Chasing Love's Wings (12 page)

She looks up at me, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I can’t. I can’t face that kind
of pain ever again.”
 

“What do you call this? You’re tearing yourself up inside because you think you can’t
face it. You’re doing this to yourself because you haven’t even tried. You once told
me, on the beach, that you would give anything for one more chance to talk to him,
one more chance to find out all the answers to all your questions. This is it, this
is your chance, and you’re wasting it in yet another bottle of Crown.” I lean down
so that I can get in her face. “I love you, Cameron, from the bottom of my feet to
the top of my head and then some. I will not sit here while you destroy yourself,
and you can easily fix your problem. Go, talk to him.” She lets out a harsh breath
straight into my face, and all I can smell is the Crown Royal she’s been drinking.
“Tomorrow.”

After that I tuck her into bed to let her sleep it off. She needs to be able to clear
her mind and, if need be, we can have this conversation tomorrow. I don’t have to
be in the makeup chair until ten tomorrow morning because we’re shooting mostly afternoon
and evening shots tomorrow. Once she is settled in, I take a large glass of water
and two Tylenol from the cabinet in the bathroom to her. “Here.” She takes them from
me and drinks them down. I might not be able to help with the vomiting in the morning,
but I can certainly try to ward off the headache that she is certain to have.
 

I leave her to sleep it off and I go back out into the dining room. Tyson and Jo are
there, finishing up dinner. “Want some?” Jo asks.
 

“Nah, I’m not hungry.” I go to the fridge, grab myself a Sam Adams and step out onto
the porch, staring up at the stars. The ache in my chest is back, and I rub it, hoping
like hell that something, anything, will help set us back on the right track.

FOURTEEN

After I down the first beer, I go back in for another. Tyson is sitting at the table,
messing around with his phone.
 

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks me.
 

“Not particularly,” I say, and walk back out the door. I sit up on the railing, where
I was before I downed my beer, and I hear the door swing closed again.
 

“Tough shit. What’s going on?”
 

“I told her she had to figure her shit out. Go get the answers she so desperately
needs. Though I might have pushed her too far because I told her that I wanted to
have the woman I fell in love with back.”

“Ouch, man, is she really being that bad?”
 

I look at him and nod. “She has no sense of the spiral she is falling down. I can’t
even begin to imagine the spiral I would fall down if I found out my mom was still
alive. But our situations are so different from one another. Bobby essentially threw
Cami to the wolves and never even bothered to try, at least while he was alive. At
some point their relationship started to get better, but before it could develop into
anything, he ‘died.’” I can’t even begin to imagine, and to some extent, I understand
why she is falling down this spiral. “I love her more than anything, Ty. I need her
to come back to me.”

“Give her some time. Maybe she will go see her father, get to the bottom of this.
But don’t expect her to be cured when she comes home. You need to remember why this
is so hard for her. Her father was a douche to her in life, then faked his own death
just for her to find out that he’s alive, right when she is starting to really accept
his death. I would not want to be in her shoes.”
 

“I don’t want her shoes, they hurt.”
 

He laughs a little. “You know what I mean.”
 

“I do know what you mean, and I can’t help her unless she wants my help...or unless
she starts talking to me.”
 

“Understood.”

Tyson and I sit on the porch for some time, not really talking about anything, just
sitting in silence, drinking beer. Okay, I’m the only one drinking beer. Tyson is
having apple juice.

After my fourth beer, I realize that it is after midnight and head to bed. When I
climb in, Cami is snoring softly and I try my hardest to climb into bed without waking
her up. She needs to sleep off her alcohol.
 

I’m not in bed for two minutes before she rolls over and snuggles into me, wrapping
her arm around me and nestling into the crook of my shoulder. I can’t help but pull
her close to me. I love her so much it hurts. I kiss her forehead.

“I love you, I’m sorry,” she whispers, and I think she’s awake, but the soft snoring
continues.
 

“I love you.”
 

I fall asleep quickly after that.
 

******

Cami

******

I have got to stop doing this. My head is pounding, my stomach is swirling, and I
am draped all over Tristan. I wasn’t that drunk last night, and I remember everything
he said to me. Every single word of it was true. Truer than I really wanted to hear,
but he proved something to me last night. No matter what, he will always push me to
do the right things.
 

He’s right; I can’t keep doing this to myself. This isn’t who I am anymore, and I’m
being a complete and total bitch to someone who doesn’t deserve it. He’s done nothing
but support me and stand by my side since we met in Tarah.
 

What I wouldn’t give to be back there again. Back to when things were carefree between
us. Back to when things were sweeter, simpler and filled with rooftop swimming pools
and room service.
 

I finally open my eyes, and as soon as I do, Tristan begins stoking my hair. “I know
you’re awake,” he whispers.
 

I smile despite the major headache beating my brain to death. “How’d you know?”
 

I feel his small chuckle. “You started tracing my abs with your finger.”

“Oh,” I say and sit up, looking at his beautiful blue eyes. Eyes that I adore. They’re
vulnerable this morning, and I can truly understand why. He’s waiting to see if I
am going to snap at him. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
 

He gives me a beautiful, crooked smile. “So am I.”
 

I cock my head at him and I can tell he is thinking that I don’t remember last night,
but I do. “Everything you said was the truth, you have nothing to be sorry about.”
 

“You give me more credit than I deserve. Though I stand by what I said — you either
need to talk this out or put an end to it. I’m always willing to listen, but I’m pretty
sure I’m not the person you need to be talking to.”

“You’re right.”
 

“I will go with you, all you have to do is ask.”
 

I shake my head. “No, you’ve seen me at my worst without being around Robert. You
do not need to see that, and he is someone I need to deal with on my own.”

“I respect that, Cami. But know that when you’re done, I will be here, ready and willing
to talk about this. Without the alcohol.” He kisses the top of my head.
 

I move to bring my lips to his and he turns away. “Nope, go brush your teeth. Crown
in the morning is the worst breath ever.” He laughs, and I leap up out of bed, stripping
off my clothes as I go.
 

I’m standing there at the mirror, looking at my hair and brushing my teeth, when Tristan
comes up behind me and grabs my ass. Then, in my stunned immobility, he takes my toothbrush
from my mouth and puts it in his. “Hey, I wasn’t done with that.” I spit the toothpaste
out and grab the mouthwash, rinsing. I watch as he brushes his teeth. He’s watching
me in the mirror.

We don’t make it out of the bathroom. First he takes me on the counter, then again
in the shower, and I know the moment he slides home inside me I am forgiven for my
inexcusable outburst last night. But I know that if I keep this shit up, eventually
he won’t forgive me.
 

“I’m off tomorrow,” he says as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. “If you change
your mind and want me to go with you, I can go tomorrow.”

“No, I think I need to go and get this over with, and I know that I need to go alone.”
I climb into my black pumps and straighten the pencil skirt I’m wearing, then tuck
in the button-up, sleeveless silver blouse. I pull on the matching black jacket and
watch Tristan’s eyes rake over me. “Enjoying the view?”
 

“Absolutely, but more than that I’m trying to decide why you’d wear something so formal
to meet your father.”
 

“It’s my way of feeling powerful. I know I will catch him off guard, and I will be
dressed like this. It gives me confidence. Though I am going sans makeup. No one wants
to see that.” He shivers at the memory of seeing me that night. I have no idea what
I looked like then, but the next morning was disastrous enough.
 

He walks over to me and wraps his arms around me. “Will you text me when you get there?
Then again when you leave? If I can, I will text or call you back. But I have a busy
day ahead of me and am scheduled to be on set until at least eight.”
 

I groan. “Eight? Really?” I pout.
 

He smiles. “Yes, eight. But if there is an emergency and you need me, call Tyson and
he can pull me off set and I will come home. No matter what.”
 

“Tristan, you could lose your job.”

“Fuck them, you’re more important.”
 

I can’t help but smile at him. I know that he’d give up this life if I wanted him
to...or if the right opportunity came around to walk away from it. “That won’t be
necessary, but I can’t promise you will come home to a sober me. You might come home
to a drunk mess.”

He doesn’t smile. “I’d prefer sober, but know that I do understand. I don’t have to
work tomorrow, so please, stay sober so we can talk when I get home.”

“All right. I promise to try.”

“Alcohol is never the answer, Cami, and you know that.”
 

I nod and he kisses me again. “You better go, you’re gonna be late.”
 

“No, I am going to get there and sit around for three hours while they cover me in
makeup. I might as well go back to sleep.”
 

“Oh, the life of a beautiful actor.”
 

“Oh, the life, indeed.” He kisses me again and goes to the door. He looks back at
me one last time, and I see it: fear. He’s afraid of what he is going to come home
to, and I’m not sure I can blame him.

FIFTEEN

The house from the picture is off in the distance, and I take a deep breath, trying
desperately to control my heart rate, but it is nearly impossible. “Now or never,”
I say to myself and put the car in drive, but I can’t seem to pull my foot off of
the brake.
 

I grab my cell, pull up Tristan’s name, and text him.
 

I can’t do this

There is an almost instant typing bubble that follows. Then the text comes through.
 

Yes you can, be strong, remember Layla, remember I love you.

Layla. The foyer in Tarah. Bitch mode. Turn it on. Deep breath.
 

I love you

I call Beau.
 

“Please, for the love of God, talk me out of this.”

“Cams, what am I talking you out of?”
 

“Seeing Bobby.”

“Oh, for hell. Damn, Cams. No, I will not talk you out of this, you need to do this.
You need to get it off of your chest. You’re strong, you’re beautiful and I love the
living shit out of you.”
 

“Thanks for the pep talk.”
 

“I’m coming up there.”

“No. Dang, girl, stay in Phoenix with Mick, he needs you more than I do.”
 

“Bullshit, Cameron. I am coming. I’ll see you tonight.” And just like that she’s gone.
 

“Thanks so much.”

My phone chimes.

Love you Beautiful

I put my phone down and slowly pull my foot off of the brake, though I can’t quite
move it over to the gas pedal, and I am thankful that I am far enough away from the
house that I am hidden behind a hill and whoever is inside can’t see me sitting here
like a damn idiot.
 

“Fuck it. Let’s do this.” I pump myself up, press the gas pedal and pull around in
front of the house.

I take a deep breath and throw the keys on the front seat of the car. The likelihood
that anyone would steal my car out here is nil. I climb awkwardly out of the car and
walk the twenty steps to the door, taking a deep breath before pressing the doorbell.
 

A few moments later the door opens and I hold my breath.
 

“Good afternoon, ma’am, how may I help you?”
 

“I am looking for Bobby.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, no one here by that name.”
 

I breathe finally. “I’m sorry, I must’ve made a mistake.”

“Let her in, Alfred,” a man says, though I’m not sure if it’s actually Bobby.

Alfred? What, is he Bruce fucking Wayne?

The older gentleman steps aside to let me in.
 

The interior of the house is beautiful — log cabin style — and the walls are made
from same logs you can see from the outside. It has a wide-open floor plan, and nearly
every room can be seen from the doorway, but I don’t see the man behind the voice.
 

My eyes follow the line of the railing that leads to the second floor, and standing
there at the top of the stairs is none other than Robert Enders, my father.
 

The visual steals my breath away, and I fall back against the door that Alfred just
closed. My vision is blurry, but I can see him coming down the stairs.