Chasing Castles (Finding Focus #2) (21 page)

He laughs harshly and runs a hand through his hair. “Listen, Camille. I don’t think either of us wants this. We,” he pauses, gesturing between the two of us. “We’re busy people. You have your art, and I have the gallery. A baby doesn’t exactly fit into that kind of lifestyle.”

I cock my head at him and try to figure out where this is going. I don’t like him saying neither of us wants this. I might not have asked for this or planned this, but now that this is here, I don’t want anything but
this
.

This
needs me.

My hand instinctively goes to my flat stomach.

“We can take care of this and everything can go back to normal,” he continues, sounding confident in his plan. “We’ll forget it ever happened. And our lives can continue as planned.”

“Take care?” I ask. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Abortion, Camille. I’m talking about an abortion.” He says the words like I’m a child who might not understand them, but I do. I understand them completely.

“Get out,” I seethe, standing back and opening the door. My blood is boiling. Fierceness rises within me, and it’s all I can do to keep from physically harming him.

“What?” he asks incredulously.

“Get out!” I scream, my words coming out just as loud as his did earlier. I feel myself losing it. My hands are shaking, and the tears are threatening to make a reappearance.

“Mon Cheri,” Tristan croons, walking closer, using that sickening tone he always does when he’s screwed up and is trying to make me forget that he’s an asshole. But the second his hand touches me, I jump back, bumping into the door.

“Don’t call me that! Ever! I hate it!” I scream, losing what little control I had.

“Camille,” he says with more force, grabbing my arms. “Calm down. You’re being completely irrational.”

“Get the fuck out of my apartment!” I cry, squeezing my eyes shut and willing him away.

I don’t want him.

I don’t want him to touch me or call me his stupid pet name or hear how he thinks we can take care of this situation.

I just want him out.

Out of everything.

My apartment.

My sight.

My life.

“Camille,” he says again, acid dripping from my name. “If I leave here tonight, I’m not coming back. If you keep it, I’m not claiming it. I never wanted kids, and I won’t let you ruin my fucking life. Do you understand me?” His face is furious and right in front of mine, our noses practically touching.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off her.” A low, menacing voice comes from outside my open door.

Tristan’s grip loosens on my arms, and he takes a small step back to see who’s speaking.

“Did you fuckin’ hear me?” the voice rings out again, probably waking up any neighbors who were still sleeping.

I’d know that voice anywhere.

Deacon.

Deacon Landry is standing on my doorstep, staring Tristan down like he’s the devil incarnate, and relief floods my body. I don’t know why he’s here, but I have a guess, and I’ve never been so happy to see him.

Tristan must get the message because he backs away.

“Who the fuck are you?” Tristan snarls.

“If I ever see you touch her like that again, you’ll leave in a body bag.” Deacon’s voice is menacing, threatening and he completely ignores Tristan’s question.

Tristan laughs, shaking his head. “I’m not afraid of empty threats,” he says, bumping Deacon’s shoulder as he walks past him.

“Deacon,” I say, not wanting any more craziness for the night. I don’t think I can handle it. He must see I’m at my breaking point because he gives Tristan a wide berth to let him pass.

When Tristan gets to the bottom of the steps, he turns around, pointing his finger at me. “I meant what I said, Camille.”

“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “You’ll never hear from me again.”

And like that, he gets into his car and peels out, leaving me standing there with Deacon.

“What are you doin’ here?” I ask, trying to keep from crying now because it’s so good to see him.

“I’m here to get you. Pack your bag. We’re goin’ home,” Deacon says, watching out the door, like he’s worried Tristan will show back up.

I don’t hesitate.

I walk into my bedroom and throw everything I can into a duffle bag and my backpack.

When Deacon and I get into the truck, the clock on the dashboard says it’s just after three o’clock in the morning. I’m exhausted—emotionally and physically spent.

I feel Deacon’s glances, but I keep my eyes on the road. I can’t talk about it right now. Besides, I’m sure he overheard enough. I feel ashamed and embarrassed and grateful and thankful and like I just need to sleep for a few days.

“Thank you,” I whisper, needing to at least say that much, even though it doesn’t come close to expressing my gratitude. When I feel his hand reach across the seat for mine, I squeeze it tightly, never wanting to let go.

Leaning my head against the cool glass, I let more tears fall as I watch the city fade into the background.

Deacon

Present

I NOTICE THE BEEPING FIRST
and then the smell.

It’s clean—too clean—but not in a homey kind of way.

My brain feels foggy and everything’s dark, but it’s not until I try to clear my throat that panic sets in.

Because I can’t. I can’t cough. I can’t talk. I can’t do anything.

My hand flies to my face, and I find the tubes that are down my throat and up my nose. My heart races and I worry I’ll suffocate until I somehow realize something is helping me breathe.

What the fuck happened to me?

Once I’ve calmed down, and my heart isn’t drumming in my ears, I hear the beeping again. This time, it’s louder than before, and I want to make it stop. I don’t know if it’s an alarm or what, but I’m certain that sound will drive me insane. I try to lift my left arm, so I can hit the machine or do something to make the beeping stop, but it feels like it weighs a ton. I can’t move it.

Slowly, I look down and see the reason my arm won’t move.

Cami.

Her arm is wrapped around mine, and her head is laying on top of them both. She’s in a deep sleep, but I can see that her eyes are pink and swollen, like she’s been crying.

But, why?

I try to think back to how I got here in this hospital and, after a few moments, it all comes flashing back to me.

The fire.

Pockets.

The excruciating pain in my leg.

Not breathing.

Then, nothing.

It’s killing me that I can’t talk to Cami right now. I want to tell her I’m okay and that I love her. I want to say I’m sorry for putting her and my family through whatever they’ve gone through since I’ve been here.

How long have I been here?

I was stupid to run into the restaurant, but I wasn’t thinking; it was instinct. All I could think about was putting out the fire and saving everything Micah and I have worked so hard for. It wasn’t until I was choking through the smoke that I realized how bad it was.

I’d take it all back not to have to see Cami like this. Seeing her cry breaks my heart, and I’m reminded of another time I watched her cry in her sleep.

My own tears start to fall as I think of what I could’ve lost. Cami, Carter, my family . . .

Deacon

Past

AFTER GETTING CAMI SETTLED INTO
my bed, I wait to make sure she’s fallen back to sleep before I walk out of the room. I had to wake her when we got here because she passed out about twenty minutes into our drive from her apartment in New Orleans. Before I close the door, I take one last look at her, still trying to wrap my brain around everything I heard and saw tonight and the fact that she’s here,
in my bed
. It’s a little surreal.

The anger that’s still coursing through my body has me feeling like I could punch a wall or run a marathon. I’d love nothing more than to hop back in my truck and drive back to New Orleans and hunt that bastard down.

It wouldn’t end pretty.

It would probably end with me in jail, and that wouldn’t help anybody.

Instead, I make my way down the hall and into the kitchen and try to decide if I need a beer or coffee. I don’t want to sleep, in case Cami needs me, but I know I could use some. So, instead of adding to my hype, I grab a beer from the fridge and hope it takes the edge off.

I don’t stay here often, spending most of my time at mine and Micah’s apartment in Baton Rouge, but I always make sure to keep the fridge stocked with beer. Usually, when I’m here, it’s to escape the chaos that is my life these days.

I plop myself in the middle of my couch and stretch my limbs out, letting the events of the night play out in my mind. When I saw Tristan with his hands on her, it was everything I could do to keep myself from jumping the banister and removing his limbs.

And when I think about the news I overheard—Cami having a baby.
His
baby. I can hardly see straight.

Anyone who would treat her less than the amazing person she is, isn’t worthy.

I pull at my hair in frustration and slam my empty beer bottle down on the table in front of me as different scenarios flash through my mind.

What would’ve happened had I not shown up?

Nope, not gonna go there. If I let myself go there, I’ll go crazy, and that won’t make this situation any better.

Instead, I grab a second beer and sit back down. Work kicked my ass today and, normally I’d be passed out already, but I doubt I sleep at all tonight. I want to be ready the second Cami wakes up.

Leaning back into the sofa, I text Micah and tell him I’m at the cottage and will be for the next few days. He immediately texts back, asking if something is wrong. He knows I usually only come here for some down time. And the fact that I’m here on a random weekday night is definitely out of the ordinary. I text him back, assuring him everything will be fine and that I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow. I know for a fact, if I were to tell him about Cami, he’d be here within the hour, but I don’t want to overwhelm her like that. However, when Tucker finds out, all hell will break loose, and I won’t stop him from murdering Tristan. I’ll help him bury the body. Or maybe I’ll do it for him.