Chasing Castles (Finding Focus #2) (10 page)

“Good,” he laughs. “Keep it that way. Besides, you’re pretty enough. You get any prettier, and Clay and I are gonna have to start standin’ down on the main road with our shotguns.”

“Please!” I exclaim, rolling my eyes. “I don’t even have a boyfriend.” I don’t add that I would like to have one and that I would like it to be his son. He doesn’t need to know that. I can only imagine the fallout from that bomb.

“So you need a ride home?”

“No, I’m sure Tucker will be ready before too long. Besides,” I tell him, quirking an eyebrow, “it’s not like somethin’s gonna get me.”

He laughs, leaning against the counter.

“You never know. You can’t be too careful.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

He takes a deep breath and cranes his neck to see outside. “Those boys are probably gonna be out there half the night. If you change your mind, come find me. I’ll be watchin’ the ball game in the den. I TiVo’d it.” He raises his eyebrows like I should be impressed, and I am because Sam might be a genius lawyer, but he sucks at technology.

“Look at you, Mr. TiVo.”

“Be sure to tell Deacon. He thinks I can’t do anything now that he’s not livin’ here.”

Does everyone have to remind me of that?

“I’ll be sure to give you a glowin’ review.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite.”

I smile and laugh, shaking my head as he leaves the kitchen.

Walking over to the glass doors, I watch as the boys laugh and occasionally punch each other in various body parts. This could go in all night, and I’m tired.

Just when I open the door and think I’m going to forget about it and take the shortcut home, Deacon glances up this way and sees me watching. He says something, slaps Tucker on the back and jogs up to the house.

“Are you headin’ home?” he asks as he slows to a walk when he gets to the patio.

“Yeah, I’m tired.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head and trying to feign indifference, but inside my heart does a flip.

Our talk starts off casual.

“How’s LSU?”

“How’s FS High?”

“How’s the job?”

“How’s the paintin’?”

And then it starts to take a turn to where we need it to be. “Missin’ home yet?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he admits, his hands pushed down in his pockets. “It’s kinda weird, ya know? When I’m there, I love bein’ there. But when I’m home, I realize how much I miss everything here and how much I love bein’ here.”

“I bet the food isn’t nearly as good as your mama’s,” I tease, loving the feel of the ease we’ve always known.

“Not even close,” he says, laughing lightly.

When the lingering fire from the pit in the backyard is a distant glow behind us, he takes his hands out of his pockets and slips an arm around my waist and pulls me to him. Kissing the top of my head, he breathes deeply. “I’ve missed you most.”

Tears prickle my eyes, and I have to force them open, so they don’t slip out. It’s what I wanted him to say, that he missed me, but now that he’s said it, it kills me because deep down I know things won’t be like I want them to be. Deacon isn’t coming home anytime soon. But it doesn’t keep me from telling him how I feel.

“I didn’t realize how much I’d miss you,” I confess.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come home when I said I would.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he says, his voice low and regretful. “I promised, and I didn’t keep it. I’m really sorry.”

We walk in silence until the faint light from my porch is visible. I slow my steps, not ready to give up this alone time with Deacon and knowing there’re things we still need to say.

“You told me you couldn’t make me any promises,” I reminded him.

“Cami, I—” he starts, but I cut him off, because if he’s getting ready to say that we shouldn’t have done what we did, it’ll kill me. So, I put my hand gently over his mouth and force him to hear me out.

“And I told you I wanted to do it anyway. I still don’t have any regrets.”

I look up at him, letting my hand slip from his mouth, and silently plead with him to not say that he does. I want to go on believing that he wanted that as much as I did and that he doesn’t regret it either.

“I know we’re at two different places in our lives,” I continue. “And I’m okay with just being your best friend. My only fear was losing you completely, but if you can promise that won’t happen, I’ll be okay.”

“That will never happen. I’ll always be your best friend. I might not be around as much, but if you need me, I’ll be here for you.” He gives me a slow, small smile as his eyes fall to the ground. “I wish I could promise you more, but it wouldn’t be fair. You should be livin’ it up and enjoyin’ your last couple years of high school, not waitin’ around for me.”

I nod, swallowing down the pain and regret. Not regret for loving Deacon, just regret that we can’t be together like I want us to be. I want it so bad. No one has ever had to tell me life isn’t fair. I’ve known that my whole life. My mom died when I was six; I know life isn’t fair. But right now, it sucks. And instead of crying and stomping my foot and demanding more, I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying and offer Deacon the most sincere smile I can muster.

“I feel the same,” I croak out. “You’re in college. It’s supposed to be the best years of your life, right?” I smile up at him. “You shouldn’t be worryin’ about me.”

“I’ll always worry about you, Cami.” His arms wrap protectively around my shoulders and my head nestles right under his chin. We fit perfectly together.

Three words are right on the tip of my tongue, but I know if I say them now, it’ll only make this harder. So, I swallow them down along with my tears and wrap my arms around his waist, wishing I could anchor him here forever.

Wishing our lives didn’t have to change.

Wishing we could grow up, but still be the same Cami and Deacon.

But that’s not how life works.

People change.

They grow up.

They move on.

And I still wouldn’t change a single thing.

Even though my heart is currently breaking into tiny pieces.

All of those pieces will always belong to Deacon Landry.

Camille

Present

AS SAM PULLS INTO A
spot near the emergency room entrance, my hand is on the handle, ready to jump out when he puts the truck in park.

I run to the back doors, still praying the whole way that when they bring Deacon out of the ambulance he’ll be awake. It doesn’t take long before the doors open, and I stand back to give them plenty of room.

One guy jumps out, and it’s then that I finally get a glimpse of Deacon. His dark hair is a mess and partially matted down to his forehead. An oxygen mask is covering his beautiful face. And his eyes are still closed.

“Deacon?” I call out, thinking that maybe if he hears me, he’ll open them.

“Let’s go inside, Cam.” Sam once again takes my shoulders and leads me away, when all I want to do is go to him. But like when we were still at the restaurant, there are three people surrounding him, making it difficult to be anywhere near him.

“Deacon,” I say again, but this time, it’s more of a demand. He
has
to open his eyes. He
has
to be okay.

They take him through the double doors, and people in scrubs and white coats start barking out and taking orders. The entire area is buzzing with activity, and we’re told to go to the family waiting area and that a doctor will be out to speak with us shortly.

I look up at Sam, expecting him to refuse to leave, but he doesn’t, and he takes me with him. We walk out into the stark white room with blue chairs, and we both stand there. I don’t know what Sam’s thinking, but I know what I’m thinking.

How did this happen?

How did I go from feeling like I finally caught the one castle I’ve wanted my entire life—my Deacon—to being so scared I’m going to lose him?

It’s crazy how fast life can change. It’s crazy how only a few hours ago, I watched him wrestle with Carter. He was so full of life, just like always. The life of the party. And now, he’s lying on a stretcher in an emergency room, and I don’t know if he’s going to walk out of here. I don’t know if I’m going to get to marry my best friend, the love of my life.

How in the world did this happen?

Camille

Past

“WHAT’S ALL THIS MOPIN’ ABOUT?”
Annie asks, sliding a batch of cookies into the oven. She thinks food fixes everything, and it usually does, but not today.

“I don’t know,” I groan, leaning over the counter with my head in my arms.

Annie walks over and pulls my hands away from my face. “You know you can talk to me. Anytime. About anything.”

“I know.”

“You’ve been goin’ through a lot of changes lately. And I know this time of year is hard, anyway.” She sighs and mimics my pose on the other side of the counter, leaning in. “I think about her too, you know?”

“I know.”

“I think about her all the time, but I especially think about her this time of year. It’s hard to believe she’s been gone ten years.”

The sad look in her eyes makes me wonder if that’s what mine look like. It also reminds me that I’m not the only one who misses her—my daddy misses her, Tucker misses her, Annie misses her—and something about not feeling alone in my grief makes it easier to bear.

“I do miss her, and I
am
sad, but I don’t think that’s what has me all mopey,” I tell her, sifting through my feelings.

“Then what is it?”

I shrug and then let out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m just . . . I don’t know.” I huff, letting my shoulders slump. “I can’t paint. I try. Every day after school, I pull out a fresh canvas, but I end up sitting there and staring at it until it’s time to cook dinner. I can’t see anything in my mind that’s worth painting. Normally, I have, like, visions or something of a painting. I can just see it. I see the shapes and the colors and that transfers from my brain to the canvas, but lately . . . nothin’.”

“I know what you need,” she says.

I look at her with a quizzical stare. “What?”

Something tells me she’s going to suggest cookies or pie, but I’ve tried all of that, and it hasn’t worked.