I stared at the shirt—the black long-sleeved jersey with the number 13—and seven simple letters that spelled a name: CALDANI.
“This jerk,” I said, dropping down my arms and setting aside what had been Cameron’s L.A. Stars jersey for the last years of his career. “This jerk sent me this so I could get it signed for him.”
Any other day, I would have called Matthew and told him that he could forget about it. Perhaps I would even ask how he’d managed to get this package here so fast. But today? I didn’t care.
I grabbed my pajamas, limped to the tiny bathroom, set everything on the counter, and dragged myself into what passed for the shower. I let the hot spring water warm my body. Once done, I dragged the curtain back only to discover that both my discarded and sleeping clothes had fallen to the floor and were now drenched.
“Great.”
I wrapped my towel around my chest and limped back to the bed. My gaze fell on the black jersey with the tiny white stars scattered around the shoulders and upper section of the sleeves. Hardly thinking, I snatched it up and slipped it over my head. Polyester and nylon weren’t ideal fabrics to sleep in, but at least the thing covered my ass.
Clad in the very emblem of what had represented Cameron for the last years of his career, I let my body fall onto the mattress, wrapped my arms around my legs, closed my eyes, and cried myself to sleep.
It was fast, and the last thing that crossed my conscious mind was that at least now, I would remember the last time a tear had left my eyes.
By the time I woke up, it was dark outside.
All throughout the day, I was startled awake by violent gusts of wind hitting the cabin, slipping in a painkiller and going back to sleep. Except for this last time. Now the wind was too noisy, my mind was groggy after all that irresponsible self-medication, and my ankle was radiating waves of pain up my leg.
I rolled with a wince, hoping that it would help relieve the pain, and stumbled upon something. A source of… warmth. Wait. There was something on my bed. Something alive. Under normal circumstances, I would have immediately dashed out of the cabin, but I was so out of it that I found myself reaching out. I touched the object, probed it with my fingers.
It mewed.
I reached for my phone and lit the space before me, finding two eyes I’d seen before staring back at me.
“Willow?”
The cat made a noise I interpreted as a yes and climbed onto my lap, burrowing herself there. I saw myself petting her fur confidently, like this was something I did every night. Her small body started vibrating against my belly and chest. It was such an odd feeling, being purred on. But it felt so comforting. It almost made the waves of pain recede.
Was this why people had cats?
Was this why Cameron had adopted two?
“Do you curl up in his lap and purr?” I heard myself ask her in the darkness of the room.
A gust of wind hit one of the sides of the cabin, and Willow raised her head.
“S’kay,” I drew out. “The wind’s scary, but I’m here with you.” A strange thought flashed through my groggy mind. “I’ve never been held through a storm, y’know. I never told anyone I’m scared of them. I grab my comforter tight and tell myself to be strong. But I’ll hold you.”
Willow settled again, as if convinced by my argument.
“I’ve been in Cameron’s arms, y’know,” I continued. “And you’ve been in his lap.” Willow’s head inched upward, resting against my breasts. “I think that makes us friends.” I frowned. “Does he have a great lap?”
She prodded at me with her small bicolor snout.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I closed my eyes, memories of a shirtless Cameron holding this very same cat. Jealous. He’d implied Willow was jealous. Of me. A thought took shape. “Oh no. He must be worried sick about you.”
I opened my messages app and started typing, but my eyes felt weird and the letters danced. So I pressed on the tiny mic symbol on the corner, and started recording instead.
And when I was done, I hit send.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Cameron
I stole a glance at the silent phone on my lap.
It was driving me insane.
The whole day, I’d been at home, and as much as I tried to deny why, it wasn’t because of the turn the weather had taken. It was because of her.
Was I a giant fool for listening to Adalyn and giving her space? Was I an idiot of epic proportions for storming out of there like that?
Yes. I was probably both things. And a man gone insane, too, soon enough.
Now, it was two a.m., and I was staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, blinking away the images that assaulted my mind. Adalyn at the game. Adalyn’s smile. Her scrambling off the bench like she’d seen a ghost. The expression of pain when she’d tried to stand up. The shame that had been underlying all of that. Her apology for embarrassing us. Christ. Where the hell had that come from?
I didn’t understand. I—
My phone pinged with a message, and in a flash, my hand was reaching out and flipping on the lights. I sat on the bed and unlocked the device.
A message from Adalyn popped up on the screen. A voice memo.
With a frown, I hit play.
“Hey, wassup,” her voice drawled. Something was wrong. Adalyn didn’t drawl. She also never spoke so… weakly, her voice so frail. I came to a stand and looked for my clothes, her voice filling the room. “She’s here, with me. We’re sitting in my bed that’s not really a bed and getting through the storm together. I hope that’s okay, because if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep her. Just for tonight. Miami’s storms are much scarier but she’s keeping me warm and distracting me from the pain and the noise outside.” A sigh left her lips.
But all I kept thinking was Pain, pain, pain, she’s in pain.