Page 86 of Slots & Sticks
“Got it.” I can be present and available. If I focus on helping Dad feel better, maybe I can get him out of this funk. I hate seeing him like this, but we can get through this together. I can’t fix the past. But maybe I can build something steadier going forward.
The doorbell chimes from downstairs. Bo sits up with an alarmed little huff. I shut the album with a snap and scramble out of bed. I don’t hear Skinbad barking yet, but whoever’s out there might ring the bell again, and then he’ll disturb Dad, which goes entirely against my “keep Dad calm and happy” plan. Bo trots after me, tail wagging, as I rush downstairs. The bell rings again—longer this time, a finger that doesn’t want to let go. Bo’s nails tick on the hardwood beside me. I let myself hope it’s Camden with something sweet and easy. I’m not sure I can handle something serious right now.
Chapter Twenty-One
Camden
Dot’s hair is frizzed sideways when she opens the door, a halo of static like she fought a thundercloud and lost. Her eyes are swollen, raw around the rims, but her cheeks are dry—like she cried earlier and then wrung the well out.
“Hey.” I lean in to kiss her, automatic. “Did I—”
She tilts away before my mouth lands. Not a flinch—something more deliberate. Precise. As if she planned the dodge in advance.
Every tiny Camden in my head goes still. Then they start whispering.Hot/cold again. What changed? Did I miss a memo? Did I miss ten?
“Can I come in?”
“Dad’s sleeping.” She steps onto the porch in socks and shuts the door behind her, shoulders braced like she’s holding it closed. Bo’s snout thumps the bottom panel once, then retreats. “If Skinbad hears you, he’ll blow a gasket.”
“Right.” I slide to the side to make room. She takes the left chair and points me to the right. Eye contact is scarce. Her hands worry the hem of her shirt until the fabric warps.
“What brings you by?” she asks.
“I texted. To see if you needed anything.”
“I was with Dad,” she says to her socks. “Sergio wanted a meeting.”
“Everything okay?”
A wry breath that’s almost a laugh. “Define okay.”
“Dinner?” I try. “I’ll bring something back for Coach.”
Her head moves side-to-side, slow. “No. I should be here when he wakes up. Today was… a lot.”
“Talk to me,” I say. “I’m pretty good at sitting and listening.” My knee bounces. “Or standing and listening. Or walking and listening.”
She wraps her arms around herself until her shoulders round. “It’s family business.”
Those two words cut sideways. I bite back the first response—But I’m your family—because that’s my timeline, not hers. I take a breath, count to four, let it out for six. My brain is a thunder of bees.
“Okay. Then there’s something I need to say.” Another breath. Slower this time. “You know how my brain is… not linear.”
A bare nod.
“I can be clumsy with words. But I don’t want to leave this unsaid anymore. For a long time, I thought maybe I didn’t get the part of the human brain that does this. Love. That maybe it just… wasn’t installed.” I swallow. “Turns out it was. It is. I—”
“Oh, God.” She squeezes her eyes shut like the sun’s too bright, then they dart to the side. “Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do the kind thing before you do the other thing,” she rushes. “Just say you met someone, or it’s not working, or I’m too much. I can take it. I promise I can take it.”
“What?” The word bounces off the siding. “Dot, no. I— I love you.” It’s out, simple as a sigh. The truth that’s been crowding every hallway in my chest for years. “I love you.”
Her eyes fly open. They’re huge. “You… what?”
“I love you.” I scrub my face, embarrassed by how shaky my voice is. “What did you think I was about to say?”
