Page 124 of My Sweetest Agony
The unsteady waver in his voice makes my chest tighten even more.
What the fuck could it be?
I finally make it over to the box, and this close to Cam, I can see just how awful he really looks. Not only do tears streak down his cheeks, but his bottom lip trembles as he raises the bottle to it again, red, hooded eyes glossy and unfocused.
He’s drunk…
“Cam…” I lower myself to my knees in front of the box and pull out the only thing inside it—an old GI Joe action figure. Turning it over in my hand, I glance back up at him. “I don’t understand.”
He motions toward it with the bottle. “It was my father’s.”
I stiffen, the seemingly innocuous item in my hand suddenly taking on a whole new importance. “Where did it come from?”
That sad tilt returns to his lips, and he drags the bottle back to his mouth and takes a long sip from it, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows while staring at the doll. Then his gaze finally lifts to meet mine again. “Who do you think?”
My breath catches, and I flip the front panels on the box down to check the return address.
Drew’s handwriting.
Our address.
Addressed to Camden Usher at his place in London, with one of those stupid little stickers stuck to it saying, “We Care,” and explaining that the package got lost and was damaged.
One side of the box is smashed in, but the toy appears unharmed—old, well-loved, but intact.
“Drew sent this to you?”
He nods and takes another sip. “It’s what I was looking for in those boxes in his office…”
I watch him gulp from the half-full bottle, my concern for him mixing with the complete confusion over what’s happening. “But…it wasn’t there because he had already sent it to you?”
Cam swipes the back of his hand over his mouth. “Yeah. Look at the postmark.”
With a trembling hand, I flip the top flap on the box again, examining the other corner. It takes a moment for the date to register. “It was mailed the same day as our wedding invitations…”
Which I only know because I sent them six months to the day of our wedding.
Cam nods slowly. “Yep.”
I shake my head. “I never knew he sent this. I took care of everything with the invitations?—”
His brows rise, his shoulders tensing against the brick. “You sent them?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
A humorless laugh, heavy with the liquor already affecting him, slips from his lips. “Did he know you sent one to me?”
My back immediately stiffens, a vise tightening around my chest. I chew on my bottom lip and try to gauge how to answer it without upsetting him.
What does he want me to say?
What answer will stop whatever is happening right now from escalating?
Cam is clearly walking a tightrope and seems perilously close to falling from it—if he hasn’t already. Considering how much he already drank from that bottle, one foot is definitely off.
He watches me carefully, waiting for my response, his chest not moving as if he’s holding his breath.
It may not be the right thing to do in this situation, but I tell him the truth. “No, he didn’t.” I brace myself for a reaction from him, but he sits motionless, blurry eyes locked on me. “I thought maybe if you got the invitation, if it looked like he was reaching out to you, you’d come. You guys would reconnect…”
