Page 70 of Beautifully Devoted

“You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Cam rolls his eyes as he adds an apple to our pile. “Every guy needs a picture of his boyfriend’s dick. In case of emergencies.”

“Exactly.” I step between him and the display and press my lips to his. “Never leave home without your emergency dick pic.”

This time it’s a middle-aged lady who walks away in a tizzy, and the two of us crack up laughing.

“Think she recognized you?” Cam wipes a stray tear from his eye.

“Nah, she’s not my demographic.” I shrug and drag him toward the carrots.

“We should probably keep our conversations PG in public though, just in case.”

“I’m not gonna hide us in a closet, Cam.”

“I don’t want you to. I’m saying we shouldn’t talk about dick pics in the grocery store.”

“Fair.” I toss some carrots in the basket, and we move to the green stuff. “Do they make unflavored protein powder? I need a protein option that isn’t strawberry, chocolate or vanilla.”

“The green shit you have in your hand is where you get the protein. Why are you asking if… You don’t have an existing recipe to put your own spin on, do you?”

“Not yet.” I give him a guilty smile.

“I thought the whole point of coming here was to get what you needed for the recipe you wanted to tinker with?”

“The main goal was to do boyfriend shit in public. Getting stuff for the juicer is just a bonus.”

“So I’m the shiny new toy you want to show off?” Cam tugs on my hand in a way that has me stumbling into his chest.

“Yes,” I bob my head decisively and get both a laugh and a kiss in return. Score!

We take our time going through the store and picking out what we want, holding hands like a cheesy couple, and I love every second of it. Right up until we get to the truck, and I come face to face with a ghost. Or more accurately, a future version of myself.

Years worth of things I dreamed of saying in this moment flood my head, everything from where’ve you been to why’d you leave to I forgive you or I hate you, but I can’t get any of them to become words in my mouth. Instead, I just stand here, gaping at the man I never expected to see again as he looks me up and down, taking stock of what I’ve become. Assessing.

I do the same.

He’s shorter than I remember—or I’m taller—and there are deep lines around his eyes as he squints at me. There’s a faint hint of silver at his temples, which might make him look distinguished if his hair didn’t have a sheen to it that makes it seem slightly dirty. Not greasy just…not clean. He’s still handsome though. Enough that I’m not surprised when I notice a woman pushing a kid in a cart doing a double take as she passes by.

After what feels like an eternity of silence, Cam gently pulls me back and steps in front of me, partially shielding me from view. “Can we help you?”

“You can have your guard dog stand down.” My dad looks at me beyond Cam’s shoulder. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Why are you here?” Cam doesn’t budge.

“To see my son, obviously.” He starts to take a step toward us, faltering when Cam straightens to his full height. Realizing he can’t physically get past my boyfriend, he changes tactics. “I was hoping to talk to you, Jags. Alone.”

Hearing that nickname for the first time in years snaps me out of my stupor, barely. “Where I go, Cam goes.”

“This is family business, son.”

“Cam is more my family than you are.” Since the man doesn’t so much as wince, I can tell he’s not here to make amends. That doesn’t really surprise me after all these years though, it hurts more than I expected.

I guess ten-year-old me still wants him to be the man I thought he was. The guy who would take me camping or roughhouse in the living room until Mom would tell us to knock it off. Even then, he would disappoint me by not showing up when he was supposed to, but he never made me feel like he resented me. It’s partly why his disappearance was so hard to comprehend.

For years, I expected him to come back with an explanation or an apology, something that would make his absence more of a misunderstanding than a situation he deliberately caused. I’m not sure when I stopped believing he’d come back, but I suppose that’s around the time I accepted that if he did, it wouldn’t be because he missed me.

Still, it’s hard to reconcile the expressionless man before me with the guy I called Dad. It makes me wonder if my memories of him are real, or clouded by the innocent perspective children have.

My dad gives me a calculated once over, clicks his tongue, and says, “Fair enough. I’m in a bit of a bind, and I need you to help me out.”

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