Page 89 of Beautifully Devoted

“But why… How… You could have any woman you wanted.”

“Once you go dick, don’t be surprised if it sticks.” It rolls off my tongue before I have a chance to think about what I’m saying, but it’s true as far as I’m concerned.

Cam arches a brow, and I just shrug in return. Maybe I am a little nervous about this confrontation, but only Cam will ever know.

“You didn’t try it during your first stint in the slammer?” I continue like I didn’t just cheese up my whole act. “I bet you could find a tattooed bad boy next time around. That’s assuming you don’t leave me alone and force me to send these pictures to your parole officer.”

“You expect me to believe you didn’t send ‘em already?” My dad sneers.

“I probably should’ve, but… If the police get involved it becomes a whole thing where I have to make statements and maybe even go to court. I’d rather just move on and forget I ever saw you.”

This was my one condition for Cam’s plan, that instead of bogging ourselves down in a legal nightmare, we try to send my dad packing without having to involve the police. Not because I care if he goes to jail again—because I don’t—but I don’t want to think of him anymore. At all. Once we get rid of him, he’s as good as dead to me.

“Deal?” I ask my dad.

He rubs his wrist as Cam releases him, giving me a calculated once over. “I could use some cash to get back to New Mexico.”

Cam snorts. “Way ahead of you, old man. There’s a bus ticket in that envelope. You leave in two hours.”

“So, deal?” I ask again.

If looks could kill, Cam and I would be dead on the ground. But my dad’s backed into a corner, and he knows it. And evidently, while he’s not the sharpest crayon in the box, he does at least realize when he’s out of options.

“Deal.” He snarls, glaring at me down the length of his nose

“Fantastic. Have a nice life.” I take Cam’s hand in mine with fingers that are barely shaking, and lead us down the walkway to the stairs as the door slams behind us. Each step I put between me and my dad gives me hope that I’ll never see him again. That thought used to terrify me, but now, I realize it empowers me. I didn’t need him. I’m glad he left.

I used to be so heartbroken, and for years I was consumed with wondering if he remembered me, if he’d recognize me on the street, or whether he’d be proud. As I grew older, I started to internalize his faults, and all of those questions turned to fear that I’d end up like him.

Something about not knowing his fate wouldn’t allow me to let go of the love or the hate I felt toward him. Seeing him again changed that. I know who he is now, know that I’m not and will never be anything like him, so his memory won’t cloud who I am or who I want to be anymore.

I wasn’t missing anything by not having him around. I’m better for it. And I don’t need a dad who doesn’t love me when I have a boyfriend that does. Unconditionally.

“Once you go dick don’t be surprised if it sticks?” Cam bites back a laugh as we near the stairs.

Scratch that boyfriend part.

“Of all the things I said that’s the one you focused on? Not the quip about his rap sheet or the whole out and proud thing? Or that you’re proud of me for holding my own?”

“Those are all good, important points.” He stops our progress at the top of the stairs and turns to face me, lip quivering as he tries to keep a straight face. “But nowhere in the history of the human language has a more ridiculous comment been made, and if you love me, you’ll understand why I can never, ever, ever, let you live that down.”

“You’re not really living up to your nickname right now, Camelot,” I grunt as I drag us down the stairs.

“I totally am. Confronting your dad with those pictures was my idea, so that makes me a white knight, a guardian angel and badass boyfriend, all in one. I’m like…boyfriend goals.”

I stop short and the bottom of the stairs, and it’s only because Cam is quick to regain his balance that he doesn’t take us both out when he slams into me.

“Boyfriend goals?” I spin to face him with the most devious smile I can muster. “Talk about ridiculous. That sounds like the title of a romcom. Is that what I should call you now? BG?”

“Of course not, I have a nickname.” His face sobers as he walks his statement back.

“A nickname you hated until a few days ago. You wanted a new one, didn’t you?”

“I never said I hated Camelot. I actually love it now that I know the meaning. It totally suits me.” He blinks those brown eyes in a way that’s adorably nervous.

“So, we’re on the same page then, Camelot?” I press right up to him and whisper a hair's breadth away from his full lips. “What happens at the cheap roadside motel stays at the cheap roadside motel?”

“Absolutely.”

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