Page 21

Chapter Twenty

Cameron

Turns out the bartender is happily married. What an ass. Who flirts with a guy like that and then when they’re asked to join them in their hotel, they laugh and say, “Sorry, I’m married.”

To a woman, no less.

Fucking asshole flirting just to get tips.

I shouldn’t even be mad at him. And really, I’m not. He’s just doing his job. What I am mad about is everything else. This town. The people. Most especially Austen fucking Brewer and his somehow still stunningly gorgeous wife.

Actually, it’s not some how. I know how. Money. Lots and lots of money.

“Hey.”

Just one simple word, but it has my spine stiffening. I close my eyes and take a breath before looking to my right. I raise a brow at Austen, not returning his greeting. He doesn’t deserve anything from me.

“Two chardonnay’s please,” he says to the bartender, holding up two fingers.

I can’t help the laugh that explodes out of me. I finish off my drink and put the empty glass down on the table, sliding it to the other end.

“You would,” I mutter to myself.

“I’m sorry?”

“Fucking chardonnay?” I shake my head, huffing out a humorless laugh. “Very bougie of you, Mr. Brewer.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but then closes it when the bartender slides over his drinks.

“Add those to my tab, please.” I gesture to the drinks. “And I’ll close it out.”

“That’s not necessary,” Austen says, pulling out his wallet.

I turn my body to face Austen, and my stomach sours.

God, he’s fucking beautiful. Somehow more handsome than he was when we were younger. He’s filled out a little, gone from that baby face to more rugged, masculine features.

It’s been seven years since I’ve seen him face-to-face. That’s a long damn time, and my, how he’s changed. Too bad he’s still an asshole.

“I can pay for your drinks, Austen. I have money of my own now, too.” I say it snarkily on purpose. He frowns at me as he picks up the glasses of wine, and I sign my receipt, leaving the bartender a hefty tip—even though I won’t be fucking him tonight. I turn to Austen and grin as I shove my card into my pocket. “But at least I’m not a fucking prick.”

I walk out of the gymnasium, feeling proud of myself for that little dig. Yes, it was childish, but the anger towards my ex-best friend has been brewing for years and I’ve had a lot to drink. So excuse my immaturity.

It’s relatively early and I consider finding somewhere else to go in this shithole town to finish getting drunk, but after traveling all day, I just want to fall into bed and sleep.

Making my way through the halls, I eventually get outside. Just as I do, my phone rings. I don’t recognize the call, but that’s common for someone in my line of work, so I answer it hoping it’s a job, so I’ll have an excuse to get out of this shithole sooner rather than later. Not that I need an excuse, but it helps.

“This is Cameron Scott.”

“Hello, Mr. Scott. My name is Tania, and I’m the manager at the Best Rest Hotel. Unfortunately, I have some bad news.”

I hear the building door open and close harshly behind me.

“What kind of bad news?” I ask.

There isn’t another hotel in this town I’ll sleep in. They’re all trashy and disgusting.

“A pipe burst on the fourth floor on the east side, and unfortunately, there has been a lot of damage to the rooms below, and yours was one of them.”

“Yes, that is unfortunate,” I bite out as I look up at the clear blue sky. A weight settles on my chest as I take in the bright stars and how many I can see. When’s the last time I saw something like this? I spend so much time in cities nowadays, I hardly see the stars at all. Too much light pollution. Here, it’s so clear, so beautiful.

“You will be reimbursed for the room, of course, and any items in the room that were damaged. And, unfortunately—” There’s that fucking word again.

“Let me guess. You don’t have any other vacant rooms?”

“No, sir. We do not. I apologize.”

“Well, your apology doesn’t get me a place to sleep, does it?”

I end the call, shoving the phone into my pocket and looking up at the sky.

“You’ve turned quite bitter.”

I grind my teeth, refusing to look behind me, knowing exactly who I’ll see.

“Why are you following me?” I grit out.

He moves beside me, and I feel him looking at me but don’t look at him.

“I’d like to talk.”

My head whips in his direction, and I scowl. “Oh, you’d like it, would you?”

“Cameron—”

“No, Austen, you don’t get to suddenly play nice.”

“Why not?” His eyebrows furrow slightly, and he sounds offended.

Is he fucking joking right now? His staring tells me he’s waiting for a response. So I give him one.

“Why not? Because I’m not a backup plan, Austen. I’m not some convenience you can pick up when you’re bored. You’re not going to stand here and pretend to care now, not after you destroyed me like I meant nothing to you.”

And with that, I walk off.

I bang on the door for the third time. At this point, I think my mother is dead. It’s been so long that I’ve talked to her, it’s possible her body has become one with the house. No such luck. The door is pulled open, and there she is.

“Oh, Cameron, it’s late. What are you doing? Why didn’t you call?”

She steps back, allowing me in so I step inside, the air stale and wreaking of cigarettes. It has me coughing.

“I did call,” I tell her once I catch my breath. “About a hundred times.”

She’s shaking her head as she closes the door. “I’d have answered it.”

“Maybe the ringer is off.”

She waves me off, walking down the short hall into the kitchen where the lights are on. I follow her in there to see her taking a seat at the table that’s covered in stacks of mail, books, newspapers, and magazines.

“If this place caught on fire, it’d go up in seconds.” I pick up one of the magazines, reading the date from almost three years ago, then put it back on the pile.

My mother looks up at me from over her glasses.

“If you’re going to talk shit, you can leave. What do you want, anyway?”

She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t have any money. You know that.”

“I don’t need money.”

“Oh good. So you can fork some over then?”

My jaw clenches and I bite back the hurtful remark. She’s my last resort. If I piss her off, I’ll be sleeping in my rental car.

“I just need a place to stay for the night.”

As the words leave my mouth, I wish I would have gone out instead. My buzz is wearing off, and if I have to tolerate my mother for the night, I need to be intoxicated. If I got drunk enough, sleeping in the rental car would have been just fine.

My mother looks me over, seemingly unimpressed with what she finds. It’s not a look I’m used to, considering most people like what they see when they lay their eyes on me.

I look just like my mother. At least, I did before her smoking caused too many wrinkles and the tanning made her skin look like leather. Our eyes are the same color though, and so is our hair. Hers has a slight curl to it while mine is mostly straight. Get that from my father, I suppose. If I knew who he was, I’d know for sure. Don’t think she knows who he is either. Pretty sure she’d have gone after him for child support if she did, but not knowing embarrassed her, so instead of looking, not only for money but for me, she just struggled. Didn’t give a shit what I thought about the whole thing, and now I’m old enough that I don’t care about my father. I do wonder if he knows I exist though.

She reaches for the half empty pack of cigarettes on the table, pulls one out, and lights it up.

“Yeah, you can stay here.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to thank her, but then she adds, “On one condition.”

Of course. Everything is conditional with her. She’ll only do this for you if you do that for her. I should have known I couldn’t come here and just go to sleep, like I want to. Thankfully, my stuff wasn’t at the hotel—it was in the trunk of my rental—so I’ll have clean clothes to change into. That is as long as I don’t let any of them touch anything in this house, because there is forty years worth of smoke stuck to the walls and at least an inch of dirt and dust and other debris on the floor since I don’t think she’s vacuumed a day in her life. I would have done it if we could have afforded a vacuum. Maybe I should buy her one for Christmas.

“What?” I ask, shifting my weight onto my other foot.

“Just a few things around the house that need attention.”

I take a deep breath and let it out, knowing I’m not going to bed any time soon.