Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 48306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
“Mom, what’s—”
“Just get in the car, Waverly,” she mutters.
“Mom—”
“If I don’t kill him, I may just have a third option.”
17
Camden
I stare, and the bottle stares right back at me.
Little fucker.
The bottle is a 1944 MacDonahugh which I bought at an auction for twenty grand after my first month of sobriety. Everyone at rehab thought I was fucking nuts, and I’m pretty sure my sponsor wrote me off entirely. I mean, I couldn’t even roll my own wheelchair into the auction, I had to ask someone to do it for me. And yeah, maybe it was crazy, but I knew what I was doing.
Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Keep your demons where you can see them.
I used to worry about temptation. I’d worry that even having it in my house was like keeping a live hand grenade under your pillow. But now, I know it’s harmless. I know my demons have no power over me anymore. Well, no power that I can’t control. The bottle will always have a hold on me. I just have to be stronger.
And I am stronger.
There’s a knock at my front door, and I blink as I look away from the scotch. I make my way to the door, glancing at my phone, but there’s nothing from Waverly.
I take a breath, and I open the door, but nothing prepares me for seeing Natasha Owens staring back at me.
I pause, my eyes dropping to her hands, and she smiles thinly.
“No, I didn’t bring it,” she mutters. “It was fake anyways.”
She steps past me into the house, and I frown in confusion as I turn and follow her in, closing the door behind me.
“Natasha—”
“Do you love her?”
She turns abruptly in my living room, spitting the words at me.
“And I mean love, Camden. Not lust. I mean do you love her.”
“Yes.”
“Camden—”
“Unconditionally, unequivocally, yes, Natasha.”
She purses her lips, eying me before she turns to look out the windows.
“Do you have anything to drink?”
I smile. “A 1944 MacDonahugh scotch?”
She turns arching a brow. “I meant more like wine.”
“I’m sober.”
She frowns. “Oh?”
“Three years.”
“Congratulations,” she says flatly.
I shrug. “You really can have the scotch if you want some.”
“You were serious about having a seventy-five-year-old bottle of scotch? And you’re sober?”
“It’s complicated,” I say quietly.
“Well isn’t that the theme of the fucking day.”
I smile. “Touché.”
“Camden—”
“Natasha, nothing happened before she was eighteen. And I don’t mean that in a creepy ‘biding my time’ fucked up way, or like I was fucking grooming her or anything. I mean literally nothing. I was on a dating app—”
“She filled me in,” Waverly’s mom says dryly. She starts to pace, her hands wringing.
“This isn’t a fun spot to be in, Camden.”
“It was never my intention—”
“Well what was your intention?”
My jaw clenches. “You know what? Fire me if you have to. Believe me, I get it, and I’d do the same fucking thing if our roles were reversed. But I’m not a monster, Natasha. I’m not a creep just preying on your daughter. I’m not in love with her because of her age. I love her for her.” I shake my head.
“I’m in love with your daughter, plain and simple. I don’t know how to change that, or explain it, because how does anyone explain any love. It just is, and I can stop loving her as easy as I can stop the fucking rain.”
She takes that in, taking a breath.
“Here’s the problem,” she finally says. “You love her? She loves you? Great. But that doesn’t change the fact that you overstepped a major school rule, ethically, morally, and quite literally.”
“I know, and I accept that, which is why—”
“I wasn’t done,” she snaps.
I nod, gesturing with my hand for her to keep going.
“If I fire you, and send you packing, I’m going to lose my daughter.”
“Natasha, that was never—”
“Well, it’s where we are. And I can see it in her eyes.” She shakes her head. “Goddamnit, Camden, she’s head over heels for you.”
I do my best to hide the smile, given the current tone of conversation.
“And if I don’t fire you, it goes against my own professional obligations, not to mention my own ethics and morals. So, we’re at an impasse.”
I look away, frowning before I glance back at her.
“I could quit. Actually, I was just contacted by the USA Swimming organization today about…” I clear my throat, and she frowns.
“They want me to try out for Team USA. For the Olympics.”
Natasha’s brows arch. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. It’s not for a while, but I could quit now.”
“Before regionals.”
“If you want, sure—”
“No, I mean, would you quit before regionals?”
I nod. “Yeah, if you wanted me to.”
She purses her lips, shaking her head slowly as she looks away.
“And if I don’t?”
I frown. “I’m not sure I follow.”
She turns back, her mouth tight.
“Those kids, Waverly included, have worked their asses off. For a lot of them, swimming is more than a hobby or sport, it’s a real passion. And for some, like Waverly, it might be their future. You’re going to quit on them before they show what they can do at regionals?”