Pieces of Camden (Hole-Hearted #1) (11 page)

“Now, try to get some rest,” she advises.

Alone again, I close my eyes and let the drugs coursing through my system take effect.

FIFTEEN

CAMDEN

Like a terminal disease, I’m draining the life out of the very people I wanted to save when I left seven years ago. But Santiago and Carmen won’t let me go, not for a second time. Although I know my existence will eventually debilitate them, I follow them out of the hospital and back into their home.

They are my peace in this cruel and unapologetic world. They are my one hope of becoming the man they see.

They are the parents God mocked me with, dangled in front of my face, making me believe I could have them for my own. But they aren’t mine to keep.

I belong to my own parents, to their vices that I all too happily obliterate myself with.

Shortly after Santiago and Carmen left to see what Yanelys had done to get herself imprisoned, Pastor Floyd gave me two bottles—one full with anti-anxiety pills and the other with two different types of opiates. I ignored Pastor Floyd’s disapproval as I placed the time-release pill on my tray and smashed it into powder.

“Camden.” Pastor Floyd’s voice was distant, but I could taste his bitter disappointment in the back of my throat just after I snorted the powder.

Leaning into my uncomfortable pillow, I closed my eyes and thought of nothing. Longing for the indifference I found at the bottom of a bottle, I waited for the pill to take effect.

Emptied by the world, I held hands with destruction and opened my eyes just in time to watch Pastor Floyd’s tired body turn and leave.

Every day, Santiago and Carmen would come to see me at the hospital, never once speaking of Yanelys or the trouble she’d gotten herself into. Carmen stayed by my side and held my hand when my doctor ordered my first skin graft.

Yanelys, on the other hand, stayed away. Every day, I’d look at the door whenever it swung open, and every day, when she didn’t walk through it, disappointment would run over my face. It hung on my shoulders, weighing me down, as I waited for the girl who had finally given up on me.

Growing up, I held on to the idea that, one day, my parents would love me with the same ferocity they hated. I watched them, I silently pleaded with them, and I waited for them to be parents, but I loved them, no matter what they had done to me.

Now, that energy and affection is focused on Yanelys. She controls my heartbeat. Every thump is for her.

I have no right to ask her to see me, to beg her to love me, but as I sit in Santiago’s car and listen to Carmen talk, I know that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Yanelys touches me. Her warmth wraps itself around me, despite the days or years that have passed since I last saw her.

Tired lungs breathe in a sigh, and I try to remember what it was like not to live in tragedy. I was granted five years of peace with the people who still call themselves my family.

Carmen’s hand rests on Santiago’s as he drives, their love filling the empty space around us. I want that. I want to experience it for myself.

“I want to see Yan,” I say from the backseat, interrupting whatever Carmen was saying. I cough. “I mean, can you drop me off at her place, so I can speak to her?”

“Not today, Cam.” Carmen turns around and squeezes my knee. “There’s so much about her you don’t know.”

“Is she seeing someone?” Fear grips my heart like a vise.

Carmen laughs a humorless laugh and shakes her head. Still, the tension in the car rises, and I wonder what they aren’t sharing with me.

“Please?” I ask again, turning my attention to Santiago.

Santiago sighs and glances over at Carmen. Her lips form a thin, straight line, but she doesn’t reply to his unspoken question.

“I’ll call her,” Carmen offers. “If she says no, then you’ll wait until she’s ready.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“He wants to see you,” Carmen whispers into the phone in place of a greeting.

The silence in the car grows thick, and I fidget with the single pill in my pocket. With the bottle hidden in the bag the hospital gave me to keep the few items I own, I have only this one companion to comfort me.

“I know, sweetie. It’s up to you,” Carmen finally replies.

The pill in my pocket grows heavy, its secret screaming louder than the silence. My jaw tightens as I wait for an answer.

“Okay.” Carmen sighs. “I love you.”

The complexity of my situation slams itself into my stomach. Overflowing with confessions I’m not ready to share, I avert my eyes when Carmen turns around in her seat and looks back at me.

“Okay.” She smiles a watery smile. “Yan said you could come over.”

Relief. Joy. I haven’t felt those emotions in a long time. I hardly recognize them.

“There are some things you should know first.” Carmen eyes Santiago, and he nods.

“What?” I ask, preparing myself for the worst.

“We’ll talk about it over doughnuts,” Santiago says.

Although he smiles back at me through the rearview mirror, apprehension glosses over his eyes.

“Tell me now,” I push.

Santiago lifts an eyebrow. “Son, when you walked out on your family, you lost the right to demand things from us.” His grip on the steering wheel tightens, making his knuckles whiten. “We’ll talk at the doughnut store. And, Cam”—his voice is laced with warning—“you weren’t here. You don’t know what Yan went through. You can be upset with what you missed out on, just like she has every right to be disappointed with your decisions, but these emotions aren’t going to get either of you anywhere.”

“What do you mean, Yan has a daughter?”

Anger poisons my heart, and without thinking, I take the pill from my pocket and swallow it dry in front of Santiago and Carmen. I pretend not to see their quick exchange or the worry creasing their foreheads.

I see red.

And a baby who isn’t mine.

“How old is she?”

“Six,” Carmen replies.

“Six?” I laugh, bitterness slicing through me. “Didn’t take her long to get over me,” I spit, “and get under someone else.”

“Listen here!” Santiago roars, slamming the palms of his hands on the table.

Carmen flinches and sends an apologetic look to the patrons in the shop, but my eyes remain on the man I’ve loved since I was a boy.

“You will not disrespect my daughter.” Santiago keeps his voice dangerously low. “I don’t care what you think or how hurt you are, you will respect her, Camden.”

Rage spreads throughout my body, destroying common sense, and for once, I don’t want to love the man and woman before me.

I want to hate them. As much as I hate myself. As much as I hate loving Yanelys.

When I stand to leave, Santiago’s hand grips my arm and holds me there. I stare back at him, unflinching.

“Whose is she?” I ask, ready to kill the man who thought he was worthy of touching Yanelys.

“She’s Yan’s,” Carmen answers while Santiago and I continue to stare at each other.

My eyes flit over to Carmen, and after registering the fear behind her eyes, I release the tension in my body and sit down, scraping the bottom of the chair over the floor.

“Who’s the dad?”

“Cam”—Carmen places a hand on my wrist—“you left her. You were gone so long.”

“I’m disappointed in you,” Santiago interjects, taking his seat in front of me again. “You of all people should stand by Yanelys and not tear her down.”

The sound of Santiago’s words grate on my chest and will haunt me to my grave. But I’ve only begun disappointing him. I hate the looks in both their eyes, and I know I’m the only one to blame.

“I’m sorry.” The threat of tears blurs my vision so I stare at the table.

My bandaged hands run over my face over and over again. But still, the condemnation of her forgotten love remains, alienating me even further.

“Her name is Olivia,” Carmen says, her eyes brimming with pride. “She is a beautiful little girl, looks just like her mom.”

The idea of Olivia looking like her mom brings me a hint of joy. Yanelys’s beauty should be shared, and there’s no better tribute than with a little girl who looks just like her.

“She has Yanelys’s oomph for life.” Carmen laughs, and despite myself, I join her.

How I’ve missed the oomph Yanelys brought me.

“And her dad’s intensity,” Carmen adds.

I wince, connecting with the sorrow her words bring.

Stripped of everything good, my bleeding heart welcomes her truth. Carmen’s sympathetic eyes roll over me, so I look away, but curiosity forces me to know.

“Who’s the girl’s dad?” I ask through clenched teeth.

“You,” Carmen says barely above a whisper.

Confusion fills me, and I catch Santiago’s unrestrained gaze.

“You didn’t just leave us”—Santiago waves a hand toward Carmen and himself—“or Yan. You left your daughter.”

I hear his words, my own thoughts echoing in my mind, and reality sets in.

By leaving, I thought I was giving Yanelys a chance at a real future. I thought I was hurting only myself. But sharp edges aligned our broken love, and the pieces continued to shatter as I stayed away and broke us even more.

My heart, the part that still cares, throbs with regret, all the broken pieces flowing together to slice through my chest. And I wonder if I can even remember my life without the heartbreak. Without this searing agony.

I’m back, but there’s no one to come back to. There’s no home, no place where I belong.

I mask the pain with an uneasy smile. “I have a daughter?” I swallow.

As I nervously tap my foot under the table, sweat begins to build at the base of my neck. With trembling fingers, I lift a hand to Carmen, not wanting her to go on.

But I drop my hand in my lap and clench it closed. Frustrated, I unwrap the bandages, exposing the angry red marks.

The shop is too quiet, too loud, too much.

My pills, just one more pill, would grant me the escape I need. My fingers itch, but I remain planted on the seat with heavy legs I can’t move.

“You have a daughter,” Santiago confirms.

Relief floods me. And hope.

The mangled wad of napkin that somehow ended up in my hand is taken from me by Carmen. She closes a tight fist over it and smiles slightly.

“Did you honestly think there was ever anyone but you?” Small tears roll down her cheek, and she wipes each one away before they drip off her chin. “I won’t lie to you, Cam. I kept praying there would be, so she’d get over you.”

I wince again but understand. The idea of Yanelys hurting alone brings me nothing but misery.

Unease advances on me, the air buzzing anxiously around us, making sweat pool down my cold skin. Nausea hits me, and I swallow hard to keep it at bay. The itching in my fingers increases and spreads across my hand to my arms. My foot bounces as Carmen tells me about my daughter, but my rattled nerves make it difficult for me to sit still. Without giving a reason, I excuse myself and go to Santiago’s car where I’ll find my pills inside the hospital bag.

Outside, the gravel crunches beneath my fast-paced steps. The peaceful sky spans around me, the scattered white clouds uncaring of the storm brewing within me. I pull on the car door handle and cuss when it doesn’t open.

Wild with desperation, I spin around and crash into Santiago’s broad chest. He grabs my shoulders and steadies me as my legs grow heavier.

“Cam.”

My name echoes in my head.

“What’s going on?”

“Migraine,” I lie, keeping my eyes on the ground.

“Okay, take it easy, son.”

Santiago squeezes my shoulders once, and I hunch over when he unlocks the car door and opens it. Rummaging through my bag, he pulls out the bottles Pastor Floyd gave me and shakes them after reading the label.

“Your doctor didn’t prescribe these.”

“No.”

My shoulders hunch over even further as reality exposes me as a liar. A junkie.

“Where’d you get them?” he asks.

Unable to meet his eyes, I fidget with a tear in my shirt.

“I asked you a question, Camden.” His firm tone slaps me.

My face inks red with embarrassment, but I try to laugh it off.

“I need them.” I shrug.

“These aren’t migraine pills, Camden!” Santiago shakes the bottle inches away from my face. “They’re drugs! Fucking drugs!”

“Santiago,” Carmen pleads when she walks up to us. She places a calming hand on his shoulder, which only seems to infuriate him further.

“Drugs, Carmen,” he hisses. “Our boy left us to become a junkie.” Santiago runs his hands over his face several times.

Shame weaves itself into my soul, darkening me even more. It’s a battle I can’t win, and as each second passes, the need for another pill increases.

“Santiago,” I breathe his name softly. “I need another pill.”

The turmoil whipping its way around us makes me tremble. Understanding crosses Santiago’s face, and he opens up the bottle. Putting a pill in his palm, he extends his hand. When I take the pill from him, he grips my wrist and pulls me to him.

Santiago wraps his arms around me in a tight embrace. “We’re gonna get you clean, Cam. You and me—we’re in this together, and we’re gonna get you clean.”