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“We did the hard part already.” His voice is gruff against my cheek. “We found each other. I’m not worried about anything else.”
“What are you talking about? What’s a dick birthday?” Snorting, he tugs at my goatee. “You kind of hum the Birthday song in the shower when you’re sudsing me up sometimes.” “I do not.” The words come out as a horrified whisper.
I select the Attending response and hit send. I’ll be there with bells on. I’m not John Fairway’s kindhearted youngest child. I’m a fucking lumberjack from Wenatchee that drinks moonshine on the porch and crushes old ladies’ rose bushes. I dare him to tell me to jump.
“Come home to our home. To our bed. Where you belong. No one’s ever going to hurt you again, Cam.”
“Cam,” he soothes again. “Come home, sweetheart. Come home to me, please, and everything will be okay. I told you; I’m not going anywhere. Now, I need you to make the same promise.”
He’s drained, physically and emotionally. John Fairway did more than steal him from me for two days. I’ll be damned if he tries to again.
I still can’t believe he left me here. Well, I know I agreed, but that man could talk me into anything. It certainly isn’t like being uprooted in the middle of the night and flown across the country, but it feels like I’m in the witness protection program… in a Hallmark movie.
“That’s the thing with apples. They’re a lot like people. They might look damaged to some, but it’s what’s on the inside that counts—what you do with it.”
“Pete,” Dad warns, clutching hard onto my arm when I make a move. “Sometimes moral support from afar is better than jumping into someone else’s problems with a machete, like their life is a jungle.”
“You’ve waited twenty-five years for this,” he whispers, ghosting his fingertips up my thighs. “You’re sure you want it to be me?”
“Your dick scares the shit out of me,” he lets out in a rush. “What? What’s wrong with it?” “It’s fucking huge.”
I think it takes a lot of trust to show someone every side of yourself, the good and the bad.
I should probably be embarrassed that Bob’s wife brought a three-pack of Clorox wipes with a Christmas bow on it, but I love those damn things. It might be the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me.
I always say this is my first time going through life and no one gave me a manual. My wish is for you to remind yourself of that now and then.
