Page 39 of My Sweetest Agony

Another.

Finally, his voice cuts through the night air, bearing an edge to it that’s razor sharp. “I’ve done a lot of really horrible things in my life, Ivy. Drank myself to blackout. And when that stopped working, put just about every drug known to man into my body. Cocaine, heroin… I injected literal poison into my veins to escape my life.” His eyes dart over to mine, what plagues him making them almost black tonight. “And that isn’t even the worst of it because what I’ve done to other people is ten times worse. So, believe me when I say you should walk away now.”

Those words and the absolute unwavering conviction with which he says them sting more than they should.

More than I should let them.

I’d love to believe it’s because I’m looking at an almost carbon copy of Drew, and the thought of never seeing him—never seeing Drew—again is unfathomable, but Camden isn’t Drew. And I’ve always known that.

At first glance, they may appear identical, but Cam’s eyes hold that pain Drew’s never did. A weight and heaviness that seems to settle onto his shoulders, too. He has been beaten down by something, broken by life or experiences in a way that Drew somehow escaped.

He isn’t anything like the man I loved.

And the reason what he said stung has nothing to do with their shared face and everything to do with this connection I’ve felt with him since I woke in the house to find him kneeling in front of me in that damn storm.

Because no matter how many times I try to push it away, attempt to deny what I’ve been feeling the past two weeks, it’s impossible to deny that I need him in my life. I need someone else who understands my pain, who is experiencing the same agony, in order to keep living through it.

“Isn’t that my decision to make, not yours?”

He sucks in a sharp breath, then retreats a step, shoving his hands through his thick, dark hair.

Then he finally glances back at me. “I need to eat, and since you’re here, I assume you haven’t yet, and what I left for you is still sitting in your fridge.”

“What did you leave for me?”

“Sweet and sour pork and sesame noodles from Emei.”

My stomach growls, and my mouth waters imagining the meal waiting for me. More of my favorites. “How did you?—”

He walks past me toward the street where he parked his bike. “You want to ride with me or meet me?”

Huh?

“Um, where are we going?”

His blue eyes meet mine over his shoulder as he pauses on the curb. “Max’s. I’m dying for a cheesesteak.”

11

IVY

Sitting across from Cam in the booth at Eagle Bar, I can’t help but scan the massive wall of alcohol only a few feet from us and focus on the neon sign advertising “The Biggest Drink in Philly.”

The smell of the two foot-long cheesesteaks spread out in front of us on pieces of unrolled paper mingles with that of stale beer and whiskey that always seems to cling to places like this.

Cam lifts half of his sandwich and takes a bite, groaning in a way that is wholly indecent as he chews and wipes the side of his mouth with a napkin. “God, this is exactly what I needed.”

I clear my throat, staring at my untouched sandwich, unable to even think about eating it when my stomach churns with unease. “Um, should we be here?”

It’s the question I’ve been internally asking since the moment he walked in here after ordering our dinner and slid into the booth.

Cam looks around us at the patrons sitting on stools at the bar and in the few other booths, swallowing the second bite he just took. “Why shouldn’t we be here?”

Leaning forward slightly, I drop my voice low so no one else hears our conversation. “It’s a bar…”

His brows rise. “Yeah…”

Shit.