Precious Consequences (3 page)

“Mornin’, Mom,” I greet.

“Cameron!” My mother shrieks and jumps in her chair, spilling more of Jordan’s cereal. “You’ll give your momma a heart attack sneaking up like that!” She turns to face me, her hand resting on her chest, and gives me her full, mega-watt smile.

“Sorry, Mom,” I chuckle. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just came down to grab some coffee before I take Jordan to daycare.”

“That’s fine, honey,” she says, turning her attention back to the squealing toddler in front of her. “We’re almost done here. Jordan is obviously finished with his food because now he’s just playing with it and making a mess.”

“Have you heard from Candice and Brett?” I ask, thinking about my sister. They decided to take one last holiday before their second baby is born and my mother was only too thrilled to have Jordan for the week. I had to admit, having the little man here seemed to lighten the mood in the house, maybe even breathe a little more life into it. I fill a mug with freshly brewed java and lean my hip against the counter. My mother cleans Jordan’s face and pulls him out of the high chair. As soon as his little feet hit the ground, he sets off running in my direction. I put the coffee mug down just as he hits my legs and I catch him, lifting him into my arms.

“Hey, little man. You enjoy your breakfast?” I smile at him and he nods, burrowing his head into my neck. I’ve become used to his little displays of affection and I’ll come to miss them when he leaves. Something about the way he hugs, or even touches, is so innocent and sincere. It’s a reminder of what we are, before life happens and takes it from us.

My mother comes to stand in front of us. “Your sister called this morning,” she says. “They are having a wonderful time in Paris, but she says she can’t wait to come home.” Her smile falters slightly. “I’m going to miss having Jordan here,” she adds. The sadness that has taken root in my mother's eyes shines bright. I force myself to look away, afraid that it will stifle me.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask Jordan.

He smiles wide before yelling, “Yes! Go ride in Uncle Cam’s truck!” He claps his hands excitedly and wriggles free from my grasp. He runs into the foyer and waltzes back into the kitchen, holding his backpack proudly.  My mother positions it on his back and he takes it as his cue to go to my truck.

My mother looks at me. “Cam,” she starts. “Have you been to see -” I put my hand up to stop her.

“No, Mom,” I shake my head. “Don’t.” 

“You can’t avoid it forever,” she says, her bottom lip trembling. “We’ll have to make a decision soon, and I want you to make peace b-b-before….” Her words trail off as her small body trembles, shaking with broken sobs. I wrap my arms around her and try my best to push aside my guilt long enough to comfort her. I want to say I’m sorry, but I can’t. It’s not enough. It won’t change anything. It won’t bring back what I took from our family.

My mother pulls away and looks at me. “Cam, I don’t blame you and neither does Candice. We never did. We love you,” she says, cupping my face. “Please, do it for me. Our family needs to heal, and you need to forgive yourself.” I wish her pleas fell on deaf ears, but they don’t. I hear them loud and clear.

“Mom, I - ” I don’t know what to say. It won’t be what she wants to hear, so I try for something that will satisfy her, even if it’s temporarily. “I’ll try,” I say, releasing a heavy breath from my chest. “I just need some time.” Her silent nod is acquiescing and I know she couldn’t possibly understand why I need time, or why I am undeserving of her forgiveness. I kiss her on the forehead and leave the kitchen.  Jordan is waiting patiently beside my truck and hops into his car seat as soon as I open the door. He’s quiet in the back, and I can’t say that I mind.
It makes it easier for me to deal with the clusterfuck of warring emotions in my chest during the short drive to the daycare center. I cut the ignition and jump out. When I fling Jordan onto my shoulder, his high-pitched squeal and consequent laughter somehow makes me feel lighter, like it’s okay to smile. So I do.

When I walk into the daycare center, the two women that work the front desk both smile at me, batting their eyelashes. This isn’t abnormal. I get this reaction nine times out of ten when I walk into a room. “Mornin’, ladies.” I give them the boyish grin that makes them squirm and they respond with a round of giggles. I try not to roll my eyes when they lean over and push their tits out in an attempt at being provocative.

“Hi, Cameron,” the one chimes. “What can I do for you?”

My eyebrows shoot up at her suggestive tone and she bites her lip. I have no idea who she is, or how she knows my name, but I’m almost certain she’d let me do her on the front desk if I asked.
I point to Jordan, still happily sitting on my shoulders. “Delivery,” I say. I lift Jordan over my head and put him on the ground. The other woman leans over the counter and smiles at Jordan. I can’t help but look at her generous cleavage, her nipples barely covered by her pink bra. “Hi, Jordy,” she chimes. “We missed you.”

Jordan hides behind my leg, his cheeks turning red. He’s been coming here for a year so I should’ve guessed they’d know him. When he gets older, I’ll have to teach him that looking at girls like this is fun, but they’re trouble. I’m no saint when it comes to girls and I like a good roll in the sheets as much as the next guy, but I know to avoid the ‘town bicycles’. Another term I learned from my best friend, Noah.

“Can you tell me which class to go to?” I ask, a little impatiently.

“Sure.” The woman straightens up and clears her throat, ignoring the snicker that comes from her colleague beside her. “Straight down the hall. It’s the third room on your left.” I nod my thanks and manage to drop Jordan off without much resistance. He gets a little pissy but I promise to take him for ice-cream after my swimming practice. That does the trick.

I feel hungry eyes on my back as I leave and walk back out to my truck, but what I see in the parking lot renders me speechless. And that never happens.

A woman with an amazing ass is bent over the hood of a Mini Cooper, peering down at the engine. The image and the thought of what I would like to do to that ass does more than stir my imagination. “Fuck,” she mutters. I didn’t think a curse word could sound so sexy coming from a woman’s lips, but hell, I wish she’d say it again. I take a step closer; the gravel sifting under my shoe alerts her to my presence. She spins around and fixes me with an alarmed gaze. Her long brown hair hangs down past her shoulders in soft ringlets. The white tank top she’s wearing hugs her figure and shows off her perfect tits. My eyes move lower, noticing how her jeans cover her long legs like a second skin. Rachel is a looker, but it’s all fake. Fake nails, fake hair, fake tits. But nothing about the sexy-as-fuck woman in front of me is fake.

“Sorry,” I say lifting my hands up. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Do you need help?”

“Yeah, um, my car…” she hesitates, looking from me to her car and then back again. “It won’t start and I don’t think it’s the battery.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

She nods once. “Sure.”

I take a step closer and catch a whiff of her perfume. It’s sweet, and light, and when a slight breeze catches her hair, her scent mingles with that of shampoo. It’s distracting. I shake my head, clearing it of all unsavory images.

“I can’t see anything,” I say, bending over the engine. “But my buddy owns a tow truck business. I could give him a call if you want?”

She pulls her lip between her teeth and I can tell she’s not trying to be sexy. She’s trying to decide whether she can trust me or not. “Do you know how long it will take?” she asks. A frown mars her beautiful features and I wonder what has her so worried.

“You have somewhere to be?”

“I have class in an hour. It’s my first day and I don’t want to be late.”

“You need a ride? I’m heading over to the University anyway.”

She thinks it over. “You’re not a serial killer, are you?”

I throw my head back and laugh. I can’t help myself. She asks the question so seriously. Is she for real?

“What gave me away?” I ask between my fits of laughter. “Is it my tattoos?”

Her lips lift into a shy smile. “Sorry,” she giggles. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I wasn’t expecting help from a complete stranger.” Her eyes drift down my body, paying special attention to my ink.

“None taken….” I wait for her to give me her name.

“Oh, sorry.” she says flustered. “Hayley. My name’s Hayley.”

I smile, watching her cheeks flush. “It’s nice to meet you Hayley.”

Her eyebrows lift, and I suspect she’s waiting for me to tell her my name in return. “Well?” she urges. “Don’t you have a name?”

I chuckle. “What kind of serial killer would I be if I gave you my name?”

She rolls her eyes but I can see the smile playing on her lips. “Can you at least phone your friend so we can have my car taken to a garage? Please? I’ll worry about you killing me later.”

Oh, shit. I totally forgot about that.

I pull my phone out, laughing at her again, and dial Greg’s number. Within ten minutes I’ve arranged for Hayley’s Mini to be towed and taken back to Greg’s garage in town. I’ve also asked him to have it fixed and driven back to where she lives. 

“Done,” I say, ending the call and looking back at Hayley. “Grab your stuff. We wouldn’t want you to be late for class on your first day of college, now, would we?”

Hayley opens her car door and retrieves her bag, while I close the hood of her car. She follows me to my truck, hesitating when I open the passenger door. I grin. “I’m not a serial killer, Hayley.”

She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth to hide her smile. “That’s what serial killers say.”

I shake my head, amused.

This girl is unbelievable.

Chapter 3

~ Hayley ~

I wait, hoping that the sexy stranger in front of me will tell me his name before I decide to get in his truck. I have forty minutes to get to class, and it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to turn down my ride, but I’d feel a little more at ease if I can put a name to the picturesque face staring at me with an amused expression. He takes a step closer to me and I have to resist the innate urge to step back. I don’t feel threatened, or in danger, but I’m still cautious. The old Hayley wouldn’t have given this a second thought. She might’ve even considered doing dirty things with this stranger in return for his help. But I’m not that girl anymore. And now, more than ever, I’m trying to prove that.

“I promise, Hayley,” he says gently. The way he says my name is distracting. “I’m not a serial killer, and I won’t try any funny business. At least not until I know you a little better.” He grins, a dimple forming on each cheek, and the tension evaporates from my shoulders. His easy-going demeanor is infectious and I can’t help but return his smile.

“How can I trust you if I don’t know your name?” I tease.

“What makes you think you can trust me?” he retorts.

I scan his face. “I’ll take my chances,” I say confidently. “Your tattoos don’t make you look as scary as you’d think.”

He smirks. “You’ve been checking out my ink. You like it?”

I look down, hiding my blush, and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I like his ink more than I’m willing to admit, but he doesn’t need to know that. I don’t even know him.

“Alright, that blush in your cheeks has convinced me,” he continues. “I’m Cameron.” He sticks his hand out and I shake it. “Now, will you get in the truck so we can get to class?” he adds. I nod and he helps me into the truck before making his way to the driver’s side. The truck roars to life and ‘Cruise’ by Florida Georgia Line blares through the radio. Cameron reaches over and turns it down. “Sorry,” he chuckles. “I like the music loud.”

“It’s fine,” I reply. “I like
this
song.”

“You like Country music?” he asks incredulously. I try my best not to look affronted.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugs sheepishly. “You look like more of a ‘Pop’ music kind of girl.”

I snort. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m not disappointed,” he mumbles. I’m sure he had no intention of me hearing that so I don’t respond. Instead, I sit in an awkward silence as we pull onto the road and hum along quietly to the song playing through the speakers. After a few minutes, Cameron breaks the silence, forcing me to look at him.

“Are you new in town?” he asks. “I’ve never really seen you around here.”

“I guess you could say that.” There’s no way I’m telling him that I’ve been in hiding for the last two years. That’s not something I plan on explaining to a stranger. Or anyone
,
for that matter. I’ve worked hard to leave my past behind me and I have no intention of digging it up. No one knows the old Hayley, and that’s the way I’d like to keep it.

“What about you?” I ask, genuinely interested. “What’s your story?”

Cameron looks at me briefly and then focuses his attention back on the road. “Aside from being a serial killer?” he snickers. Admittedly, the serial killer comment wasn’t my finest moment, but it slipped out before I could stop it. I try to hide my embarrassment but Cameron’s knowing grin lets me know that he sees it anyway. “I was born here,” he continues. “Haven’t found a good enough reason to leave yet.”

The cab of the truck falls silent again and I take the opportunity to look at him. Short, brown locks graze his forehead, the hair on the sides of his head shaved a little shorter. His white t-shirt molds to his torso and shows off a broad set of shoulders and well-defined pectoral muscles. The colors of his tattoo show through his shirt and continue until his elbow. I can’t make out what it is, but I’m very much intrigued. It looks like legs, extending to his elbow, and maybe
angel wings of some kind. My eyes travel lower, to where his jeans fit snuggly around his waist and tighten around his thighs. His height gives him a leaner appearance and it’s obvious he works out, but he lacks the bulkiness associated with football players.