“Seems like it. Tell your mom thank you for me.”
I ignored the gruff answer and let my palm trail over the stonework. “I’ve always loved this piece.”
“You should, since you did it.”
My gaze flew to his. He’d remembered that? He’d barely been around that last summer.
“I just helped.” I shrugged.
“Whatever you say.”
“Thank you. For yesterday. You saved my life.” I paused between each sentence, hoping he’d reply. “Rumor is that you’re here to stay.”
“Since when do you listen to rumors?”
“Are they true?” If he was going to ignore my question, then I was ignoring his.
“Yeah, I’m sticking around.” He folded his arms across his chest, drawing my attention to the ink that decorated his skin from his wrists up into his short sleeves.
His left forearm held a scene of pine and aspen trees that sheltered a twisting creek that formed a pond just above his elbow—a pond I recognized. The hot springs that straddled the property line between what had been our parents’ but was now our land.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, just like he always did. Most people were content to let me live in my head, or they tried to bring me back to the conversation. Cam had always pried my thoughts loose, and I let him, even if he’d usually mocked me for them right after.
Maybe I was a masochist.
“That I always figured you just left and never looked back.” My finger lightly traced the outline of the hot springs, his skin smooth and warm under mine, then paused at the inked rendition of the abandoned structure we used to jump from as kids. “But you took us with you.” Where had he found the drawing? Did he realize it was mine?
His scent hit me, and I realized just how close I was to him, that I was actually touching him. I jerked back and felt my cheeks heat all the way to my ears.
He didn’t say anything or even move. Nope, he stood there like the brick wall he was, giving nothing away in those unreadable eyes of his, but at least he wasn’t making fun of me.
“So anyway, I brought a few more things. I can just grab them from the car, and then I’ll be on my way.”
“Need help carrying them in?”
The thought of him seeing everything in my car had me scrambling for an out. “Oh, no. You go back to the Scout. It’s only a box or two. Nothing I can’t handle. I’ll just let myself out when I’m done.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he finally nodded. “Okay, suit yourself. I’ll be in the garage if you change your mind.”
He headed toward the garage, which opened along the east side of the house, and I put my shoes back on and went out the front door. Even if he had the garage door open, he wouldn’t see the collection I was about to haul in.
Sweet, crisp air filled my lungs, and the contrast from indoors made me realize how badly the house needed to be aired out and thoroughly cleaned. How long had it been since anyone had lived here? It had been since before Sullivan died.
I made trip after trip from my car to the entry hall, first pushing boxes against the wall and then stacking them until I’d carried in everything I’d brought.
The grandfather clock chimed, and a smile tugged at my lips. I loved that clock. Had it made in Germany, Cal had told me before showing me how to wind it.
My feet carried me across the entry into my favorite room in the house—the library. Dust sparkled in the air as light came in the row of windows taller than I was. Books lined the walls, reaching toward the ceiling in stacks and unorganized lines. It was a riot of color, paperback and leather, but though dust covered the floor, none touched the shelves or the empty chessboard in the corner.
Camden had been in the house for only a night and had already taken down the sheets Sullivan and I had cut apart to cover the books and furniture when Cal passed away. That day with Sullivan, so close to his enlistment, should have been the memory I lingered on, should have been what sent my hands to the spines, but it wasn’t.
It was the sound of Cam’s voice, lighter and higher, reading aloud while I painted in the corner on the little easel Cal always left just for me. My hands had been busy and my mind quiet—full of other people’s stories and Cam’s voice.
I plucked a title from the shelf, noting the multicolored, highlighted passages just as Cam found me.
“Sorry, I got distracted,” I told him, my nose scrunching.
“So I see.” He looked around the room, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he remembered the same things about it that I did.
He walked over, his boots heavy on the floor, and I cringed at my lack of manners. “Sorry, I forgot to take off my shoes after that last load.”
He snorted. “That’s our parents’ rule. Not mine, if you can’t tell.” He took the book from my hand and surprised me by not putting it back but flipping it to read the cover. “East of Eden. Good choice.”
“Steinbeck,” I commented.
“So it says.” He slightly lifted the corner of his mouth. “‘There is more beauty in truth, even if it is dreadful beauty.’” The quote tumbled from those lips easily.
“You always did have a good memory for books.” That was putting it mildly. He could remember lines and details that most people glanced over and never thought about again.
“It’s one of my favorites. Besides, books are easy,” he said with a shrug. “They lay out their truth in literal black and white. Probably why Dad never liked them. He’d rather make up his own stories so they conform to what he already believes.”
“People are harder,” I noted. “Are you really okay? I mean, he shot you.” I asked the question that had plagued me since last night.
“Right as rain.” He lifted his shirt with a smug little smirk, revealing miles of abs that dipped and rose to the tattoos that started along his side and covered his chest. In the center, just beneath his pecs, the skin was a livid red, peppered with a series of deep-purple bruises. “See?”
“Cam,” I whispered, stepping closer.
He backed up and dropped his smirk and the shirt. “No problem here.”
“I wasn’t worried about you physically,” I muttered to his back as he left the library, but I knew that was the only response I was going to get. Cam would tell you he was fine if he were bleeding to death.
“Holy shit, how many boxes did you bring?” he asked as he walked into the entryway.
Crap. I should’ve been gone by now. I really didn’t want to see him realize what his father had done. What I’d done.