“Too late.” His words are garbled and grumpy, alerting me that something is definitely wrong.
I pause, delicately choosing my next words. “How’d everything go with Jamison this morning?”
A long silence follows, and I start to think he fell back asleep. “Terrible,” he says gruffly.
That’s all he gives me, not a single syllable more. “How long were you with him?” I try not to pry even though I want to know everything. While the history isn’t great, Anderson’s brother is here, and that’s a big deal.
“Not that long.” He stirs onto his back, his eyes still closed. “He was at the saloon. We had a drink. And then I left and had more.”
I frown, puzzled by his words. “This isn’t like you. Are you okay?”
Anderson lets out a heavy breath. “Yes. No. I don’t fucking know, Hope.” His eyes open and glare at me, but what I see in them isn’t anger. It’s deep pain, frustration, and loneliness. “I spent all morning trying to remember what the point of this damn reopening is. Who am I doing this for and why? Why did I stay?”
My heart feels like it’s breaking, and I don’t even know why. “Because you saw what they couldn’t, Anderson. That no matter what happened, this is still your home, and your dreams can still exist. You were just waiting for them to see it too. And they will.”
He smacks his palms into his face and drags them down to his chest. “It hit me this morning that that’s never going to happen. I’ve been holding on to childhood fantasies that lost their wings far before they ever had a chance to fly. No one wants this. I don’t even know if I want this anymore.”
My chest squeezes, and I sit up to assess Anderson’s demeanor. He’s a different man. A broken man. And I’m terrified that he’s the same man I left last year.
“Look. I don’t know what happened between you and Jamison, and I’m sure it’s a complicated subject, but you can’t say things like that. You might actually start to believe them.”
“Why shouldn’t I believe them? Maybe it’s me who’s been too fucking dumb to see what everyone else has been trying to show me. Our dream is dead. I’m sorry. I can’t have this conversation right now.” He sits up and walks toward the bathroom. “I need a shower.”
The door to the bathroom closes behind him, and a tear slides down my cheek. I can feel his pain, but I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if I can fix it. Catching a glimpse of the time on the bedside table, I swipe a hand across my face to dry my tears and stand from the bed.
Lunch time is over.
I leave Anderson to deal with the emotions that seem to be assaulting him all at once. I can handle his mood swings. They come from a dark place that he seems to constantly be dealing with. What I won’t do is sit there and wait for him while he uses me as a punching bag. I’ve been that woman before—but never again.
I’m passing through the staff room, noting just how strange it’s been to enter the office today—with the lights dim and the coffee unmade. I never thought to make it myself because I’d been expecting Anderson to walk in at any moment.
Sighing, I stop to make a pot of coffee and think about Anderson. Part of me wants to run back to the house and demand he talk to me, to help me understand his sudden change of heart. Anderson is Camp Bexley. He’s bled for this place in more ways than one. And he’s helped others fall in love with it here too. The fact that he’s even remotely serious about giving it all up makes me sick, but I also know it must be coming from a very vulnerable place that I could never understand.
Once a fresh pot of coffee is set to brew, I make my way to the office, flipping on the lights as I go. When I get to the far end of the hall and see the office door beside Anderson’s propped open and the lights already on, I pause to peek inside. Jamison Bexley sits there, his eyes focused on the screen in front of him.
He looks up and lifts his chin in greeting, as though the fact that he’s taken up residence in someone’s office after being away from camp for years is no big deal. “Afternoon, Hope.” He searches the space behind me. “Andy with you?”
Andy? It takes me a second to realize he’s talking about Anderson. Geez. I’ve never heard anyone call him that in all the years I’ve known him. “Um, no. He’s still at the house, I think.” I hold my next words back for as long as I can before I finally ask, “I’m sorry, but what are you doing in here? Does Anderson know you’re here?”
Jamison leans back in his chair and laughs. “This is my camp too. I’m just looking over some of the books. Used to be my job around here.” He shrugs. “After taking a look around like you suggested, I was curious to see how it’s all flushing out.”
I narrow my eyes, my chest heating in Anderson’s defense. “If you need to know, the only thing not flushing out is the fact that you and your brothers treat Anderson like shit when all he’s ever wanted to do is make sure you all had everything you ever dreamed of.”
Jamison’s entire face flinches. “We treat him like shit, do we? Are you referring to Benson, who lost his twin in these woods? Or Cayson, who’s currently flying rescue supplies back and forth to Puerto Rico? Or maybe you’re referring to me.” Jamison stands, his tall, lean frame filling his white button-down dress shirt and black slacks in a way that reminds me of Dexter. Powerful, always on alert, and a force to be reckoned with. “Because if you are,” he continues, “I’ll have you know I want nothing for my brother but the best. But what he wants and what I want are two entirely different things.”
My heart thuds in my chest as I realize how far I overstepped. “I’m sorry.” I bat my eyes down, feeling my cheeks flame with embarrassment. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Jamison steps around the desk and leans against it while studying me. “You don’t owe me any apologies. You clearly care about my brother, and for that, I’m grateful. Maybe with you in his life he’ll stop holding on to this dream we all had when we were kids. It’s time for him to make new dreams. Maybe he can make them with you.”
I suck in a slow breath, an entirely new opinion of Jamison blooming in my mind. “I just want him to be happy, and his happiness would come much easier if he had his brothers back in his life.”
Jamison nods. “I hear you. I think we can all do better on that front.”
Just like that, the tension that quickly formed between us diminishes into understanding smiles.
“Hope?” Anderson’s voice comes from behind me.
I swivel around to find him walking in my direction. He’s about to say something more when he looks over my shoulder and sees Jamison leaning against the desk. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
Jamison stands again and makes his way back around the desk. “Figured I’d be useful while I’m here.”
Anderson’s jaw is tight when he nods. “All right.” He looks at me, his expression softening. “Hey, can we talk?”
I nod and give a parting smile to Jamison. “See you around.”
“Nice talking with you, Hope.”
Anderson lets me walk out the door first before darting a curious glance at his brother. When we’re inside his office, he closes the door and wraps his arms around me. “I’m so fucking sorry. You didn’t deserve that side of me. Please don’t be mad.”