Page 78 of You're So Vine
“Cam.” Ava’s hand is on my arm. “You don’t have to do this now. There’ll be another time. I can wait.”
But I can’t, is my sudden realization. I can’t have this …darkness… inside me any longer. I’ve held it in for ten years and that’s way too long. Even though I’d like nothing better right now than to crawl into bed with Ava and lose myself inside her, Ican’twait. The time is now.
“I want to tell you,” I say. “I need to. If that’s okay…?”
Since we’ve parked up, the temperature in the Dodge has been steadily dropping. I’m about to turn the engine back on, crank up the heat, when Ava says, “Do you have any cocoa?”
“Uh…” I think hard. “I do, yeah. Pretty sure.”
“Itty-bitty marshmallows?”
“All out of those,” I admit. “Slug of bourbon instead?”
“Now you’re talking,” she says. “Drive on. Alcohol-laced bedtime drinks await.”
I was kind of joking about the bourbon, but as we hit the road again and I realize what I’ve promised, I’m beginning to think that one slug will definitely not be enough.
ChapterTwenty-Five
AVA
Some people like to rage when they’re jealous and let their other half know exactly how they feel. Me, I prefer to put jealousy in a Tupperware container and store it at the back of the refrigerator. I might throw it out or I might re-heat it later. All depends.
This evening, being at a low ebb all around, I was definitely close to tossing my jealousy on the barbecue and flaming it. Glad I didn’t. It might be embarrassing to burst into soggy tears but it’s better than a shouting match. If I’d shouted, then I probably wouldn’t be getting bourbon cocoa. Marshmallows would have made it perfect, but you can’t have everything.
I shouldn’t be making jokes, but that’s my schtick when I’m uncomfortable. This is a huge deal for Cam, and a pivotal moment in our relationship. I want to be there for him, but I’m also afraid that I won’t have what it takes to give him what he might need. The Durant idea of therapy was seeded in our dad’s motivational comments, including such gems as “Excuses are for losers” and “Pain is weakness leaving the body”.
But I’m leaping ahead, impatient as always. Right now, what I can and should do is shut up and listen. Whatever comes next, we can deal with it at the time.
Cam closes his front door behind us and moves immediately to light the woodburning stove. I watch him as he places the hewn logs and kindling inside and sets it all alight. He does it efficiently, with practised ease, and once again, I’m struck by how comforting it is to be around a man who knows how to do practical stuff well. When you’ve spent your life focusing only on competitive activities, it’s humbling to realize how limited your abilities really are. I can run, and I can ride and look after a horse. That’s it, folks. Don’t rally round me when the zombie apocalypse strikes.
He stands up. His expression is … strained, taut. And I suddenly feel super guilty, like I emotionally blackmailed him into this.
I step forward and slide my arms around his waist, rest my head on his chest. I can see why they make sheets out of flannel. It’s so soft and relaxing. Well, it would be relaxing if I couldn’t hear Cam’s heart thumping. Strong but probably a little too fast.
“You don’t have to,” I say. “Tell me, I mean. We can just drink our cocoa cocktail and go night-night.”
“You keep giving me an out.” There’s a bite in his tone which is very un-Cam. “Do you not want to hear it?”
A fair question. I’m telling myself I’m being kind to Cam by not forcing him to dig back down into the dirt of his worst memories. But maybe it’s my feelings I’m putting first? Maybe I’m the one who’s afraid?
Shit. That’s the truth right there. Cam’s story—Iamafraid of hearing it. I’m afraid because it’s about when his life changed forever, and not for the better. Yes, okay, he finally found his place, but it took years, and after tomorrow, when I get the results of the MRI, I might learn that years of struggle are ahead of me, too. Cam thought he was mentally strong until he got broken. How willIfare? How strong willIbe?
“Ava?”
Cam’s waiting for me to answer. Have I got what it takes to hear his story? I guess there’s only one way to find out…
“Is it too cold to sit under the stars?” I ask.
That was not what he expected to hear. “Uh … I could grab some blankets?” he says. “And a bench seat from the workshop?”
“You do that. I’ll get busy brewing cocoa.”
Cam’s shaking his head, half-smiling, like the evening suddenly got strange but he’s okay to roll with it.
“Bourbon’s in the top cupboard under the stairs,” he says. “Next to the emergency survival kit.”
“I like your priorities.” I grin and hurry him along with a wave. “Go. Blankets. Seating. Before the night sky clouds over.”
