Page 85 of Call It Home

“Out of mine, anyway.”

“For him, too.” She sat back down and reached across the tablet, taking my hands in hers. “Look, I’m on your side. He shouldn’t have kept things from you and then only told you because he was pushed into it. But maybe, when you’re able to feel a little less hurt, you might see that almost his entire life has been out of his control. He’s struggling to find that sense of control where he can. So maybe he didn’t handle it the way you or I would. But he had a prior commitment he made to his brother. Imagine how hard it would be for him to fail at that, especially after everything you said he told you about his brother. And out of nowhere, someone comes into his life that he cares so much about that it actually makes him question that commitment. Do you really want to be the reason he fails at it?”

“No, of course not.” I scowled at her, half wishing she wasn’t so wise and had stuck to seeing that he was the bad guy.

As if she read my mind, she confirmed, “I don’t think he’s a bad guy. Current situation aside, he’s been a good friend—a quiet one—but he’s always around to help when things seem to go wrong. He’s had no one to stand up for him outside of his brother.” She arched an eyebrow at me and tapped the table space in front of me with her finger. “Even you used him in the beginning to doRenovation Station.”

“Ouch.” But even after consuming a bottle of wine, I knew she was right. “You’re right. I wish you weren’t, but you are. It still doesn’t fix things, but I guess I understand him a little better. Doesn’t make it hurt any less, though.”

Her smile was a little sad as she came around the table and pulled me up for a hug. Her arms were strong, and I could feel her love literally transfer from her heart to mine. “Thanks, cuz. You’re the absolute best.”

“Well, I’m your girl if you want a little truth. If you still want to bury a body, wait until Bristol gets home.”

I snorted. It was probably a good thing she wasn’t here after all.

“Stay here as long as you like,” Em said. “Zach has already made sure the guest bedroom has fresh towels.” She yawned, and I felt terrible for keeping her up so late, knowing she’d have to get up early with the baby.

I took a step backward, stumbling slightly as I reached for my chair. “I love you. Thanks for sitting up with me and listening to my troubles.”

“I love you, Cammy. I’m always here for you.” She turned and staggered a little herself, giggling, then turned back to me. “We should do this more often.” She hiccupped. “Well, not the breakup thing,” she amended when my eyes grew wide. “I mean having more girl time. I can’t handle my alcohol anymore.”

For the first time since dinner—had that really been just a few hours ago?—I smiled a little. “Let’s make that happen. And, Em?”

“Yeah?” she answered sleepily.

“I’m really glad you and Zach were able to work things out. You two represent everything I want.”

She smiled a little. “You’ll find it, too, honey. Maybe with Mac, maybe not. But remember, you’re strong on your own. You don’t need anyone to make you that way.”

Her words continued to resonate with me long after she went to bed and well into the other bottle of wine she left out for me.

Chapter34

Mac

It hadto have been the longest week in the history of time. It was even longer than when Trey was awaiting trial because, at least then, I was trying everything I could to find ways to help him. I’d withdrawn all the money we’d saved and searched out a lawyer. I spent any hour I wasn’t working trying to find people who would be willing to testify or write letters saying he wasn’t a violent person.

But when you’ve learned to keep your head down and stick to yourself, it doesn’t do a lot to build relationships with people. At least, not the one who’d go to bat for you.

Now, however, I could only throw myself into work so much. If it had been up to me, I would have worked ‘til I dropped, rather than face an empty cabin that held so many memories of Cameron. But the guys were only contracted until 4:30 p.m. With lengthening days, I went for longer and longer runs on the path behind my house. But when it grew dark, there was nothing else for me to do but return to the cabin, a place I couldn’t call “home” anymore because it was Cameron who made it a home.

I didn’t care that she’d brought in a few new pillows or a more colorful throw rug, or even put up a couple of pictures of Colorado on my bookcases. It was her. Her laughter and warmth were what turned it into a home. After what happened to Trey, I rarely touched alcohol. But even if I wanted to go into town to hit Ferg’s, I couldn’t. I couldn’t take the risk of running into Chase or Zach, or even Reid, although I hadn’t grown as close to him as I had to the others. Not that that was saying much.

I’d taken a twisted kind of pride in not needing anyone. I didn’t mind hanging out with Chase or Zach once in a while. I had mad respect for Bristol. They were always kind to me, and whenever I was around them, I could admit to enjoying myself. But prior toRenovation Station, I could have left Sterling Mill and never looked back.

Or, at least, I thought I could.

Somehow, this whole damn crazy town had wound its way into me. Mayor Sterling, the craziest damn thing I’d ever heard of—an animal for a mayor. Crazy Tillie and her raccoons that she pretended were cats. Even Beverly Seymour, with her pushiness and nose for other people’s business. They had a way of making things feel light and fun, at least when Beverly wasn’t pushing her agenda on you personally.

But nothing compared to the way the Allen and Dawson families had made me feel like one of their own. They never questioned whether I was good enough for Cameron. They’d trusted me to look out for her. And when they learned that we’d taken our professional relationship into the personal realm, they welcomed me like a brother or a son.

I wondered what they thought of me now.

Tonight, I flipped the lid up on my computer. It wasn’t anything fancy, but one place I hadn’t gone cheap on was internet service. I rarely got emails from anyone except for Trey. And even if our notes were monitored through the prison email program, it was another way I had to stay in touch with him. I wrote him a little every day, even if he could only log on once a week or so. He always wrote back, but it was usually brief.

But tonight, there was one from Christian McGuire, Trey’s attorney. I quickly opened and scanned it.

Dear Mr. Caldwell,

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