Page 73 of My Sweetest Agony
“That seems like an understatement.”
She snorts. “Do you…like him?”
This is why I put off talking to Marlo about this. Because I knew she would ask the hard questions. And this is the hardest of all of them.
One I’ve been asking myself for days, but sorting through my feelings for Camden Usher is almost as difficult as finding lilacs in the dead of winter.
Basically impossible.
“I don’t know.” I rest my ass on the edge of the table and close my eyes, trying to gain control over my conflicting emotions. “Everything with him is so wrapped up in Drew, and…I don’t know how to separate my feelings for them. Or how to process what happened. Or how to know if any of it was real or just both of us feeling the same anguish and needing the connection with someone who understood it.”
Marlo reaches over and squeezes my hand in hers. “Then, you need to talk to him about it.”
“What?” My eyes fly open to meet hers. “No. I can’t do that.”
She snorts. “But you can let him stick his hand down your pants?”
Oh, Jesus…
I scowl at her, but she snorts a laugh and clamps down on my hand even harder, like she’s really trying to make a point.
“Well, here’s what I know, Ivy. We’ve been friends for what? Twenty years?”
“Yeah.”
“And in two decades, I’ve only ever seen you this twisted up about one guy—Drew. And Cam and Nancy are all you have left of him besides your memories, so of course, you’re going to feel a connection to Cam. I mean, he looks like him, he sounds like him. Even if he doesn’t act like him, it would be impossible for you not to feel something there. But whether that’s real or not, and whether it’s a good idea or not, are very different and difficult questions.”
I release a frustrated growl, tugging my hand from hers. “You think I don’t know that?”
She slips the note back into my apron, giving me a knowing look. “This is going to drive you crazy until you talk to him.”
As much as I’d love to stick my head in the sand and ignore what we did that night, the last few days have proven that’s an impossible task. One I am apparently not at all equipped to handle.
Maybe talking to him would help.
Maybe I could figure out a way to deal with all these feelings if I sat down face-to-face with the man causing them and laid everything on the table.
“But he hasn’t been over.” I shake my head, exasperated by the entire situation. “I don’t even have his phone number or any way to get in touch with him.”
Marlo grins. “That never stopped you before.”
20
IVY
ONE WEEK LATER
The old brick warehouse towers over me, mostly unlit and slightly foreboding from where I sit in my car at the curb, watching the door I saw Cam enter almost an hour ago now.
My knee bounces wildly under the steering wheel, and I chew on my lip until it hurts, continuing the debate that’s been relentlessly echoing in my head as the minutes have slowly ticked by since I followed him here after his meeting.
Stalked him, really.
Again…
I shouldn’t have done it.
If I were acting even remotely rationally, I would have just given him space and allowed him to come talk to me when he felt it was appropriate. But it’s been almost two weeks since we spread the ashes, since he touched me like that and splintered me apart in the best and worst way. And Marlo’s insistence over the last several days that I need to talk to him or I’ll keep obsessing over it and torturing myself has proven true.
