Stray for You (Rainbow Rescue Cat Café #3)

Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Julian

THAT CAN’T BE IT. That cannot be what’s behind all this.

I sit up in the bed, heedless of the sheets falling to my hips and the chill against my bare skin. All of these years, all of this resentment — it can’t stem from one stupid, simple moment in Cameron’s bedroom years ago. I was only half-serious. Sure, I leaned in to kiss him, but it was nothing. It was silly nonsense. Has Cameron seriously held onto that moment all this time? How can he believe that that is why our mothers broke up? It had nothing to do with us. They were adults. Sure, they wanted us to get along, but we could not have possibly precipitated their breakup with a silly, meaningless moment of harmless flirtation.

Cameron sits up beside me. “Are you okay?”

For once, I’m speechless. I flounder for words, but my lips flap uselessly before I manage to find them.

In the end, all I manage is, “You really think…”

“I don’t know,” Cameron says. “I can’t ever know for sure. But you asked why I hesitate around you, and that’s the reason. I can’t forget about it. I can’t help wondering.”

I chance a look at him. “Have you ever asked your mom if we had anything to do with the breakup?”

Cameron shifts beside me. “Well, no, but…”

Christ, he hasn’t even asked her. He doesn’t even know. He’s simply held on to this assumption, and his anger around it, for so long that it’s become settled fact for him. And it might well ruin the best thing either us ever have.

“Would you ask her?” I try.

The skin around his eyes tightens in a flinch.

“I don’t know,” he says, but what I hear is “no.” “What if it’s painful for her?” he continues. “I don’t want to bring it up if she doesn’t want to think about it.”

“It’s been years, Cam. Give your mother a little credit. She always seemed strong and capable to me. I think she can handle it.”

He’s staring down at the sheets as he twists them between his hands. I therefore only catch the edge of his grimace.

“But—”

“I’m not asking her, Julian,” he snaps.

When he looks up, those dark eyes of his blaze. It isn’t anger. That would be too simple, too obvious. What shimmers in those inky depths is raw, unfiltered fear.

All my objections die on my tongue. This topic clearly triggers something in him. He might be overreacting, but his response is entirely genuine. This is the first time I’ve glimpsed the scars his father left when he walked out of Cameron’s life. It’s a pain I don’t carry myself. How can I mourn a man I never knew? But as I stare into Cameron’s eyes, I watch him relive the day his father left like it happened this very morning. Fair or not, what happened with our moms after that got all tangled up in that memory, to the point that the breakup brings him right back to the most traumatic day of his life. No wonder he refuses to go near it.

I want to hug him. I want to touch him and tell him it’s going to be okay. I want to show him that this is different, that he’s throwing away something that could be so good because of a phantom that can’t hurt him anymore. He’s okay. His mom is okay. My mom is okay. Everyone only wants him to be happy, but I don’t know how to convince Cameron of that.

He’s trapped in a past I got sucked into by chance, and I have no idea how to free him from it.

WE GET TAKE OUT for dinner and eat it awkwardly on the couch. We’ll use my groceries tomorrow, Cameron promises, but the food can rot there on the counter for all I care. The tension between us never dissipates, but it fades enough that we can pretend everything’s fine long enough to eat and go to bed. I don’t touch him, just roll over onto my side and try to sleep.

My mind never quite settles. I toss and turn, replaying our conversation all night long. When morning creeps into Cameron’s room, I feel more exhausted than when we laid down last night.

“I need to work,” Cameron says. “I wasn’t able to get anyone to cover this shift, sorry.”

He doesn’t seem sorry, and I’m not sure I feel sorry either. Is this even true or did he just want an excuse to get away from me today? I kiss him goodbye, but a tiny kernel of relief wriggles into my chest when the apartment door closes behind him.

Then the pacing begins.

I can’t stay still, but I have nowhere to go. I don’t know this little town he lives in. I’m only here to see Cameron, who will apparently never feel the way I do about him because of a whole fucked up web of memories I play only a small part in. I didn’t think I came here with any expectations, but maybe I was kidding myself by thinking that. That conversation from last night still weighs on me. It perches on my shoulders like birds digging their talons into my skin and squawking in my ears. No matter how many laps I make around Cameron’s apartment, I can’t drive them off.

I just don’t get it. How can he keep himself so trapped in the past, and such a ridiculous past at that? I used to call him brother because I liked getting a rise out of him, but maybe I pushed it too far. I didn’t realize he was hurting this way. I didn’t realize how deep the scars went. Maybe all my harmless jokes cut more keenly than I assumed. I just wanted his attention. I was young and stupid and hopelessly enamored with him, and I didn’t know how to make him look at me except by teasing him. All that time, all I wanted was this, a chance to be close to him, a chance to be myself around him.

I guess he didn’t like what he found. Not enough to give me a shot, anyway.

Eventually, I give up and leave the apartment complex. I have no reason to return to the grocery store for the third day in a row, but I don’t know where else to go. If we were in Seattle, I could keep myself busy, but Cameron lives in some random suburb that’s mostly apartments and houses and grocery stores. I wander aimlessly around the block, pounding my frustration out into each step on the sidewalk. When I loop back around and find myself at Cameron’s apartment again, my mindset hasn’t improved.

Defeated, I head back inside. I try to watch something, but I go down almost the moment I sit on the couch. My night of anxious, spiraling worry left me exhausted, and before I even realize that I fell asleep, I’m startling awake on the couch. The streaming service paused at some point. It’s asking me if I’m planning to continue or not. I click a button on the remote, not because I care about whatever’s on, but because without the noise, the silence leaves too much space in my head for thoughts.

I can’t go on like this. I still have days left with Cameron here. This trip is supposed to be fun. I hoped for a little more than fun, but if all Cameron has to offer is fun, I shouldn’t have a problem with that. “Just fun” has been my whole life until now. Maybe I’m out of my depth here. Maybe someone else would know how to handle this. Maybe they would understand Cameron’s reaction better than I do.

I need help, I concede. Whatever this is, however it’s going to play out, I can’t figure this out on my own. And there is only one person who can save me.

I start texting my mother, fingers fumbling. Thankfully, she’s available and responds quickly with the information I need. The moment she sends the phone number through, I click it, not trusting myself if I let it sit for too long. I need to do this now, while I still have the nerve to go through with it.

I swallow hard as I watch the number flash on my phone and hear the trill of the ring.

The phone rings once, twice. My heart slams at my chest. I nearly hang up, but on the third ring, she answers.

“Hello?”

“Miss Ortiz?” I say.

“Yes, who’s calling?”

“This is … this is Julian Brooks. We ran into each other in the grocery store yesterday. I’m sorry, I asked my mother for your number. I…”

Holy shit, this is weird. I never spoke to Miss Ortiz one-on-one in all the time she dated my mom. I was polite enough to her. I’d hug her hello. I’d get her a Christmas gift. But I was just being friendly for my mother’s sake.

“Julian,” she says. “It’s … nice to hear from you. Is everything okay?”

I can’t blame her for the skepticism in her voice. She hasn’t been with my mom in five years and now lives on the other side of the country. This must seem incredibly strange. It is incredibly strange. But I didn’t know who else to reach out to for help.

“Miss Ortiz, I…” I stumble, and have to pause in order to gather myself. I’ve never felt so unsure. “Miss Ortiz, I’ve been seeing Cameron. That’s actually… He’s why I’m here. I was in town for a conference a couple weeks ago, and we met up, and… Well, anyway, I came back to see him again. And … and I think I love him.”

Silence greets my fumbling speech. I didn’t have a plan going into this conversation, and my heart is fluttering like a hummingbird as what I just said sinks in. Love him. I love him. Of course I do.

“Julian, are you still there?”

“Y-yes, yes, I’m here.”

“Are you alright? You sound panicky.”

I laugh dryly. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Miss Ortiz says slowly, “well, I appreciate you calling and telling me this, but I do have to ask what this has to do with me. Does Cameron know how you feel?”

“Maybe? I’m not sure. I thought so, but last night we… We started talking, and I asked him if we could keep seeing each other. He seemed reluctant. He said … something about me hurting you.”

This time, the silence comes from Miss Ortiz’s end of the line.

“I see,” she says eventually.

“This doesn’t sound like it’s news to you.”

“No, I’m afraid it’s not.”

Her sigh turns the connection into static for a moment. Her exasperation offers the first shred of hope I have felt since last night.

“Cameron … struggled with his father leaving,” she says. “We both did, but I think it hit him harder than me. I knew Ken was an asshole, but I tried to hide it from Cameron. I thought we could work it out. At worst, I never thought he’d up and leave his own son that way. Cameron was completely blind-sided. We were always close, but ever since then… I think he’s just scared.”

“I know,” I say softly. “But what if his fear holds him back? What if it keeps him from having a life?”

“Oh, honey,” Miss Ortiz says. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

Emotion closes up my throat. “I think I do, but I don’t know how to get him to trust me. He blames me for whatever happened between you and my mom, and I can’t seem to convince him otherwise.”

For a while, Miss Ortiz is quiet. I hang my head, fearing even she doesn’t see a way through this. Then at last she speaks again:

“I have an idea.”