Page 7

CHAPTER 7

Naomi

Part of me—a very large, very opinionated part—urges me to grab onto Liam’s good arm and announce that I’m joining him and Parker on their Summit tour. I can feign excitement over a locker room that has stalls —a term that calls to mind horses or public bathrooms rather than hockey players—instead of lockers. I guess it fits with the idea of calling this very luxe stadium a barn .

Anyway, a Summit tour seems like a better, wiser, less terrifying option than spending prolonged time alone with the man currently watching me with an unreadable expression.

Does he even want to babysit me?

I haven’t been particularly nice to him today, which isn’t fair. I definitely regret the punch, and I mostly regret the glares and fighting with him over getting Liam equipment. That was a sweet gesture. But if I’m going to keep my distance, sweet gestures aren’t what I need. What I need is a wall. Space. To clutch my anger tighter, even if I’m not so much angry as I am scared.

But holding onto anger is exhausting. Especially when it’s undeserved. It just makes me a shrew.

Maybe I need to just relax and use this time to clear the air. Especially since Camden is apparently working with Liam on Saturdays. When my protectiveness bristles again knowing Camden didn’t think to at least text to let me know, I tamp the feelings down.

Easy girl , I tell myself.

“So,” I say. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Or you’re stuck with me.”

His face gives me nothing. It’s the Fort Knox of faces, locked up tight. This is one of the things I liked about Camden from the start, though right now, I dislike it very much.

I’m a woman who thrives under a good challenge. The best way to ensure my success at something is how loudly people tell me I can’t. Or shouldn’t. This move to Harvest Hollow being a perfect case in point. Resistance only makes me push harder.

When I met him, Camden felt like a puzzle to crack. A cipher to decode. Making him smile or getting any kind of reaction out of that stoic face felt like being handed a lifetime achievement award.

Now, I feel on edge. Nervous and off-balance. Whatever headway I made in learning to read him has been lost.

After he left Oakley, Camden and I never spoke again. Over. Done. I didn’t block his number because I’m not a teenager. I also didn’t delete our text thread, which I read and reread in my lowest of lows. But there was zero contact after that.

I have no idea how Camden feels about me now or how he feels—felt?—about the breakup. He might be totally over it now. Maybe he succeeded where I failed in keeping things casual, just the way we talked about. No part of it felt casual to me. But without any clues or signals from him, I can only guess.

Did he shed any tears? Are hockey players even capable of crying? I honestly can’t be sure after Liam told me about a player who got a few teeth knocked out and went right back into the game a few minutes later like nothing happened.

For all I know, Camden jumped right back into dating as soon as he left Oakley. He could have a girlfriend right now. If I hadn’t drawn a firm boundary at checking his social media after our breakup, maybe I’d know.

Even the thought of him with someone else makes me feel light-headed again.

I don’t know Parker, but she seems nice. Genuine. And only a heartless hag would encourage a guy in a relationship to hang out alone with his ex. Maybe I’m grasping at straws, but it’s a semi-educated guess to assume Camden isn’t in a relationship.

“Hungry?” he asks, and something about his tone makes me feel like he already knows the answer.

“Not really.” An understatement. The donuts and coffee have been swirling uncomfortably in my belly for a while now.

Camden nods, then says, “Come on.”

I don’t ask where or why. I just follow.

He holds the door open, and I try to hold my breath as I pass by. I remember too well his spicy, woodsy scent. I don’t need the influx of memories it would bring. We fall into step in a long, windowless hallway.

When Camden led me inside the building to find Liam earlier, I got the sense I would never be able to find my way out of this place. I was also so emotionally keyed up, I’m not sure my brain could process the most basic of information like simple directions.

Speaking of being keyed up …

“I’m sorry for punching you,” I tell him. “You didn’t deserve it.”

“I was the messenger. I’m just glad you didn’t have a gun.”

I jerk back to look at him, and there’s a hint of a smile lifting one corner of his mouth.

“Shut up.” I nudge him with my shoulder before stepping a safe distance away again. “I wouldn’t have shot you.” I pause. “Probably.”

His laugh is a low chuckle, and I swear the rumble reverberates down to my toes.

“But honestly. I am sorry. I’ve never actually punched anyone. You startled me at my car, and then told me about Liam, and I guess I … snapped.”

“Understandable.”

“Is it? I’m not sure punching people makes the list of common reactions to emotional overwhelm.”

“You’re not what I would call … common, Naomi.”

“Hey,” I protest, but Camden’s steady brown gaze stops me from saying more.

“It’s a compliment,” he says.

“So, were you ever going to tell me that you were working with Liam?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

“When it comes to my kid, being kept in the loop trumps all.”

“Noted.” Another pause. “Then I’m sorry for not letting you know. I guess it was … cowardly. I also should have asked before buying him gear. I wasn’t trying to imply that you couldn’t get it yourself. I just saw a need that was easy for me to meet, and I met it.”

“I guess I can understand your reasoning,” I say.

“Will Liam be in trouble for not telling you?”

I sigh. “I don’t know what to do with him. We’ll have a conversation. I doubt there will be any kind of punishment. I mean, if I didn’t do anything when he signed up for these classes without permission, I suppose I can’t do anything about this. I’m just not used to the version of him where he keeps secrets.”

Camden looks like he’s about to say something in response, but then he clears his throat and asks, “Elevator or stairs?”

“Stairs,” I say quickly. Nothing potentially sexy about climbing up or down a commercial stairwell.

But being alone in an elevator with Camden, on the other hand …

I am not willing to test my resolve. Not when he’s being … I don’t know what he’s being. Not quite flirty, but then Camden was never a flirt. He’s being kind, at the very least. His version of non-flirtatious flirty, at most. And it’s doing things to me. Bad things.

Obviously, my feelings never went away, despite the way I wished they would. Or how hard I pretended they had. I knew this, but as long as I didn’t see Camden, I could believe my lies. At least, a little bit.

Now, there is zero room for self-delusion.

Glancing to my left, at the tall, quiet man whose stubbly jawline has haunted my dreams for months, the nagging thoughts rise up again.

You made a mistake. You got scared, and you ran.

No , I think, trying to smush those thoughts down into a hermetically sealed box I can sink twenty thousand million leagues under the sea, I did what was necessary to protect Liam. And myself.

Coward , the voice hisses as I finally manage to cram that box shut, dropping it into a mental Mariana Trench.

Because maybe I was cowardly. (I was.) Maybe I ran scared. (I did.) But then … I called Camden and tried to take it back and he said no.

It was basically a two-for-one breakup special.

Camden pushes open the stairwell door, then gives me an assessing look. “You okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He stares for a beat, like he’s wondering if I believe my own words. “You had a look on your face,” he finally says.

“No look. This is just my face.” I push past him into the stairwell. Only, this time as I pass, I forget to hold my breath.

And there it is: Camden’s warm, familiar scent, releasing a deluge of memories that almost knock the wind out of me.

Laughter. Sand beneath my bare feet and his big, calloused hand wrapped around mine. His lips, warm and confident, making me forget my own name. The firmness of his chest under my cheek as his arms hold me tight.

Safety. Longing. Joy.

Home .

He’s wearing a fitted athletic shirt, and I’m surprised he doesn’t smell bad. I’ve heard about the hockey stink (from Liam, of course), but I bet the hockey classes with someone on Liam’s level don’t require a lot of actual exertion on the part of pro hockey players. In any case, Camden unfortunately smells great.

Needing an immediate escape, I take the steps two at a time, stopping the next floor up, severely winded. I lean against the wall, panting and cursing my lack of cardio. Camden’s steps are slow and measured. When he reaches me, still attempting to catch my breath, he pauses.

“What if we’re going down?” he asks.

My head whips up, and I know my cheeks are flushed. Either from the sadly minimal amount of exertion or embarrassment. “Are we?”

“Nope.” And then a slow smile unfurls on his stupidly handsome face, dragging an unwilling smile from me.

Without thinking, I reach out a hand and shove him. He doesn’t budge. “You’re the worst.”

“Maybe.” Another pause. The smile shifts into a smirk. “We’ve got another two flights up. Need me to carry you the rest of the way?”

“Absolutely not.”

But before I can duck or dodge out of the way, Camden scoops me up and tosses me over his shoulder, then starts up the stairs. I consider pounding my fists against his back, but I know it would be the equivalent of a little fish flapping its fins to wave off a shark. Instead, I go boneless and limp, remembering.

Early last summer, we were walking along the beach and I stumbled, turning my ankle. I didn’t sprain it or anything, just stumbled a little in a hole some kid probably dug with a plastic shovel.

And just like he did now, Camden picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. I fought him then, and in retaliation, he walked us both right into the ocean. Which would have been fine except we were fully clothed.

Actually, that was fine too. In those days, when we were still insisting things were just casual and fun, everything was fine.

“Really?” I ask sarcastically as he starts to climb. “You’re choosing the caveman path again?”

“I guess it’s just in my nature.”

“I can climb stairs, you know.” Though it’s surprisingly comfortable letting him carry me, I shouldn’t let myself enjoy it. But it’s hard to find anything not enjoyable about being this close to him again, feeling the ease with which he carries me and the strength of his arm, banded over the back of my thighs.

“Sure,” he says easily. “But you also seemed poised for a cardiac event after just one flight, and we can’t have that.”

“I’m fine .”

“You are.”

My stomach does a little happy dance at his words, and I threaten it with no more apple cider donuts ever if it doesn’t calm down.

Camden reaches the final landing and heads through a doorway, still keeping me over his shoulder.

“We’re done with the stairs now. You can put me down,” I point out.

He only grunts at this, tightening his grip a little on my thighs. But I’ve had quite enough up close and personal time with him. He’s simply too tempting. I can already feel my resolve, once titanium plated, disintegrating under the pressure of Camden’s presence.

I tap him lightly on the back. “Put me down. Please?”

It’s impossible to hide the tremble in my voice, and he sets me down quickly. I step away, hoping to reset my self-control. It only sort of works.

“Where are we?” I ask, glancing around. We’re definitely not in any kind of public space. It’s dimly lit and would be creepy if I weren’t with someone who made me feel so safe.

Which, ironically, makes him completely un safe.

“I know you’re not great with stairs, but how are you with heights?” Camden asks.

“Once again, I’m fine with stairs—if I’m not running up them. And I’m good with heights. We’re not bungee jumping off the top of the building or something, right?”

He looks amused. “No.”

“BASE jumping?”

“Is that something you want to do?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then no. No jumping of any kind. Not even jumping rope.”

“Then I’ll be fine.”

“Good.”

Without offering up any other information, Camden turns and walks away, leaving me to scamper behind him. I keep my eyes on the floor, lest they become traitors and decide to wander in the direction of Camden’s backside. Which I happen to know provides quite the view.

But looking down means I don’t realize Camden has stopped, and I run right into the back of him. I step away quickly, rubbing my nose.

“Ready?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“For what?”

He doesn’t answer but simply gestures for me to go first to wherever it is he’s taking me. I get the distinct suspicion he’s testing me, so I lift my chin and walk ahead, my steps slowing when I look around.

“Whoa. This is … cool.”

We’re on a metal catwalk above the arena. Down below, a Zamboni makes lazy circles on the ice. Otherwise, the arena is empty. I guess they don’t have a game today. They probably wouldn’t if the players are working with kids. I know from the schedule next week there isn’t a class—does that mean they have a game?

You don’t care about hockey , I remind myself. But I’m finding myself curious for the first time.

Pausing in the middle of the walkway, I lean my elbows on the rail and look down over the ice with its Appies logo and the wide, shiny streaks marking the Zamboni’s path. It’s really peaceful and more than a little awe-inspiring. I’ve never been to a hockey game. Looking out over the seats and the banners and the clean sheet of ice, I’m suddenly struck with the desire to go.

This isn’t an altogether bad thing, considering the way Liam will force me to go soon. He’s already asked no less than a dozen times. I can probably handle seeing Camden play without falling any harder for him, right? That’s what I’ll tell myself.

Because one of the reasons for our breakup—besides my fear that Liam was getting too attached—was the fact that distance would be too tricky. Now, there’s no distance.

But I have no idea if Camden has any lingering feelings for me. He certainly seemed confident in the breakup when I tried to walk it back, which was humiliating.

“Parker showed me this spot,” Camden says, jarring me out of my thoughts.

Jealousy instantly curdles in my stomach. I didn’t get a vibe between Parker and Camden. But even the idea of another woman platonically sharing something special with Camden is enough to unleash the jealous beast.

“Are you two dating?” I blurt, regretting the question instantly. I can feel heat creeping up my cheeks.

His head rears back. “What? No. She’s engaged to one of the guys on the team. And even if not …” He glances at me, then away.

“This just seems like the kind of thing you’d share with someone special.”

I meant Parker telling Camden and realize the implication as soon as the words are out of my mouth. Because Camden just brought me here.

I really should just stop talking.

Thankfully, he seems to gloss right over my words. “I think she just brought me up here because …”

I wait. But Camden runs a hand over his jaw as he stares out over the rows of empty seats.

“Because?” I prompt.

“Nothing. It’s just a nice place to be alone.”

“You’re not alone,” I point out, earning me a long, slow perusal of my face.

“No,” he says, stepping closer. “I’m not.”

I should move away, just like I’ve been doing all afternoon. I should do a lot of things. Swaying closer to Camden is not one of those things, yet that is what I’m doing now.

“You didn’t tell me you were moving here,” he says, his voice a rough honey wrapped in accusation.

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.” He seems unsurprised when I echo his words from earlier.

“I used to pull up your old texts and read them,” he confesses. “I would hope for those three little dots to appear.”

I don’t tell him that I used to read our old messages, too. Right now, it feels too risky to tell him something so true.

“I shouldn’t have left.”

“You live here; you had to go.”

“I didn’t have to go then. Or the way I did. I’ve been living with the regret every day since.”

“Me too,” I whisper.

His head snaps up at my words. I’m positive, based on the sudden gleam in Camden’s eyes, that one tiny sentence cracked the door, and he seems ready to walk right through.

Camden shifts closer, looming over me as I lean back against the rail, my hands gripping it behind my back.

This is a kissing moment. Heat and electricity and anticipation doesn’t just hang in the air; it vibrates through it, making my legs shake and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck lift.

If I turn off my brain and its pesky, logical thoughts, I can focus on only what I want. And what I want is nothing more than to let this man, whose gaze is now locked on my mouth, kiss me.

He wants to. I’d have to be stupid not to see it.

Even stupider would be trying to deny that I want it just as badly.

But as impulsive as I may be at my very core, I now come equipped with an emergency brake in the form of needing to do what’s right by my kid. Becoming a mom, having a whole other person who owns a chunk of my heart, shifted something in me. I’m better at self-preservation because it now includes Liam-preservation.

The very last thing Liam needs is to get ideas in his head again about Camden—at least, unless it’s something serious.

Am I ready for something serious? Is Camden? Would we even work long-term? Does he want to be a dad to my kid?

A lot of the same questions and doubts I had last summer obscure my thoughts like a worry blizzard.

Breaking up with Camden remains the single most emotionally grueling thing I’ve done.

Yes, including giving birth.

Which might sound extreme considering the circumstances of how Liam came into the world. I was young—only nineteen—and without a partner since Liam’s dad exited the picture immediately upon finding out I was pregnant. I had the support of my dad and Jake, but neither of them were super helpful during actual labor and delivery.

So yeah, birth was no picnic. But I also discovered the power of my body and my own strength and resilience. And I got Liam at the end of a labor in which I declared to Jake while holding his shirt collar, Never again .

In contrast, there was no prize after my painful breakup with Camden. No silver lining or sense that something better waited ahead. I broke up with him and got … nothing. No snuggly baby at the end of painful labor, making my heart expand with warmth and love.

Instead, I was left with an invisible and insidious grief paired with the nagging and persistent thought that I screwed up. The breakup with Camden hit me squarely in the emotional and psychological feels. A deeper pain, largely invisible to the people around me. It’s surprisingly easy to hide breakup angst, unlike when your water breaks in the middle of Walmart while you’re shopping for beef jerky, your number one pregnancy craving.

I don’t want to go through that again.

I’m not sure I’d survive it.

Clearing my throat, I slip away from Camden, taking slow steps across the catwalk, trailing one hand along the metal support. I wish my backbone were this solid. Or my understanding of what I really want.

“Don’t you have hockey games on Saturdays?”

If Camden is disappointed, I don’t hear it in his voice, which is frustratingly even when he says, “Sometimes. Our schedule is weird. The Saturdays we have games are the ones where we don’t have classes.”

“Makes sense. So, is Liam the worst skater in his group? You can tell me. Honestly.”

A long pause. Because I’m now at a safe distance, I turn around. But Camden isn’t where I left him. He’s been quietly following. Though he’s not as close as he was, he’s close enough to be a temptation. I swallow and grip the railing a little harder.

Camden runs his fingers through his hair, leaving it mussed. It’s longer than it was when he left, curling over the collar of his shirt and hiding the tops of his ears. Maybe this is one of those hockey things—players letting their hair grow out over the season? I’ll have to ask Liam later.

“I’m working with Liam one-on-one,” Camden says.

“Is that normal?”

He hesitates but only for a moment. “Everyone else is in a group.”

“So, you’re the only guy working with just one kid, then?”

Camden nods. “Most kids his age are a little further along, so he was with all the little kids. It wouldn’t have been very helpful for him.”

Processing this takes more than a few seconds and some serious effort to keep my breathing even when it feels like I’m being crushed inside a trash compactor. Because no guy I’ve ever dated aside from Camden interacted with Liam, I didn’t realize a man being kind and generous with my son was my kryptonite.

But oh, it absolutely is.

“He said you didn’t come into the building because you didn’t want to see me.”

This hurts, even though it’s true. I didn’t think Liam realized why I wouldn’t get out of the car at the Summit. I told him I was using my free time to run errands and joked about having Mommy time. I should have known he was too smart to buy my excuses.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I …”

There are so many words clambering to be said, vying for top spot that they logjam, and I say nothing else.

“I get it,” Camden says quickly, saving me. “I know it’s not easy for me to see you.” Camden scrunches up his face, shifting on his feet. “Not hard to see you as in, you’re hard to look at. You’re not. Hard to look at, that is. Which is the problem.”

I’m smiling by the time he finishes tripping over his words. I probably shouldn’t smile, given the context of our whole conversation, but I like seeing Camden a little ruffled. Especially knowing I’m the reason he’s ruffled. It makes me feel better about being so ruffled myself.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, but now he’s smiling. A tiny one, but still.

“Can’t help it. You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

He blows out a breath, looking away as color rises in his cheeks. I’ve never seen Camden blush, and it makes him even more adorable. This is doing absolutely nothing to help curb my enthusiasm for the man.

But I didn’t kiss him when I wanted to, so that feels like a giant win. I can at least allow myself to indulge in this tiny moment of flirting.

“Could this be any more awkward?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer honestly. “I feel like we’re handling this pretty well, actually.”

“I’d love to hear how this could be worse.”

I tilt my head. “Oh, you want some horror stories about exes?”

“No.” Camden’s answer is quick, his voice and eyes suddenly hard. “I don’t want to hear about your exes, Naomi.”

I don’t want to be one of your exes . He doesn’t say this, but the words still seem to hang in the air.

Wishful thinking on my part, probably.

“I don’t have a lot of exes,” I tell him, but this doesn’t seem to help. “I mean, I’ve just gone on dates. I haven’t really had relationships, so I don’t mean ex in that sense. Just guys I’ve dated.”

“I don’t want to think about you with any men. Casually. Not casually. At all. ”

Should the deep possessive grit in his voice bother me? Maybe. Considering the fact that he doesn’t have any kind of claim on me. But I really, really like it.

I also don’t know how to respond, so I just stand here, staring at him.

Now the pause between us is awkward. I decide to steer us back into safer territory. Not that any territory with Camden is safe. It all seems strewn with dangers like quicksand and sudden lava flows.

“Level with me—what are the odds that Liam will give up on his hockey obsession?” I cross my fingers dramatically, and Camden smirks. “I mean, I’m his biggest fan and supporter, but I am also well aware he isn’t, how should I say … coordinated .”

“Before today? I might have said the odds were stacked in favor of him quitting.”

“You think he’s more likely to stay now that he’s had his arm sliced open?” I gape at him.

“It’s less about the injury and more about how he handled himself. You should be proud. He’s a really good kid.”

I find myself leaning forward, suddenly eager to hear all the details I didn’t get earlier because I was too busy being furious and then passing out at the sight of blood. “What makes you feel like he’ll stick with hockey after that?”

Camden considers for a moment. I’m biased, but he has a really nice considering face. “I’m sure players in every sport feel this way, but hockey really does take a different kind of mindset. When Liam got hurt, he wasn’t concerned about his injury. He only wanted to make sure the kid who hurt him wasn’t traumatized. Liam smiled at the boy and told him that it’s just part of hockey.”

Camden pauses, probably trying to figure out what to do with me since I’m actively trying to hold back tears. I cry so much more than I used to, and often for the weirdest, stupidest things.

Though I guess this isn’t stupid. It’s awesome . One of those moments when the pride in my kid feels powerful enough to crack open my chest.

“Liam has a long way to go with skating,” Camden says. “But mentally, he’s got something you can’t teach. Something most kids don’t have. So, if he’s determined, yeah—I could see him continuing in one of the youth leagues.”

I sniff. “That’s … cool. Thanks for telling me.”

“Did you not want him to play hockey?” Camden asks.

“I don’t know.”

He pauses for a long moment, looking like he’s trying to work up the courage to say something. “Is it because of me?”

The answer is much more complicated than that, but avoiding Camden and thoughts of Camden is certainly a part of it. “He’s just never shown any interest in sports before …”

You , I think.

“Now,” I say. “Before now. I thought he’d try it, realize he’s better at academics, and then give up.”

“He seems pretty dogged when he knows what he wants.” His gaze holds mine steadily. “Or doesn’t want. Not unlike his mother.”

Before I can even register the compliment, Camden starts to walk away. “We should probably get back downstairs and find Parker.”

This time, I don’t stop my eyes from wandering.