” I hear Liam say. His voice suddenly sounds very far away. “I forgot Mom can’t handle …”

Blood , I think as I feel my legs give way. I can’t handle blood.

Then there’s only a soft, dark tunnel and a warm body surrounding me as I fall.