Page 44

Campbell’s vision dimmed, the hallway compressing as he stumbled down it.

The floor was deserted. No clusters of distressed families clinging to hope, information, or miracles.

That was ICU territory, where his mom had spent sixteen hours before his father made the appropriate arrangements, following a humane consultation with her doctors.

A couple of them were his golf buddies, which made it easier, one would suppose.

It was the only time Campbell had seen his father cry, and for years afterward, he’d agonized over his own blank response.

Fontana had helped him break through.

He felt everything now.

Room 105’s door was open just enough for a thread of music to reach him. Billie Holiday—no mistaking that smoky voice. Jaime’s doing, Campbell would bet. Boombox will travel.

Emotion hit like a jolt, streaking through Campbell’s mind and body, rocking him where he stood. So this is what love feels like, he thought with wonder. Rubbing a suddenly damp palm over his chest, he edged into the room.

Fontana lay on her side, her injured arm curled protectively around her stomach, the only one to defend herself.

The sight hit Campbell like a gut punch—guilt, rage, helplessness all crashing together.

He hadn’t stopped her father. He hadn’t known.

And worst of all, she hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him.

He’d been falling in love, but fuck if he knew what she’d been doing .

Cut the anger, True. Being mad at the world wasn’t the way to start this conversation.

“Cam,” she whispered.

He looked up, realizing he’d settled back against the door, worlds away from her. He didn’t move. Couldn’t yet. He just took her in, trying to figure out where to begin.

This is the thing, Fon…

Why didn’t you trust me?

The crazy part is, I was already in it.

He sighed and knocked his head lightly against the door. No plan. Clueless.

She rose to her elbow, that gorgeous shroud of hair falling into her face. Her washed-out lilac dressing gown gaped, revealing the soft swell of her breasts, and he fought back a primal response. He wanted to run his hands over her, make sure every incredible piece was still in place.

As if she’d read his thoughts, Fontana’s eyes flooded with the color of the Ionian Sea, a rare blend of sapphire and lapis no lens could truly capture.

She smiled and crooked her finger. “Come here, Atlanta.”

He peeled off the door and crossed the room in a few strides, catching her face in his hands and bringing her mouth to his.

“I need you to tell me everything. All of it.” The words were rough against her lips, torn from somewhere deep inside him.

Pressing his brow to hers, he drew in a staggered breath, letting his mind begin to settle.

She was safe. She was okay. “Not now, I know, but soon .”

When I can bear to hear it.

She cradled his jaw, tipping his head until their gazes locked, the oxygen monitor on her finger pressing into his neck. A line of worry crept between her brows, as if she sensed that concern for her wasn’t the only emotion making him vibrate like a tuning fork. “I’ll tell you. All of it.”

His gaze landed on the vital signs monitor, the ugly hospital gown, the pulse clip. “They’re not letting you go tonight.”

A flat statement, another flare of fury.

He stepped back, his hands spreading wide. If he let her distract him with kisses and sighs that tore through him, she’d knock him off balance. Off course. Off track. They’d end up with no questions asked, no answers given. No faith. No trust.

Back where they’d started.

He should’ve taken that drink from Jaime’s flask.

“My blood pressure was high.” She frowned, sinking back against the sad little pillow. “Or maybe it was my heart rate. I can’t remember. Anyway, they checked it last time when I was giving my statement. Two police officers in the room, hounding me. Like I wasn’t going to be?—”

“How many stitches, Fontana?”

She glanced at her arm, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. “Twenty-two,” she whispered, slumping in defeat to the thin mattress.

“Son of a—” Jaime had said a couple over the phone.

He was pacing, one side of the room to the other, before he could get another breath out. He jabbed the boombox’s pause button. Billie Holiday was wasted on this bullshit.

“I had to, Cam, or we’d never be free. Push him to do what he’d threatened for so long, meaning they’ll lock him up for good this time.”

He halted, bracing a hand on the dented metal rail of the hospital bed to stop himself from touching her.

Ripping that awful gown off, sliding into her, losing himself in the one place everything else disappeared.

The urge to mark her, mark himself , was visceral.

It would be the easy way out, and he was great at easy. “You could have told me.”

“Told you what , exactly?”

“That he was coming back!”

A charged silence swirled as they stared, gazes locked. She could back down. Or he could. But. No. One. Moved. He’d never met anyone who challenged him like she did—engaged him, enticed him, enthralled him. His brain, his heart, and his dick couldn’t agree on who liked this combo more.

“You’re sorry you met me,” she finally whispered. If even one tear fell, he was done for. A dead man. “I’m trouble. Is that it?”

He shook the bedframe, wanting to shake sense into her .

“I’m grateful to whatever force in the universe dropped you, and that broken-down Jeep, into my path.

If it was some slice of cosmic karma, I’ll take it.

No argument. My win . I can’t even begin to list the reasons you fascinate me.

Why you’re all I think about. All I want .

For starters, you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and today only put an exclamation point on that belief. I’m in awe?—”

He bumped his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. “I’m all over the place, messing this up.”

“Cam,” she whispered, a world of emotion in her voice.

“I need you to understand what this— us —is about. But I’m not doing it here.” He slipped his glasses down and gave the room a slow, loathing once-over. “I hate this place, and I’m two steps from hungover, sleepless insanity. The drive to get to you was a nightmare I never want to repeat.”

“Visiting hours are over,” a nurse called with a rap on the door, using the same tone Coach Parker had when he caught Campbell smoking under the bleachers in high school.

No matter how old you were, that pitch still carried a dose of dread.

“Nurse Ratched,” Fontana murmured, lips curving in a wry twist. “Kicking out my best buddy.”

Campbell’s lips curved in an answering smile as a wave of longing swept through him. “I thought Jaime was your best buddy. He advises you on sexy panties and brings you music.” He jerked a shoulder toward the boombox. “I show up empty-handed in a blind panic.”

She gave him a look he couldn’t for the life of him label. Or maybe he was too scared to try. “Nah,” she said softly. “My best buddy intro’d me to this music. Talk about giving.”

Campbell circled the bed, fully intent on, hell , climbing in there with her, pulling the sheet over their heads, and losing complete control. She was injured, but he’d be careful. Orgasms were healing, or so he’d heard.

They had been for him.

Another knock hit the door, more forceful this time. “Two minutes.”

“ Fuck ,” he ground out, halting mid-step, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. The moment, the impulse, slipped through his fingers. “What is this, prison?”

Eyes glittering, Fontana released a pent-up sigh, maybe because she’d seen the desire flash in his gaze and wanted to take advantage. The thought made Campbell feel a little better.

She fiddled with her bandage, nervous in a way he rarely saw. “I’m in a secure area—kind of—until they get him out of here. You must’ve missed the officer posted at the end of the hall. Alias is upstairs, but he’s still considered a threat. You only got by because you’re on the list.”

Yep. Gut punch. “At least I made the list.”

Softly: “That’s not fair.”

He traced a finger along a seam in the faded hospital sheet, his gaze settling on her arm and the speck of blood that had seeped through the bandage.

Emotions—too many to catalog—roared through him.

He’d never desired someone in so many layered, bewildering, wonderful ways.

Ways that both comforted and confounded.

Quiet dinners and laughter-filled breakfasts.

Walks through fields he truly did love too much to part with.

Travel, children, and all the dream-building they could stand.

Making love until dawn, the new day a brilliant prospect behind drawn curtains.

“I’ll be back tomorrow to pick you up.” Campbell tapped the mattress with two hard knocks, sharp as Nurse Ratched’s.

But he couldn’t quite back away from the bloodstain he knew would live in his memory for years.

“Don’t leave with anyone else. Kick Jaime out on his ass if he shows up, or I will.

And if Henry Bowman dares to show his face, I’ll unleash years of repressed, teenage rage. ”

Fontana shocked him by laughing. “Caveman, meet Campbell True.” He glanced up, ready to argue, but she waved the comment away, amusement still flickering in her lapis eyes. “Ignore me, it’s the pain meds.”

Unable to stop himself, he approached like a man setting up the perfect shot—careful, reverent—then pressed a whisper-soft kiss to her lips.

When she lingered, her good arm rising to pull him close, he hummed low, stepped back.

“Uh-uh. Pain meds and passion don’t mix.

You want Ratched to come in and drag me out? ”

He was across the room before he paused. Her lids were sliding low, shadowy crescents beneath each eye underscoring a day neither of them would ever forget. “Hellcat?”

She blinked, and it was the sapphire of his dreams. Of his future. “I forgot to tell you. I love you, Fontana Quinn. With everything I have.”

Then he let the door close on his declaration.