Page 20 of SALT

"No," I cut her off, my tone firm, leaving zero room for argument. "Do you have more than enough money to help him? Yes, but that doesn't mean you should. Sometimes, the best way to help someone is by giving them nothing at all." She's quiet as she thinks over my words. It's in our DNA to help our family and those we care about. We want to make things better. I'm all too familiar with sacrificing to help others, and I refuse to let Cameron walk the same path I chose. I know she agrees, but I change the subject before she can give it any more thought. "Besides Kelce, what else did your father's note mention?"

"I don't want to talk about my father's note anymore tonight," she says with the tiniest amount of annoyance as she turns away from me and faces the TV. I watch as she sets her glass on the side table and picks up the remote, readying herself to finish the movie and ending our conversation, which doesn't work for me.

"Cameron, this is important. I need to know if your father?—"

"You already know what my father had to say. You knew about Kelce, so I'm sure you know the rest too."

"I need to hear the words, Cameron." I try to maintain my calm. I can't be sure where her petulance is suddenly coming from. Obviously, talking about her father isn't easy, but this seems like more.

"I don't know why you insist on making me your jailor. It's like you want more reasons to hate me."

"What the hell are you talking about? I don't hate you."

"Could have fooled me…" she mumbles under her breath before reclaiming her bourbon.

My jaw clenches hard. I loathe that I've given her any reason to believe that I don't care deeply, but if she thinks I hate her, that might be for the better. I take another drink to curb my need to say things I can't take back and instead say, "What did he say?"

She shakes her head before dropping it and staring into her glass. "He said he was sorry that he couldn't be the man I believed him to be: good, decent, the man who hung the moon and all the stars in the sky. He talked about how he wished he could say he was a good person who made a bad choice because he knew that's how I would justify his skeletons." So far, she's not saying anything I didn't expect, aside from the part where he didn't believe himself to be a good person. I would have reasoned that comment the same way Cameron would. Good people fuck up daily. That's life, but his use of the word skeletons gives me trepidation. She pulls in a stuttered breath before adding, "And he said to trust you. You might be stony and all business, but you have the heart he never had. He said you'll keep me safe." When I don't say anything because my mind is still stuck on the fact that he entrusted the care of his daughter to me as if that were a great idea, her eyes find mine. "Are we done now?"

I divert my gaze and nod before finishing my cognac in one go. Those words sound like trouble. They make it sound like she's mine. I don't say anything; I can't. Anything that came out would be lies, and out of all the people in my life, she's the one person who can read all of them. The one person who has always seen me and the one person I can't have. I pick up my laptop and flip open the screen to pick up where I left off, mindlessly staring into oblivion.

Chapter 10

Cameron

When I wake, it's still dark, and I can't be certain I'm not dreaming because there is no way this is reality. I put down three glasses of bourbon before finally passing out in front of the TV. It's why I can't really be sure that I'm actually wrapped in Everett's arms, cradled like I'm something precious, but the warmth from his front pressed against my back, and his hand resting atop the one I have curled into my chest tells me it's very real. I am indeed awake. I just woke to a reality I've finally dreamed into existence, one I never want to leave, but I have to. The need to pee is killing me. Damn it. Maybe I can slip out unnoticed, return to this spot, and consciously relish this monumental moment.

I've only moved an inch when he says, "Don't," his hand gently tightening around mine.

My heart instantly starts galloping. Everett Callahan is holding me tighter and asking me not to move. Fucking bladder. "I need to use the restroom…" I wiggle ever so intentionally to press my ass further into his groin. "I'll come right back."

I hear him pull in a long, deep, steady breath, my move no doubt affecting him. "You don't understand. You can't come back to this moment."

"But I'm here now. Why not?"

His thumb gently glides over the back of my hand. "Because this can't happen. When you get up, that's it, Cameron. Do you understand?"

I want to scream. I want to cry and say no, I don't fucking understand, but I choke it down because, while I'm upset, this is more than we've ever shared. I said I wouldn't push him, but I've dreamt of this moment for too long, and I refuse to just let it slip away, especially when he's acknowledging its existence.

"It's only me and you here, Everett. Whatever we want to happen can happen." I press into him again and attempt to move my arms so that I can touch him back.

"Cameron…" his voice is strained as his arms tighten around me more, holding me still before his nose nuzzles into my hair. My entire body sizzles, and I'm certain I'm on the verge of spontaneous combustion. Then he releases me. "Go."

The weight of his rejection hurts, and the loss of his hold is felt immediately, but it was never going to be this moment anyway. I know that as I sit up. I don't look back; I can't. Chances are he wouldn't look me in the eye anyway, not now and not when I ask, "You said we can't happen. Does that mean you don't want it to?"

"Answering that question solves nothing because it changes nothing. Go to bed, Cameron."

That's where he's wrong. If you don't ask a question, the answer will always be no. I asked the question… he didn't say no.

"You cook breakfast now?" Everett asks, startling me as I return the egg carton to the refrigerator. I turn around and find him drenched in sweat, wearing running shorts and a muscle tank. My mouth goes dry, and my head swims with the memories of how his hard chest felt pressed against my back in the middle of the night. He finishes his water and gives me a look that says he knows exactly where my head has gone. "Cam?—"

"I need to eat, and last I checked, you don't have a live-in chef." I cut him off before he can make excuses or apologize for what happened. I don't want him to downplay a memory I'll never forget. I pick up the spatula and return to the scrambled eggs I was whipping up. "Plus, it keeps my mind busy." It's no secret I bake when I'm upset, but I've been experimenting and teaching myself to cook. Scrambled eggs aren't complicated. You just have to cook them slowly and add a little salt and pepper to taste. "There's plenty if you'd like to join me."

"Do I have time to shower, or are they ready now?"

His comment catches me by surprise. I offered to be nice, not because I thought he'd join me. He rarely eats a meal in the kitchen. The main reason Sunday dinners became a thing was because Everett would make time to sit and eat a meal with the family. I think that's why they stuck even after Connor moved out. It was guaranteed time spent with his father.

"Yeah, you have time," I answer with my back to him for fear that eye contact might pop whatever bubble we're in. After what happened last night, I assumed he'd keep his distance. He does it when he steps over boundaries he's insisted on setting. The fact that he isn't now says something, the task now is figuring out what.

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