On the drive home, he answered a call from his sister, the seventh one, even though he’d texted her earlier and let her know he was on the way back. She’d been calling him constantly, unlike Hadley, who not only hadn’t called him but also hadn’t answered any of his calls.
“Cam!” Lucy said, her voice riddled with worry. “Why haven’t you picked up? I’ve been calling you!”
“I texted you before I took off and I just got off the plane. I’m fine.” He fell into his usual big-brother tone.
She wasn’t having it. “I know you told me you were headed back but I’m worried about you.”
“Nothing to be worried about.” Nothing that he wanted to talk about anyway. And it wasn’t like he’d had an eventful day and a half. He’d spent it flying across the country—twice—and eating bad airport food in between. And thinking. A lot.
There was a long pause. “I stopped by Pooch Palace to check to see if Bubba the bulldog got adopted yet and Ivy told me you and Hadley broke up. I’m coming over.”
As Cam pulled onto the tiny street of beachfront bungalows, he noticed that Hadley’s car was gone. But his dad’s black SUV was parked in his driveway.
“Wait a minute,” Cam said. “Did you tell anyone I was on the way back? Because I did tell you I needed some space, didn’t I?”
“I…um.” Dead silence. “Well, maybe I did tell Dad.”
Cam rolled his eyes. “I take it back. You’re not my favorite sister.”
“He was worried about you too.”
“So you sent him to my house?” Just what he didn’t want. To be accosted by caring people, whom he loved but…couldn’t a guy have some alone time?
“Not exactly. He asked me where you hid the spare key.”
He let out a deep sigh. “I have to tell you something.”
“What is it?” she asked, her tone wary.
“I’m…sorry. For trying to control your life. For not listening. I think you’re the best mom in the world and I know you’ll do what you want when the time is right. And if I gave you the impression I’ve got things all figured out, that’s absolutely wrong. That’s all.”
“Oh,” she said. She seemed to take that in for a moment. “That means a lot. But don’t worry about me. Just get your head out of your butt and get Hadley back.”
“So you’re giving me advice now?”
“When you need it, yes.” There was a sudden loud crash in the background. “Okay, that was a plate of cookies that Molly is now scarfing up whole. Gotta go.”
“Luce,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for worrying about me. I love you.”
“I love you too. And, Cam?” he heard just before he was about to hit the end button.
“Yes, Lucy.”
“I might have told Nick about your being back too. Also, I love you too. Bye!”
The line went silent just as he parked on the dirt road in front of his cottage. Great, so now Nick would probably be calling him any minute too.
The truth was, he had a great family and could use their support. He’d been pretending for too long that he was okay. That he could figure everything out on his own. That he was Cam, tough enough to plow through anything, from a monster defensive line to handling a career-ending bad knee all by himself.
Well, Cam might be a plow but Tony was…just Tony.
He’d made it all the way to LA before it had dawned on him that he didn’t want to forge ahead with the restaurant across the country. In fact, he didn’t want to forge ahead with a subpar restaurant chain with his name on it at all.
“Dad.” Cam walked through the kitchen door and found his father dusting flour off his hands. His kitchen smelled like…fresh bread. Warm fresh bread. A far cry from the single granola bar he’d eaten three airports ago.
“You’re alive,” his dad said in his usual deadpan voice. But Cam could read the concern in his eyes. He hated that. For years, Cam had done everything in his power to not get that look from his dad. “If you’re looking for Hadley, she’s not home. I already checked.”
“Oh,” Cam said. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.” He noted a stack of clean dishes in the dish rack, the tidy table. He’d left a mess behind him, in more ways than one. “You didn’t have to do my dishes.”
The response was a grunt as his dad checked the oven. “This oven is a piece of crap,” he said. “When you bake this dough, it better be in one of those fancy-schmancy wood-fired ovens, okay?”
It dawned on Cam that his dad was making The Dough. For him.
His dad opened the fridge, revealing two bottles of beer and an old carton of milk. He took out the carton of milk, smelled it, and made a face. “Geez. How you live.”
That made Cam laugh. “You weren’t really going to pour me a glass of milk with pizza, were you?”
Angelo brought two glasses of water to the table. “You look like you need milk, not beer.”
Cam wished it was that simple. The smell of the pizza was familiar and comforting. Finally his dad pulled it out of the oven and sat down across from him. Steam rose up from the perfectly golden homemade crust, and his dad had sliced onions and Italian peppers for the toppings, his favorites.
Angelo sliced the pizza. “Eat,” he said simply.
For the first time in days, Cam found he was hungry. “It’s incredible,” he said, two pieces later. “Thanks.”
They ate in silence. Then his dad put down his napkin and said, “What else do you need—besides food?”
Cam sat back in his chair. Hadley came immediately to his mind.
He wasn’t used to having heart-to-hearts with his dad. Or more accurately, he’d avoided them. Why tell anyone when you’ve messed up instead of just fixing the problem?
But this time his strategy hadn’t worked.
“The knee injury threw me for a loop,” he finally managed. The words made him cringe.
“Maybe,” his dad said.
Cam looked up from his water.
“Yes, the injury cut your football career short,” his dad said in a matter-of-fact tone that, with his gray hair and Italian features, reminded him a little of Al Pacino in The Godfather. But a lot kinder. “Yes, it threw you a big curveball. But it made you come home. It gave you a second chance to really think about what you want. And it brought you Hadley. Trouble is, your head’s been in your rearview mirror.”
Cam crossed his arms, not really wanting to hear his dad’s take on what he already knew but fearing that he was right. “How so?”
“You haven’t slowed down enough to take time to think. And you’re letting ghosts from the past take the driver’s seat.”
“I always take the driver’s seat in my life.”
“Well, this time you took the wheel and crashed the car,” his dad said.
Ouch.
Just as he was reeling from that, his dad reached over the table and patted him on the cheek like he was twelve years old. “You’re my tough kid,” he said. “My rebel. You always wanted to get out of here and see other places, do things.”
Cam shrugged. “I’m glad I saw the world. But I like being back home.”