Page 1 of Fractured Souls
Chapter 1
Bo
BANG!BANG!BANG!
I jolt upright, clutching my chest. “What the fuck?” I roll over, groaning with the movement, and clicking my phone on I check the time. What the hell? My eyes focus on the time and . . . eleven missed calls.
The source of those calls becomes clear as my brain wakes up.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“What the fuck, Cam.” Why am I surprised, though? Who else would be banging on my apartment door at nearly two in the morning? Thankfully, I’m the only person who lives above this restaurant. One of the perks of living here is the solitude—and the money off my rent if I play once or twice a week around my other job.
I drag my feet onto the floor and scrub my face. Finding my sleep pants, I pull them on. It’s dark, and I nearly trip over myself as I stumble to the front door, where I look through theeyehole just in case it’s a serial killer and not my pain-in-the-ass best friend.
I am not about to die a virgin.
Lifting onto my toes, I peek through the hole and yep, pain-in-the-ass bestie. I almost don’t want to open it. His blurry form is pacing, which is never a good sign.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
I jump back. “Jesus, Cam! Do you know what time it is?”
A thud hits my door as I assume his forehead presses against it. “Well, it was about midnight when I came home and saw Siena fucking that dude from her cycling class in our fucking living room!” His voice cracks. “After fighting with her for about an hour I decided to go outside to cool down, then I thought I’d come here because I couldn’t stand going back into our house. So, one thirty? Two? Do I have that right, Bobo?”
Shit.
Here we go again.
Having some mercy on him, I open the door, and my heart wrenches at the sight. His curly brown hair is a disaster. It looks as if his fingers did laps through it. His lip is trembling, and those sad, red-rimmed amber eyes are aimed right at me and my sanity.
Fuck.
It’s hard to ignore the selfish part of my brain that’s excited about this development. I’m a terrible friend. I get myself together, throwing on the best-friend hat and dragging him inside by one of the makeshift sweater paws of his long sleeves. “Want something to drink?”
“Bleach.”
“Mm, fresh out. Anything else?”
Cam sinks onto my sofa then falls against it in the fetal position, which would be really funny if the circumstances weren’t terrible. There goes that little twist my dumbass heartdoes. I don’t like it when he’s sad. Tucking his hands back inside the sleeves, he stares ahead. This is not our first, second, third, or fifteenth rodeo. This is a routine I know painfully well. You’d think I’d be immune by now, but nope, it hurts every time. He just looks so defeated.
“Strawberry banana smoothie?”
“Please.” His normally deep voice is so soft. I watch him wipe his eyes with the sweater sleeve. “More straw—”
“Berry than banana. You know I know.” I can’t help but smile a bit as I head to my freezer. I always have the ingredients for his emotional support drink on hand. I take out the frozen strawberries and grab a banana from the counter, then I get his coconut milk from the fridge and throw it all in my blender.
I watch him on the couch. Still lying down. If this wasn’t breakup forty-three, I may feel even worse for him. We just do this all the time. Not that I don’t feel bad for him. I do. Cam has a good heart. It’s just always given to the wrong people. It’s like he’s color blind where flags are concerned. Or boob blind, I don’t know, but place a pretty girl in front of Cam and all common sense goes out the window. Boob blinders? Is that a thing?
Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m too cynical, and yes, very fucking jealous of all the women who get a chance with him. But I also see things he doesn’t, and while I feel awful for him, I knew it would end up just like this when he started dating Siena.
He’s far too trusting and far too eager to be in a relationship. I stop the blender, grabbing his glass and metal straw with the cat paw prints he likes.
Cam is gorgeous, tall, with brown skin and beautiful eyes that look golden or light brown depending on the light. He has an athletic build from playing soccer in high school and college, and being a personal trainer now, he’s not hurting for attention. On top of all that he’s just a good fucking guy. Take the shirt off his back and his pants if you need them type of guy.
Cam sits up, thanking me for the smoothie and taking a sip. We sit in silence. I watch him drink and then run his fingers through his hair. Soft hair. Soft hair I love to run my hands through too. I hate this. Camden Almeida is a deadly combination of trouble.
Beautiful, kind trouble.
