Page 48 of My Sweetest Agony

It’s those words that finally break me.

The tears trickle down my cheeks, and I nod, unsure if I’ll even be able to say the single word that tries to come. “O-okay.”

Cam slowly pulls his hand away, and I immediately miss the feel of it pressed to me, the heat and comfort he offered in our moment of shared grief. He pushes to his feet, then steps in front of me and reaches out a hand.

I slide my palm into his, allowing him to pull me up, but he doesn’t release his hold. His thumb skates over my skin, sending a tiny shudder through me before he finally steps back, letting his grip fall away.

He clears his throat. “Put on jeans, boots, and a heavy jacket.”

“Why?”

A smile plays at his lips, and he inclines his head toward the street. “We’re taking my motorcycle.”

“What?” I shake my head, panic immediately seizing my chest. “No. I’ve never been on one.”

He snorts. “I figured. The last thing Drew would ever do is climb on a Harley.” His smirk fills his eyes with humor. “Far too dangerous.”

I can’t help but grin, despite the anxiety threatening to crush my ribcage at the thought of actually getting on that death machine. “We can’t take my car?”

Cam shakes his head. “I think this is the perfect way to go. Let him ride on a motorcycle one time, just to know what it feels like.”

My heart cracks wide open as I see the beauty in it.

No matter my fears or Drew’s while he was alive, something tells me he would take Cam’s offer for exactly what it is—one final thrill. One final thing they can share. That we all can.

I nod. “Okay…”

We’re doing this.

Cam scans me over one more time, as if he’s ensuring I’m not going to bolt instead of climb onto his bike. “Go get changed.” His eyes flick up to the window of the living room. “I’ll get him.”

Good.

Because I don’t think I can do it.

I don’t think I can reach up and grab that box again.

I’m not strong enough.

Maybe I never would have been strong enough to do this without Cam…

I turn away from him and move back to the house with his heavy steps following. He nudges the door shut behind us, and I pause at the edge of the living room and watch him approach the mantle.

He stops in front of it, feet spread wide, arms hanging loosely at his sides. Tattoos hidden beneath his leather jacket. He tilts his head slightly, staring at the box as if he’s having some kind of private conversation with it, and I slip away into the bedroom, giving him a moment he likely needs.

I change into a pair of jeans, knee-high riding boots, and snag my leather jacket that I typically only wear in the fall from my closet, slipping it on as I step back out into the hallway.

The house is silent, and I cautiously move into the living room.

Cam still stands in the same position, staring at the box, but when he hears my approach, he glances over at me. “You’ll want to tie your hair back.”

“Okay.”

I grab a hair tie from my purse and twist it into a loose ponytail. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Cam grab the box carefully with trembling hands, as if he’s handling something priceless.

Because it is.

To both of us.