Page 29 of Salvation (Rising From the Ashes #3)

Campbell

I ’m standing outside a house with white siding and wooden shutters. A picket fence runs along the back side, and there are a few rockers on the porch. It’s a family home, and jealousy burns through my veins when MJ walks out with a smile on her face to greet me.

All I’ve ever wanted is what my best friend now has, and I hate how much I envy him because of that.

“Sorry, sir,” MJ says, stepping off the porch in her bare feet. “We don’t allow strangers here.”

I roll my eyes, and MJ smirks.

“You’re hilarious, MJ. Truly.”

She shrugs. “I like to think so.”

A beat passes in which I stand there awkwardly with my hands shoved into my pockets.

I’ve never felt awkward here before. I’ve always treated it like a second home, and MJ and Hayes have done the same with mine.

But everything about my life feels awkward—like I don’t fit into the places I used to.

If MJ notices my discomfort, she doesn’t seem to care.

She isn’t one to go easy on a man. She places her hands on her hips and stares me down while she waits for me to be the first to break.

I scratch at the back of my neck. “Is—uh—is Hayes around?”

A bright smile lights up MJ’s face. “He’s inside.”

I nod, dropping a kiss on her cheek as I pass by her and climbing the porch steps, but I only make it to the door before she calls me to a stop. “And, Campbell—”

I stop, looking back at her. “Yeah?”

“Fix whatever’s going on because my husband has been grumpier than normal, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been suspiciously missing. My pregnancy hormones were two seconds away from driving him to your house and dropping him off.”

I chuckle, but it’s not as convincing as it usually is. “You got it.”

I reach for the door handle, but MJ stops me once again.

“Campbell—”

Sighing, I look back over my shoulder, meeting her gaze. “Yeah, MJ?”

“I love you,” she nods toward the inside of the house, “And so does he. Don’t suffer alone because I’ve already lost one person I love, and I don’t think I can live through another.”

Guilt and shame are like shrapnel straight into my chest from the bomb she just dropped in my lap. I give her a sharp nod and sling the door open, stepping inside before she can stop me again.

Inside the house, I kick off my shoes and head toward the kitchen. Hayes is standing at the stove, grumbling about something when I walk in. His back is toward me, so he doesn’t realize it’s me at first.

“MJ, where did you go? Look, I’m sorry about our fight—”

“Heard you’re being a real jerk. You should probably work on that.”

Hayes spins around, and I nearly choke from trying to hold back my laughter. But in the end, I can’t do it. He’s wearing a pink floral apron that ties around his neck, and there’s green goop slathered all over his face.

“What is on your face?” I wheeze, doubling over with laughter. “Better yet, what are you wearing?”

I can hardly breathe as he grabs a rag and wipes at his face, then yanks off the apron. He glares at me as I laugh.

“Laugh it up, but MJ is crazier than normal from the hormones. This is all her doing.”

“I heard that, Hayes Miller, and don’t think I won’t kick your butt just because I’m pregnant.”

I don’t know when she came back inside, but my laughter doubles when Hayes’s face goes white beneath the remnants of green smeared across his cheek. His eyes widen when he looks at me and whispers, “That woman is terrifying.”

Wiping my tears away, I stand up and shrug. “Yeah, but you love her.”

Hayes’s eyes soften. “Yeah, I do, and the truth is, I’d do anything she asks—even if I look like an idiot—because she’s carrying my baby. For that alone, she deserves the world.”

My throat aches when I swallow. “Yeah. She does.”

Ivy did, too. Still does. Instead, she faced her pregnancy alone.

“So,” Hayes says slowly, “what are you doing here?”

I flick my gaze around the room, looking everywhere but at him. “I was hoping we could talk. We left things on a bad note.”

I expect him to scoff and place the blame on me, but instead, he just nods.

“Yeah, we can talk. Want something to eat?”

And just like that, the tension fades between us, feeling a little bit like it used to. Pulling out a stool, I sit down at the island in the center of the kitchen. “I could eat.”

Hayes busies himself with making us each a plate of food, and I pick at my thumbnail, knowing that eventually I’ll have to talk.

When he’s done making our plates, he walks over, sets mine in front of me, and pulls out the stool.

It’s just bacon and eggs, but I dig in like it’s a feast—mainly to give me a few more minutes to think before I start apologizing.

Picking up my fork, I take a big bite while he sits down, but he doesn’t start eating immediately.

Instead, he turns to me and stares at the side of my face.

“I’m sorry.”

His words take me by surprise, and I cough, choking on my food a little bit.

“For what?” I ask when I can finally breathe again.

“Because you always should have been able to talk to me, even if you hid from the rest of the world. You’re one of my best friends, man, and I—” he stops, shaking his head, “I feel like I failed you.”

Setting my fork back on my plate, I turn toward my best friend. “You didn’t fail me, Hayes. You had your own problems you were dealing with, and I became good at hiding mine.”

“Why, though?” he asks, his eyes piercing through me. “Why did you feel like you had to hide it? Was it because I didn’t handle Langston’s death well because no matter what, man, I would have been there for you.”

“That wasn’t it—not exactly. I mean, part of me didn’t want to add to everything you were going through, but mostly it’s because I didn’t want anyone to know how bad it’d gotten. Because what kind of man am I, Hayes?” My voice cracks, and I turn away, unable to face him.

It’s a rhetorical question based on years of feeling like I’m less of a man compared to the men around me, but Hayes answers anyway.

“A good one.”

“I don’t know about that.” I deny, but Hayes doesn’t let it go.

“Fine. Then explain it to me, Campbell. What is your definition of a good man?”

I pause for a second, really thinking about my answer. “I think a good man is someone who doesn’t break under pressure. Someone who can handle the tough stuff and doesn’t let his emotions win. A good man does not cry.”

“Well, hell. If that’s what it takes, then I guess I’m not much of a man either,” he says, swiping his hand over his mouth.

“Now, let me tell you my definition of a good man. To me, a good man is someone honest, including about things he’s feeling.

He cares about his friends and family, and he loves the Lord.

That’s all, Campbell. In my mind, that’s all it takes to be a good man, and you fit every one of those.

So you can sit here and tell me you aren’t a good man, but I won’t believe you.

Answer me this, though—if you think talking about this makes you less of a man, then what are you doing here?

Why are we having this conversation now? ”

I pick up my fork again, dragging the food around and keeping my gaze firmly on my plate. “Because I met my daughter.”

This time, it’s Hayes’s turn to choke. “Yeah, I guess that would do it, but I thought you said you weren’t going to. What changed?”

I put a little too much pressure on the fork, and it scratches against the glass plate, making a noise worse than nails on a chalkboard.

I wince and drop it back down, going back to picking at the corner of my thumbnail.

There’s a hangnail there that I’ve been pulling at for weeks.

It’s raw and inflamed, but every time I try to let it heal, I find myself picking at it again.

“She came to me.”

“Yeah, I can see how that would change things,” Hayes says. He scratches at his jaw, and I press harder against my nail. “So—what’s she like?”

The smile that pulls at the corner of my lips feels foreign, and it hits me that it’s because it’s genuine.

“She’s nothing like I expected, and everything I’ve dreamed about.”

“Does she look like Ivy?”

My smile grows wider, and I look up at Hayes. “Yeah, she’s beautiful.”

Hayes smiles back. “I hope I have a daughter who looks just like MJ.”

This is how I imagined my life would turn out—sitting around talking about our kids and wives—and for a minute, I pretend that’s what this is. That everything I dreamed about is mine. But Hayes’s next question knocks the wind from my sails, and that dream slips from my fingers again.

“And what about you? What part of you does she have?”

My smile drops. “The worst part.”

Hayes frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I puff up my cheeks, slowly letting the air out. “Willow has major depressive disorder.”

“And you think that’s because of you?” Hayes asks.

I shrug. “Isn’t it? There’s this monster that lives inside of my head, constantly shoving these thoughts at me that I can’t get rid of—scary thoughts—and I never wanted my daughter to feel this way. But she does, and that’s because of me. I did that, man. What am I supposed to do with that?”

My voice breaks, and I angrily swipe at my face to try to stop the tears. But they fall anyway.

“You be a father, Campbell. That’s what you do. You can’t control what your daughter feels, but you can show her that it gets better. So get better, Campbell.”

I don’t know if his answer makes me want to laugh or break something. “And I suppose your answer to getting better is to pray about it, right?”

Hayes shakes his head, sadness swimming in his eyes. “No. If you say you’ve prayed about it, then I believe you. But—I do think you are making God’s answer linear, and he is not a linear God, Campbell.”

I clench my jaw. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hayes grunts. “I think you do. Have you been to a doctor? Talked to a therapist? Asked about medicine? Have you done any of those things?”

I don’t bother answering because he already knows I haven’t.