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Chapter Twenty-Five

Austen

I cross my arms, the cold air bitter against my cheeks as I walk back to the restaurant. Alone.

The valet gives me a raised eyebrow as he leaves his podium, no doubt judging me for my fast run out of the damn restaurant, chasing down Cam.

Thank God, I work out five days a week, otherwise I wouldn’t have caught up to him without giving myself a heart attack.

A lot of good it did, I muse as the valet pulls up with my car. I tip him, thanking him as he gives me a smile and tells me to “have a nice evening.”

Yeah, I don’t think that’s happening.

When I’m out of the lot, only then do I let out a frustrated growl, smacking the steering wheel.

“Fuck!” I yell, my voice echoing in the space, my heart still racing.

I can feel the beginnings of tears pooling in my eyes, my throat getting all tight and my jaw tensing.

The lights stretch from the blurriness of my vision, and I know the alcohol isn’t to blame. Not this time.

His words echo in my brain. You don’t know how to do things for yourself.

I grind my jaw, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to let loose. Pulling up to a stop light, I take a deep breath, counting to ten.

Another stress relief tactic I learned in the last few years…

I stare at the red light, my mind replaying another time, when we stood beneath flashing red lights, dancing, and just… being.

Cam’s harsh words reverberate as I push the thoughts away.

Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be so miserable now.

One tear escapes, unable to remain caged. The sounds of Adele crooning on about wanting to meet after all these years, fills the space and I let out a shaky sigh.

His words were like sharp knives, cutting through me and exposing the truth.

Maybe I am miserable, but Cam’s words, his entire demeanor… he isn’t quite happy, either.

I guess misery loves company even if they don’t want to admit it.

I pull into my driveway, the motion lights coming on upon my arrival. Once I’m inside the house, I collapse on the couch in the living room. I run my hand over my face, my fingers trailing along the dried tears as I let out a deep breath and stare at the ceiling.

He’d told me to go back to my perfect life . But the truth is, my life is the farthest thing from perfect.

I’ve spent the last seven years—and probably a lot longer, really—living up to others’ expectations because it was how I was raised. I was expected to be a good son, a good husband, a good friend.But I’m none of those things.

I screw up everything I touch, and I always have. The tears come easier now, and I let them. I glance around my living room, at the artwork on the walls. I get up, walk up to the large sixteen by twenty painting of blue and white flowers that I’m certain a thousand other people have hanging in their houses.

I hate it. I’ve always hated it because it’s not me. It’s been on my wall for seven years, and I’ve always just let it go, but for some reason, I can’t let it go.

Not tonight.

I tear it down with one strike. It collapses to the ground, the blank, grey wall empty now, a void of space to fill.

Why won’t you give up? he’d yelled.

I stare at the empty spot, licking my lips.

Cam’s always been the fighter. He never gives up. It’s one of the things I’ve always loved about him. But me? Maybe that’s my problem. All I’ve ever done is give up. I’ve never had to fight for anything.

Because I never had anything worth fighting for before and everything else was just handed to me.

But I know without a doubt, Cameron Scott is worth the fight, and I’m not going to give up on making things right. I’m not going to give up on my best friend.

When I get to my bedroom, I take out my phone, setting it on my nightstand as I get undressed, piece by piece until I’m down to my underwear. I crawl into bed and get comfortable.

My cock twitches, clearly because it has a mind of its own.

It isn’t often I get this kind of time to myself unless I’m traveling, which isn’t as often as I would like, which reminds me that I need to pack for my upcoming trip to New York.

I’d been putting this trip off for months if only because there’s a part of me that isn’t sure I should keep pursuing this dream of releasing A War of Fire & Ice. I’ve been working on it since college, with every intention of moving BrewTech beyond my home office, but finding the right place for my company has been, well, a struggle.

Nothing meets my vision or my standards, and I’m starting to worry it never will.

I absentmindedly adjust my cock, turning on my side, and tell myself I’ll pack in the morning.

I try to ignore the annoying desire plaguing me, but then I remember it’s been awhile since I’ve really been by myself in this house. I think about Cam’s words, how he’d told me I never do anything for myself.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m so conditioned to fulfilling everyone else’s needs, I never stop to fulfill my own.

So I lick my lips, slide my hand down between my waistband, and close my eyes. I’ve still got four days and that’s plenty of time to pack…

I slowly build a rhythm, squeezing and pumping, and just…let go a little bit. My muscles loosen, my breath hitching.

I don’t think about anything, because I can’t. Just this… just breaking my routine and giving in to what feels good for once is enough.

My hips thrust of their own accord as my thumb slides over my weeping slit, and I groan. Loudly, because I can.

I lose myself for a moment as I chase my pleasure, until I can’t hold off anymore. I ride out the wave of my orgasm, feeling like every bone in my body has turned to Jell-O, and relief hits me hard.

Just as I get comfortable, the light goes off on my phone, the familiar chime of a text ringing through. One glance at the clock shows it’s barely ten o’clock. Savannah couldn’t have landed yet…

I wipe my hand on the sheets before I grab the phone, figuring it’s probably just a porn bot or some spam text, but when I see the name on my screen, my eyes widen.

Cam.

I swipe up immediately. One word stares at me.

Hey.

I wonder for a moment if it was a mistake. If maybe he meant to text someone else. But then I realize if he’s showing up in my notifications, it means two things.

One, his number is still the same.

Two, he didn’t delete my number.

He didn’t delete my number. The thought brings a smile to my face and my heart swells with hope.

So I text him back, the momentary pain dulled.

Hey.

And as I watch those flashing dots on the screen, I can’t help but smile.