Chasing Love's Wings (7 page)

“No,” he says with a half chuckle, almost sounding disgusted.
 

“Why?”
 

“Because when I came home last night, you were so unbelievably drunk I scared the
hell out of you and you shattered a wineglass on the tile. Then you stepped on it.
Which would be why your foot is all wrapped up and no doubt hurting like hell.”
 

Oh. “You weren’t supposed to come until this morning.”

“I came back to surprise you.” Well, don’t I feel like a bitch. “Beau showed up, we
took you to the hospital, brought you home and put you to bed. You’ve been sleeping
for about fifteen hours. I couldn’t sleep because I was afraid you’d get up and go
back downstairs and start drinking again.”
 

“That sounds like a great idea right now.”
 

“Like hell you will.”

Rage fills my eyes and I look at him. “Who the hell are you to tell me what I can
and cannot do?”
 

“I’m your boyfriend, and after what I saw last night, and no doubt how you’re feeling
this morning, drinking is the last thing you should be doing.”

“Go to hell,” I say to him, though there is little conviction in my voice and he knows
that.
 

He comes quickly around the bed and stands in front of me. “I’m already there. We
promised in Tarah that neither one of us would EVER keep secrets from each other,
then I talk to you yesterday and everything is fine. I get home to find you so drunk
you can’t even see straight, let alone talk straight. Your stubbornness gets your
foot cut all to hell because you want more alcohol, then you blow up at me like this
is somehow my fault.” He kneels down in front of me. I can see the fear and anger
in his eyes.
 

But all I can see is red, pure anger washing through me.
 

“Get out.” He doesn’t move. “I said GET OUT,” I shout a little louder. This time he
stands, but he doesn’t walk away. I stand up to push him out of the way, but the pain
in my foot shoots straight into my leg and I fall over. His arms are around me in
a nanosecond, catching me.
 

Tears, hot and wet, start streaming down my cheeks and I come completely unglued in
a big, nasty, ugly cry.

******

Tristan

******

Jesus, this is really bad. I’ve never seen Cami like this before and I’m trying to
keep it together with the rational thought that her anger is not directed at me. It
is at what she’s seen over the last couple of days. I take a deep breath and bring
her back to sit on the bed. She hasn’t stopped her heartbreaking sobbing, and all
I can do is hold her close. I begin to stroke her hair with my free hand. I don’t
say anything. I just hold her, and she seems content to let me do that.

Several minutes go by before she’s finally calming down and the tears seem to have
stopped altogether. But she doesn’t move...other than to bring me closer to her. I
try unsuccessfully a few times to get her to lie down, but she just grips me harder.
Almost as if she is afraid I really will leave. Which I have no intention of doing,
no matter what she says.
 

“I need a shower,” she finally says.
 

“How about a bath?” I feel her slight nod against my chest, but she makes no move
to let me go. “I need to get up so I can start one for you.”

“I have to pee, like, painfully bad.”

I don’t hesitate; I manage to move so that I can pick her up and carry her to the
bathroom. She doesn’t protest but holds me close. I kiss her forehead.
 

Stepping into her oversized bathroom, I carry her to the toilet. “I’m going to put
you down, but put all your weight on your right leg.” She nods and I set her down.
She wobbles slightly as she catches her balance. “Want my help?” She nods. I help
her lower her sleep pants and her panties, and then she takes my hands so she can
sit down.
 

No sooner does her butt hit the cool toilet seat than she starts going to the bathroom,
and I smile slightly; she always kicks me out of the bathroom when she has to pee,
but she doesn’t this time. I shrug and head toward the tub on the opposite side of
the bathroom. The thing is huge, but I start the water, test the temperature and close
off the drain. Adding bubbles, I watch as it fills up.

I start thinking about how we got to this point and my own anger at Bobby for what
he’s done to Cami, not only now, but in the past. She was finally getting better and
getting over the fact that he was gone. At least, based on our conversations over
the last month, she’s seemed to be able to tolerate the subject of Bobby better, and
maybe she finally realized that she isn’t the unloving monster she once thought she
was.
 

But no sooner does she start to see it than she has it thrown back in her face once
again. Whether Bobby’s alive or dead, I’m guessing that whatever was sent in that
package is just as damaging to her progress as the fact that he’s alive.
 

“I’m done,” she says behind me, breaking my trance and thoughts about what’s happened.
I stand and walk in her direction, remembering the crutches.
 

“One second,” I say and leave the bathroom, skirt the bed, grab her crutches from
where I put them last night and return to the bathroom. I place them against the wall
of the bathroom, then turn and bend down. I remove her sleep pants and panties from
her legs. “Lift your arms,” I say and she complies.
 

I pull my t-shirt up over her head, and she is now completely naked, but with her
makeup and hair a complete mess. Though I’d be lying if I told you she wasn’t still
absolutely gorgeous to me, even in this state. She’s not modest and makes no move
to try and hide the fact that she is completely exposed to me, and I like that about
her. But she has this blank stare in her eyes, almost as though she’s checked out
on me.
 

“Cams,” I say to her. Nothing. “Cams,” I say again, and her eyes lazily meet mine.
“How are you feeling?” I ask her again.
 

“Like shit,” is all she says, and I can see that she will say nothing more.
 

“Come on,” I say, putting my hands out for her to take. She does and I help her to
stand. “Steady,” I say and turn around for her crutches. “Have you ever used these
before?” I ask her, and she nods, taking them from me and placing them under her armpits.
She reaches for the floor with her left foot. “No weight.”
 

“Ugh,” she says, and I move out of her way. She hobbles her way over to the bathtub
and then manages to sit on the side of the tub. She jumps when the cold marble touches
her skin but turns to put her right foot in.
 

“Wait,” I say as I strip off my shirt and pants. I can’t bring myself to get completely
naked with her because I have it stuck in my head that if I stay at least somewhat
dressed I can control him. It’s stupid really, but I don’t need her thinking I have
other things in mind.
 

I come up to the tub and she takes in what I’m wearing. “What are you doing?”
 

“I’m going to help you,” I say, and I climb into the tub behind her. I grab a towel
from the shelf on the wall, fold it up and put it on the side of the tub, giving her
a place to rest her foot once she gets settled in. While holding her up by her waist,
I sit down along the bench seat and then bring my right leg up, bracing it against
the seat opposite me, giving her a shallow seat on my lap in the massive tub. “I got
you, sit down slowly.” She does it, and somehow we manage to get her situated on my
legs without getting her left foot wet. She puts it on the towel on the side of the
tub.
 

I take the soap and a washcloth and begin to lather it up. I brush her hair to her
left and begin lightly washing her shoulders and upper back, massaging gently as I
go. I can see her visibly relax as I continue washing her back. I gently nudge her
backwards so that she will lay against my chest. She does, and I lather up the washcloth
again and begin to gently wash her front.
 

When I start to clean her breasts, I feel her nipples harden and she moans at my touch.
So not helping.
 

I continue washing her as best as I can, including her legs. All that is left is her
sex. I’ve been avoiding it, but she continues to squirm and moan once in a while,
and I’ve grown completely hard.
 

I bring the washcloth between her legs, and I begin lightly washing along her clit.
Her hand reaches around between us and comes into contact with the head of my erection.
“Don’t,” I breathe. “Not here, not now,” I say, and she understands exactly what I
want.
 

We finish up in the tub and, in a reverse process, I get her out of the tub and sitting
on the side of the tub wrapped in a towel. I strip out of my boxers and I’m too close.
She grabs hold of my cock and pulls me toward her. Before I can stop her, I feel her
mouth engulf me and my knees shake. She peeks up at me through her lashes and I can
no longer say no to her. I don’t want to say no, but I’m not sure if this is the right
time. She is not herself, and I’m afraid if we continue, she will regret it. “Cami,
stop.”
 

She stops instantly and without hesitation. “You don’t want me.” She says it as a
statement, not a question, and she couldn’t be further from the truth. I do want her,
very badly, but not at the expense of what we’ve been through these last twelve hours.
 

I bend down so that I’m looking up at her slightly. “I want you so bad it hurts,”
I say.

“Why?”
 

“Because. This isn’t the time.”
 

She doesn’t say anything and I can tell that she’s hurt, but I can’t do this. Not
right now. She feels like shit, for one, and for two, I am so worried about what is
going through her mind that she’s using sex as an escape, and that, to me, is no different
than alcohol.

SEVEN

******

Cami

******

It takes forever to get dressed, but Tristan never once leaves my side nor does he
lose patience with me, helping me every step I take.
 

“Are you hungry?”
 

Yes. “No.”

“You’re a bad liar, Cami. Let me make you something to eat.” It’s not a question.
 

“I want to go downstairs.”
 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” His statement pisses me off again, but before I
blow up at him again, I take a deep breath.
 

“Tristan, you can’t keep me up here forever. I want to go downstairs. I want to get
something to eat.”

“I want to talk.”
 

“What is there to talk about, Tristan?”
 

“I don’t know, Cami, a lot of things.”

“Tristan, I’ve never been good at talking about this shit.”
 

“Well now might be a good time to start. What are you going to do?”
 

“About what?”
 

“What? You know what. About the fact that your father is alive.”
 

I take a deep breath. “Not a damn thing.”

“Bullshit.”
 

“Then why the fuck did you ask the question?” I stand up from the bed and put the
stupid-ass crutches in my armpits and head for the elevator. I need to go and clean
up my mess downstairs, try and find a clear head, and I can’t do that with Tristan
hovering over me like I’m going to shatter into a thousand pieces. Which is probably
true.

“Dammit, Cami, we’re in this together. I will not let you do this alone.” I feel the
firm conviction in his words and I know he speaks the truth. But this is so hard to
even wrap my brain around, let alone explain to him.
 

“I need to get my own head on straight about all of this before I can even begin to
talk to you about it. You won’t understand.” I manage to maneuver past him and hit
the button for the elevator. The doors open immediately and I step in. Hitting the
L
button for the living room, I turn around and see him standing there, watching me.
 

A few seconds later the doors are opening onto the kitchen and living room level of
my condo, which is two floors below my bedroom, and standing there in front of me
is Tristan. I smirk. Then I see him take a deep breath, like he’s trying to catch
his breath, and I can’t help but laugh. “I’m impressed.”
 

He laughs too, and the tension between us shatters into a thousand pieces. I know
deep down that I owe him an apology, but I’m not ready to give it to him, not yet.
 

As I come around the wall that divides the living room from the stairs and elevator,
I can see that the walls are clean, everything is put in its place, and the brown
package is gone.
 

“Did you—?”
 

“No, Beau and Mick did while I was at the hospital with you.”
 

“You’d think I would remember that, or even how I got there. But I don’t remember
anything.”
 

“I don’t doubt that. I found three empty wine bottles, one empty Crown, and then the
one you had in the living room with you when I came home, which was about half gone.
That’s a lot of alcohol in two days.”
 

“Jesus, I had no idea I—”

“Beau said that you and she polished off two of the wine bottles Tuesday night.”

“Jesus, still.”

“I’m afraid to think about what I might’ve come back to if I’d waited until today.”
I don’t answer his statement. I know damn well what he’s thinking, and I’m not sure
I’m a fan of the idea either. I imagine that I would have probably been passed out
or worse. “I’m surprised you’re doing as well as you are today.”