Pieces of Camden (Hole-Hearted #1) (7 page)

“Yanelys,” he says softly.

I look down while my heart thunders in my chest. My parents only use my full name when they’re upset.

“If you had told us before…” He trails off and looks at my mom.

My throat closes when he doesn’t continue talking. “Please, Daddy. Please tell me Cam’s not dead.” With my words hanging in the air, I can’t control the flow of tears or the hiccups choking me with every second that ticks by.

“He’s gonna be okay.” From his chair, my dad takes my hand and brings me to him for a tight hug.

I bury my face into his neck, but when he pulls me away, I look him in the eyes, giving him my full attention.

“But, baby girl, you can’t keep these types of things from us. He could have died.”

“Santiago,” my mom warns.

My dad doesn’t look at her. “You know that, right?”

“Yes.” I nod my head as fresh tears start to roll down my face even faster. “But I promised…” I look from my dad to my mom, not wanting them to be angry with me. “He said if I told, the police would take him away.”

“They won’t.” My dad looks at my mom. “Cam is going to come live with us.”

“Santiago,” my mom says again, her voice dripping with uncertainty.

Her concern barely registers as I reach around my dad’s neck for another hug.

“After everything he’s lived through, Carmen”—my dad shakes his head—“he can’t live with strangers.” His voice is sad without even a hint of the strength I normally hear behind it.

“Of course not,” my mom agrees, which only makes me sob even more.

In all the things Camden has been wrong about, this is the worst. My not telling almost cost him his life. And in the end, he was wrong. The police won’t be taking him away. He’ll be coming home where he belongs.

“How bad is he?” My mom wants to know.

I step away from my dad’s embrace, so I can pay better attention.

My dad sighs again and looks at the doctor he came in with, who’s now standing by the door by himself.

“I’m Dr. Mursuli.” The doctor extends his hand toward my mom.

She stands up to shake it. He then does the same to me, and after a moment’s hesitation, I also shake his hand.

“Per Santiago’s request, I’ll be treating Camden during his stay at the hospital. The majority of his assault took place on his face and chest, which resulted in a dislocated jaw and a broken nose. His eyes are swollen and bruised, but he’ll be okay. Those are just the minor injuries.”

My mom takes in a sharp breath. “There are worse ones?”

Dr. Mursuli nods his head and looks at the clipboard in his hand. “He’s suffered a concussion, and he has been in and out of consciousness since he arrived. He also has three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and some internal bleeding.”

The doctor looks at all of us to make sure we understand, but I can’t listen anymore. I move away from them and stare at the vending machine, not wanting anything from there but needing some space.

What’s happened has changed Camden and me. Another scar on top of all the others scars we’ve received every time Camden’s parents hit him. It’ll be up to me to help us move past it. I just hope I’m strong enough for him. For both of us, really.

Lost in thought, I startle when my mom puts her hand on my shoulder, but I smile when she finally utters the words I’ve been waiting for. We can go see Camden. He’s still asleep, or unconscious, but relief fills me, knowing I get to see him.

When we get to Camden’s room, the police stop my dad to ask him more questions—something about holding Camden’s parents at gunpoint—but my thoughts only circle around Camden, and although I hope my dad isn’t in trouble, I leave him to defend himself.

On weighted legs, I walk slowly into Camden’s room. I go to his bed and sit on the chair next to it. Ignoring a beeping machine next to us, I take his hand in mine and swallow hard when I see him on oxygen. I squeeze my hand around his once to let him know I’m there, and then I take in his bruised face. Beneath the swelling and angry bruises, there’s a cut that goes through his top lip to his bottom lip. The gauze over his nose doesn’t hide the swelling, and there’s still dried blood under his bottom lip.

Too scared to brush away the hair from over his eyes, I squeeze his hand again and quietly cry while my mom stands beside me with her hand on my shoulder.

My mom and I stay in Camden’s room as day breaks while my dad stays in the waiting room after seeing Camden for a few minutes. A nurse tried to argue that I should leave, too, but my parents argued right back until she gave up. It’s not like I would have left anyway.

I’m right where I need to be.

I know that to be truer than anything else when, just after ten a.m., Camden finally opens his eyes and sees me. Sunlight shines through the open blinds, slivers of rays dancing on Camden’s bed.

“Yan,” he whispers, squeezing my hand that’s still holding his. His beautiful face softens beneath the ugly scars.

He looks down when I try to meet his eyes, so I do the only thing I know that will make him feel better. While my parents nap on the bed the nurse brought my mom a few hours ago, I crawl into Camden’s bed, careful not to touch his chest or any of the IV lines. Once I settle beside him, he inches closer to me and turns to face me, wincing as the pain radiates throughout his body.

“I knew you’d save me,” he whispers, his breath falling on my cheek.

For the first three days in the hospital, Camden and I are questioned by the police and the hospital social workers. They separate us, asking both of us about details neither of us wants to answer. When we are separated, my dad stays with Camden, and my mom takes me to the cafeteria. From the look on my mom’s face, I know she isn’t happy. When she starts to voice her concerns about Camden moving in with us, shock makes me clench my hands into fists.

I get that we’re young, and I know most kids our age don’t act like us. Boys want to hang out with other boys while girls want to play with other girls. But that’s not us. Whether we like it or not, Camden’s parents made us who we are. His parents brought us together and made us grow up faster than any of the other kids we know. I’m the one Camden reaches for, so I reach back as often as possible because I know how alone he always feels, how unwanted he thinks he is.

I explain that to my mom, but her deep sigh and wrinkled forehead let me know that she doesn’t understand.

On the fourteenth day, my parents and I arrive at the hospital just after nine a.m., only to find Camden’s room empty.

In that moment, despair conquers all of my thoughts, grasping on to me so that I can’t move. My dad lied to me. He said they wouldn’t take Camden away, and they did. Even though my mom reassures me that he’s okay, I can’t be sure until I see him. We haven’t even met the social worker who was assigned to him and took him to the group home, even after my parents had told everyone—the police, doctors, hospital social workers—they wanted to be his guardian.

Camden’s right. People go about their business, unaffected by your wants. They only do as much as they have to, nothing more.

And no one had to make sure Camden came home with us. They didn’t care about what he wanted.

He’s nothing more than another job. Another voiceless face.

Walking into the group home fills me with dread. Dread of the sad stories that fill the place. Dread of the bland walls waiting for me inside. Dread for the boy I love who now has to live within these walls, full of secrets and shame no one wants revealed.

After meeting Camden’s social worker, I follow her instructions to get to Camden’s room while my parents go with her to meet with the woman who runs the home. I hesitate by his door, but then I remind myself that it’s Camden.

Life around us might change. But we’ll always be us.

I walk through his open door with a big smile on my face, and I find him lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“What’s so interesting up there?” I ask.

He looks at me for the briefest of seconds before he returns his gaze to the ceiling.

Not knowing what else to say, I sit on his bed and look at anything but him. Like I suspected, the walls are bland. The furniture is worn. And the tiles are chipped.

A doctor’s office is more welcoming than this place. At least they fill the walls with happy pictures and uplifting posters about cats and hanging on.

“He called you a whore.” Camden clears his throat, his eyes still fixated on the same spot on the ceiling while mine double in size. “So, I fought back.” He clenches and unclenches his fists while his chest heaves up and down. Breathless, he finally looks at me.

Guilt washes over me. Camden fought back for me, and his dad nearly killed him in the process.

Unable to meet his eyes, I fidget with a thread hanging from my jeans. “You shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t say that to me, Yan.” His tone stings me, and I wrap my arms around my stomach, finally finding the courage to look at him. “You protect me. I protect you. That’s what we do. Don’t take that away from me. It’s all I have.”

“Okay.” I nod. “Cam…” My eyes skirt away from him, but when I look back at him, I find him watching me with his lips pulled into a frown. I miss his smile and the way it lights up his eyes, but I know it’ll take time for him to get that back. “I’m sorry,” I say, letting the words rush out of my mouth on an exhale. “I shouldn’t have moved my hand away from you when we were going to the principal’s office.”

Camden’s eyes cloud over, but he doesn’t cry. “I’m always gonna reach for you even if you don’t want to hold my hand in return.”

“I’ll never stop holding your hand.”

To prove my point, I lean over and take his hand in mine. Silently, I sit with our hands connected while Camden stares at the ceiling until my parents come to get me.

Two and a half months pass before my parents get custody of Camden. Every day during that time, he becomes more withdrawn.

Shut down, shut in, shut off.

I can’t reach him, so when we spend our time together it’s in silence, holding hands.

When my mom finds out Camden is coming home, she wants to throw him a party. Thankfully, my dad convinces her that pizza and some balloons will be more than enough.

While my dad and I pick Camden up, my mom stays home to set up the balloons and order the pizza.

As we approach our entryway, my dad smiles at me, and I hope my mom hasn’t gone over the top. My dad opens the door, and I hang back as he and Camden walk through it. When Camden stops and takes a step back, a short gasp catches in my throat while my heart beats violently. I look over his shoulder and then step beside him when I see a
Welcome Home
banner hanging on the wall with balloons decorated beside it.

After my mom hugs us, I take his hand, and together, we follow my parents into the dining room where we find enough pizza and cupcakes to feed us for a week. Camden furrows his forehead as he takes it all in, and just as I’m about to get angry with my mom for going overboard, he smiles. It’s the first smile I’ve seen on his face since the day at school when our lives went to hell.

“Let’s eat in the living room,” my mom says, surprising me.

We always eat at the dining room table. It’s like a set law. My eyes meet hers, but she shrugs her shoulders, a nonchalant lift and drop, so we start to serve ourselves. When we walk into the living room, we find more balloons, and the TV screen is paused on the opening scene of
Iron Man
.

Camden’s smile reaches his eyes, the sea of blue growing in intensity, and I smile back at my mom.

“This is a one-time deal,” my mom informs Camden. He nods. “After tonight, we eat only in the dining room.”

“Yes, Mom,” I say, my tone full of humor and wonder, and she smacks my bottom lightly as I walk past her.

My dad hands the remote to Camden, and when he takes it, my dad keeps hold of it until Camden’s eyes meet his. “This is your home.” My dad points to himself, my mom, and me. “Wherever we are, wherever you are, the four of us are a family. We’re your home.”

Camden nods, and when my dad lets go of the remote, Camden places it on his lap without saying a word or turning on the movie. We begin to eat our food in silence, and just as I’m about to eat my second slice, Camden turns to my dad.