Pieces of Camden (Hole-Hearted #1) (23 page)

He purses his lips and nods once. “I was wrong to tell you to leave. I gave up on you the minute things got too hard.” He takes a few steps toward me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “
I gave up on you
. I’m sorry, son.”

A sense of joy and guilt weave together as I watch him hold himself together through his own feelings of remorse.

I put my hands on his wrists and squeeze. “You were looking out for your family,” I whisper, ignoring the curious eyes of the workers at the center.

“You are my family, Camden.” His eyes, puffy and rimmed in red, meet mine. “You’re my son in every way that matters, and I turned away from you. And you…” His voice breaks as his eyes wildly dance over to the couch resting in the far corner of the front office.

“Don’t.” I shake my head. “I took the heroin because of who I am. Because of the stupid choices I’ve made. This isn’t on you. It’s me. I need help.”

I look around, my eyes scanning over the walls of my self-imposed prison, and I know I’ve made the right decision in coming here. I need professional help. This isn’t something I could do alone. I know that.

Every minute that passes by is a reminder of how dependent I am on the pills that numb me. Even with the medicine the center’s been giving me, it’s hard. Because of the medicine, the side effects of withdrawal aren’t as strong as they were at Santiago’s beach house, but they’re still there, lying in wake with the constant need for just one more pill and its false promises.

“Your family —we will help you. I swear it. I won’t ever push you away again. You’re my son. You’ve always been my son, and I’m going to fight for you even if you don’t want me to.”

Gratitude pumps through my veins, and a small smile crosses my face. The fear of Santiago’s disapproval has weighed heavily on my shoulders. Knowing he still cares, that I’m still his son, frees me.

He takes my hands to his face and touches his forehead with mine. Tears clog the back of my throat, and I shut my eyes, allowing my emotions to squeeze and torment and eventually alleviate the tension in my chest.

“I love you,” I choke out and when Santiago drops my hands, I grip his wrists with tight fists. “You and Carmen—you’re my parents. And”—I’m unprepared for the turmoil swimming inside me, and tears fall from my eyes and down my cheeks—“thank you.”

Santiago pulls me to him, hugging and consoling me, while I struggle to find a breath.

“We love you, too. You know that, don’t you?”

Unable to speak, I nod my head and close my eyes tightly, forcing more tears to escape from the corners.

My whole life, I’ve reached for love but never gotten a proper grasp on it. But I can’t back away from it anymore. I can’t continue to live on empty when the girl who is my world has asked me to live and love by her side. For too many wasted years, I lived my life in denial and lost everything that was important to me because it was easier to hold the devil’s hand than risk the chance of Yanelys turning her back on me. But she’s finally seen the worst in me, and for some crazy reason, she’s still holding me close to her heart.

THIRTY-ONE

CAMDEN

“Happy Thanksgiving,” I whisper into Yanelys’s hair, bringing her closer to my bare chest when she murmurs a sleepy response.

Several days ago, I started to live again. One day at a time.

It hasn’t been easy, but change in its inevitability never is. Mistakes and regret form in its wake. Repercussions follow us that haunt us, never loosening their hold. At least, not really.

But I know it’s well worth every hardship when Yanelys’s eyes flutter open, and her lips lift into a radiant smile. Delicate hands trace over my back, sending shivers down my spine. My mouth covers hers, taking and giving, offering and demanding.

Earlier this morning, Santiago picked me up at the rehab center and dropped me off at Yanelys’s doorstep. She was shocked when she opened the door, but she didn’t ask further questions when I explained that I had been granted a day pass from my twenty-one day program. We took advantage of Olivia sleeping and went straight to Yanelys’s bedroom where we held each other until we both fell back to sleep.

The story of us unravels, spinning its tale through our limbs and into our souls.

Our mouths stay connected as I bend my knees and climb over Yanelys. I press a long, urgent kiss against her lips. Breathless, we separate, and I trace kisses over her chin, down her throat, and onto her naked breasts. Her lean muscles twitch, and she grips the back of my head so that I lean back and gaze into her tender brown eyes. Minutes pass with us just staring at one another, anticipation and need growing and stirring inside us.

When she leans her head into her pillow and arches her back, I align my cock with her entrance and kiss her neck as I go inside her.

“So beautiful,” I whisper. “You’re so beautiful.”

Her hands go to my stomach and wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to her. Her eyes watch me with the same faith she restored in me, and my heart thunders behind my chest.

I thrust inside her, filling us, and when she moans my name, my mouth covers hers, demanding and pulling every inch of who she is. Yanelys opens to me in invitation, and our tongues dance together as I fist her hair. Fast and hard, I lose control of myself, and together, we conquer each other. Unrestrained pleasure encompasses me with every jerk. Moaning my name again, she shudders once before her body goes languid beneath me.

Emotions run rampant when her dark eyes meet mine, and I slow my movements, so I can take her in. This woman, this incredible woman who loves me through my flaws, has my heart and has somehow saved me with her unwavering gentleness.

When I tip her chin up, her eyes never leave me, and I gasp when her hands touch and caress my face. My own hands grip her face as I continue to move inside her. Her eyes open in shock, and she lets out a joyous cry when I thrust one final time.

Arms wrap around my neck, bringing me to her so that our bodies are flush together. I rest on my elbow and touch the outline of her face.

“Thank you”—desperation floods me and spills over—“for not giving up on me. For getting me and loving me. I always knew you’d be the one to save me.”

“You’re the one who hasn’t given up.” Her fingers trace over my jaw and lips. “I can only do so much. The rest is on you.”

Her eyes soften, affection pouring from her. I inch down further and place a soft kiss to her swollen lips.

“I love you, Camden. I love every piece of you.”

My eyes close, taking in and absorbing her words as the truth. Letting them shape me. Because I choose to believe in her, in us. I choose to believe in love, daunting and fragile as it might be.

“I love you, Yanelys.” My voice comes out rough with the promise of forever enveloping us.

Her fingers dig into the back of my neck, and I touch my forehead with hers, breathing her in, letting her light and goodness bleed into me.

After showering and having breakfast with Yanelys and Olivia, we all piled into Yanelys’s car and drove to Pastor Floyd’s church.

For the past three hours, we’ve been working tirelessly, getting the church’s annual Thanksgiving lunch ready.

With the decorations hung and the aromatic scent of turkey and mashed potatoes lingering in the air, I step back and look at the sitting area just outside Pastor Floyd’s office. Small round tables fill up most of the space while the coffee table in front of the couch where I’ve slept countless times fills with food. Next to it, a small cooler—that I’ve washed after every time we’ve had one of these lunches—is full of soda and water.

It isn’t extravagant, but it’s special. And for the past seven years, it’s been mine. My sliver of peace throughout all the turmoil.

Pastor Floyd didn’t have to take me in, but he did it anyway. He gave me his kindness, and in return, I drained him. But his affection for me never emptied. He pushed and prodded and tried to help me reach a level of normalcy I’d never been able to obtain without Yanelys. Without my family.

As if pulled by my thoughts, she looks up at me from across the room, a smile playing on her lips. My heart thumps loudly in my chest, and I walk to her. With four long strides, I’m by her side, taking her into my arms. Her lips meet mine, making my heart steady while it continues to beat for her.

“You okay?” she asks, concern spilling from her eyes.

“Yeah.” I kiss her forehead, and she leans her head on my chest. “I’ve never been so okay in my life.”

“Get a room,” Jeremy, a teenage boy just as lost as I was, grunts.

Eyeing him from over Yanelys’s head, I give him a good-natured middle finger, and he chuckles, shaking his head at me, while I continue to hold Yanelys. I’ll be damned if I ever let her go.

“Quit bustin’ my balls,” I say.

“Quit being so soft,” he retaliates.

After a quick peck on Yanelys’s lips, I charge after Jeremy, who runs out the front door and into the lawn of our church. Not having exercised in years and with the symptoms of withdrawal swimming inside me, I tire easily, and when I stop chasing him, I lean over, putting my hands on my knees, out of breath.

“You’ve gone soft, old man.” Jeremy walks to me, the corners of his mouth wrinkling as his mouth breaks into a mischievous smile.

When he lightly smacks my shoulder, I wrestle him to the ground where we tussle until he’s able to pin me down.

“You need to work out more.” Jeremy smirks.

“Yeah,” I huff out. “I’m getting to it.”

“You’d better work harder before she leaves your scrawny ass for someone stronger.” His grin grows, and I scowl at him. “Like me.”

“Like you, huh?” I punch his shoulder.

He rubs where I punched, his smile never faltering. “Yeah, someone stronger and better-looking…” He trails off.

“Cocky little shit,” I mutter without a hint of anger.

“Camden.” Yanelys’s voice rings over the yard.

I glance up to see her standing by the front steps, wringing her hands together.

Concern creases her face, so I stand and rush to her side just as a familiar face takes a step out from behind Yanelys. I take the girl in, the familiarity mixing with the years of her growth I’ve missed.

“Jocelyn Marie?” I croak, my hand covering the erratic beat of my heart.

Shy, she takes a step toward me, her face more mature than I remember. Five years have passed since I’ve seen that angelic face, but now, with her standing in front of me, time stills, as if it never truly existed. Overwhelmed, I go to her, kneel in front of her, and gather her in my arms.

“Jocelyn, my sweet girl,” I murmur in Creole, cradling her head against my shoulder.

Her tears fall in rapid succession, so I hold her longer, harder, not able to let her go.

“Yvon?” I whisper, fear gripping me like a vise.

“I’m right here,” his recognizable voice calls to me and I love the sound of it and the familiarity of the language I haven’t spoken in years.

I whirl around to find his eyes dancing with humor.

With Jocelyn Marie in my arms, I go to Yvon and pull him to me, wrapping my spare arm around him. Their frames are still thin but so much sturdier than the last time I saw them.

Unashamed of the emotions washing over me, I fall to the floor, taking them with me and they nestle onto my lap. I cry as I hold on to the children I believed I’d lost. Their arms encircle me, binding us, and we stay like that, our tears blending together.

“I looked for you,” I whisper, still speaking their native tongue. My voice heavy with years of devastation. “For five years, I looked for both of you.”

Yvon steps back, leaving Jocelyn Marie sitting on my lap on the floor. “We weren’t in Haiti.” His eyes go to his little sister, the misery of the day our lives changed evident on his face. “Jocelyn got hurt, and we were air-lifted to Miami.”

A ball forms in my throat, and I swallow hard to push it down.

“How bad?” I ask, brushing her hair away from her face.

She shrugs and lifts her right pant leg, revealing a prosthetic leg. Unable to look away, I stare at her artificial limb, its existence tearing at my heart.

“It’s not so bad,” she says in English, her accent noticeable and sweet.

With her still on my lap, I dig my fingers into my jeans pocket for a pill that I no longer carry. Agitation and unease swim inside me, so I stand up, taking Jocelyn Marie with me so that she’s standing on her own.

“I can still dance,” she says, spinning on her tiptoes with the same joy displayed on her face that I remember from five years ago. “My mom takes me to classes and everything.”

My heart stalls at her words, and my brows crease together. “Your mom?”

Jocelyn Marie peers behind me, a small smile toying with the corners of her mouth. I follow her gaze and find a young couple standing next to Yanelys. Their hands are clasped, holding on to one another. The woman smiles at me and lifts a hand in silent greeting, so I do the same.

“While Jocelyn was in the hospital, I stayed with Daniel and Gloria,” he says in the same heavily accented English as his sister. He tilts his chin toward them, peace passing between them in an unspoken vow. “Jocelyn moved in with us after the doctors let her out of the hospital. After that”—he pauses, as if he’s still coming to terms with his new life—“they adopted us.”