Page 48 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bargain

The steam from my quick shower still fills the bathroom as I tug up my clean jeans and grab a T-shirt from the bag I’ve started bringing with me to Camille’s house every afternoon so I won’t stink while we all sit around the dinner table together at night.

Something that has become so routine it would feel oddnotto do it.

But before I put it on, I swipe away the condensation coating the mirror and turn around, peering over my shoulder to see what Camille did earlier today out in the clearing.

Shit.

It’s so rare that I actually look at the scars, that I allow myself to view the veryrealevidence and reminder of the worst day of my life. I can handle the pain. I’ve learned ways to cope with it as a constant companion, but I willneverget used to the way other people react when they see these or the cascade of violent, agonizing memories that come when I do.

They barrel down on me now.

Starting with so much love and laughter.

Then squealing tires.

Skidding across the road.

The crunch of metal and shatter of glass.

And nothing but sheer anguish.

I turn back to face the mirror, squeezing my eyes closed against the onslaught of visions and feelings from that day and the ones that followed.

How could you let her see them?

Because I’ve become so accustomed to having her around that I completely forgot to cover the evidence of my greatest weakness.

There’s areasonI keep them hidden, that I never remove my shirt while I’m working, even in the worst of the summer heat. I shouldn’t have taken it off today, regardless of how uncomfortable I was by the time Camille showed up.

She’ll have questions…

Ones that will be far too painful for me to answer.

Fucking hell.

I was just so happy to see her back, to know that she returned safely and that everything with the baby is okay…

It made me let my guard down.

But I was already so rattled by her refusal to allow me to take her to the appointment. The rejection hurt far more than I ever let on to Pops or her. I know I don’t have any right to be there with her, but to be able to hold her hand and celebrate with her when she found out she was having a girl…

Somehow, it feels like I missed something magical that I so desperately wanted to be a part of. And every minute she was gone, I worried. I wondered. I obsessed over what was happening without me there.

“Shit…”

I slam my palms against the countertop, shaking my head to try to clear away all these feelings Ican’tbe having about Camille andherchildren.

My place is set in stone.

I’m afriend.

Someone she can lean on during the worst time of her life.

Icannotwant anything more.

So, stop!

I scrub my hands over my face and back through my damp hair.

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