Page 71 of Wild and Bright

He leans back into the couch, shaking his head absently. He looks so lost I want to reach out and touch him.

Was I a coward? Was I so terrified of his rejection that I’d willfully ignored the possibility that he might actually want her and be a good father?

But then a long-forgotten memory rises to the surface. The look in his eyes as he grabbed me by the forearm and dragged me out of that laundry room, and what he said to me afterward…

“You repulse me.”

I had every reason to fear his rejection.

“This isn’t over,” he says, snapping me out of my daze. “Don’t think I’ll let this go. It changes everything.”

TWENTY-ONE

Lauren

“Can I get you anything else?”

When I glance up from my iPad, I see the pretty flight attendant staring at Cam. His eyes are glued to his phone, and he doesn’t respond.

I would laugh if I weren’t so emotionally exhausted. At least the flight attendant is getting the same treatment I have for the last week. He’s barely said a word.

And he hasn’t touched me once.

I’m surprised he let me come to Omaha for this concert, but lately he’s hardly let me out of his sight, even though it seems like he can’t stand my presence. I wish I weren’t so crushed by his coldness. I know he’s hurting, and with each passing day, I’m more convinced this isn’t an attempt to quench his righteous indignation.

He really wants to be Cadence’s father.

I told him a few days ago that we could ease him into a fatherly role. He can start taking her on ice-cream and park dates. They can spend time together just the two of them, and let her get used to the idea that he could be a father to her. Not the father. But my offer clearly wasn’t enough for him. He turned around and walked out of the kitchen without saying a word. And for the last few days, he’s been cold, distant, and hollow-eyed when he looks at me.

“While you’re here,” I say to the flight attendant, desperate for a distraction, “I’ll take another champagne.” I pick up my half-full glass and guzzle it down before handing it to her. “To save you the trip.”

“You have to get a glass,” I say to Cam as she walks away. “I think it’s actually good champagne.”

“No, it’s not.” His eyes are fixed on his phone as he types what looks like an email. “It’s the ten-dollar shit you get at the grocery store.”

I shoot him a bright, sarcastic smile he doesn’t see. When he has spoken to me this past week, he’s been the old Cam—stiff and judgmental—and now that I’ve experienced his warmth, the absence of it feels that much colder. I’d almost forgotten that this is how he used to treat me all the time. “Well, it tastes good to me.”

“Because you don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. You’d never even tried real champagne until a month ago, and you said it was bitter.”

“Are you sure I wasn’t referring to the company?”

Cam whips around to face me. “Can you stop talking please? I’m trying to write an email, and your nasally voice is distracting me.”

“Sure.” I plant a tight smile on my face. When I see the flight attendant coming our way with a champagne flute in her hand, I turn to him. “Let’s order you a drink. You need something to help you…not be a complete fucking asshole.”

His mouth quirks slightly at the corners, like it usually does when I insult him, but he doesn’t look the least bit sorry. “Cheap champagne won’t help, and besides, I never drink when I’m around Hunter.”

A notch forms between my brows as his meaning registers. I glance up at the back of Hunter’s head two aisles up. He’s so still, and my heart clenches at the sight of it. I never even thought about how he must hate to fly now that he’s sober. He’s never liked cramped spaces. He never even really enjoyed clubs unless he was wasted.

“Shit,” I mumble.

As the flight attendant starts to hand me my champagne, I send her an apologetic look. “I actually decided I don’t want it. I’m so sorry for being annoying.” I glance pointedly at the glass. “You should just down it when no one is looking.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem.” She smiles politely as she turns around and walks down the aisle. I don’t look at Cam, but I sense his gaze on my face.

“You didn’t have to do that.” His voice is softer than it’s been all week. “The no-drinking rule is my own thing—something I decided when he first went to rehab—but you don’t have to worry about it. Hunter is around people who drink all the time. He can’t help it in our industry. He’ll be fine if you have some champagne.”

“I don’t need it.” I shrug, keeping my eyes on my phone as I absently check my YouTube notifications, not wanting to show him how much his softening makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

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