Prescription For Love (The Kingsley Series) (15 page)

"Oh, jeez, Gran, it's his girlfriend! Now we'll have to listen to him make smooching noises!" Cameron heard, the prepubescent young voice of Mac's son sounding through on the other end of the call.

"Smooching noises? You gonna make smooching noises at me, Mac? Because I'm having a hard time reconciling smooching noises with the biker badass who took me out for burgers. Oh, unless the zoo guy does phone smooches."

"Oh I can do more than smooches," he laughed. "But I'll spare you, and instead I'll tell you I can't wait to get home. We may only have been out a few times, but I've missed dropping in to see you."

"Ew, I'm gonna puke!" Logan's voice shrilled in the background again, followed by wild laughter.

"He is too funny. Doesn't he like girls yet?" Cameron laughed, listening as Mac growled and then Logan's laughter grew louder as, she assumed, he had snatched his son close to him.

"Actually," Mac said, sobering, "he has a girlfriend, one of the little girls in his class. He doesn't usually act like this; he's just showing off because you're the first girl he's known about since Alex. I think maybe he’s okay with the idea of me moving on." His voice was low and smooth. The happiness he felt in the presence of his family was obvious to her; she found it endearing and couldn't help wondering more about them.

"That's pretty fast though, isn't it? I mean, like you said, we've only been out a few times, and --"

"Cameron, I know what I want. I know when I'm not seeing it, and I know when I am."

"I see," Cameron murmured, her face heating with pleasure in spite of her appearance in the bathroom mirror. She'd been cleaning her house all day, going through old boxes and de-cluttering the closets. She was covered in dust, her vibrant purple t-shirt now dulled in places to pale lavender. Tucking the phone between her shoulder and her ear, she unbuttoned her jeans and slipped her hands in, running them over her hips to slide the hugging denim down her legs. Her panties followed, and she abandoned her clothes in a pool of fabric on the floor. Michael was out on a date, and she was planning to use the alone time for a long hot bath, phone call or no phone call from Mac.

Stalking across the bathroom floor, she listened as he instructed his young son to go and take his shower, listened to Logan's responding groan, and then smiled to herself as Mac's smile broke into his voice. He may bicker endlessly with his son, but even in that, they obviously loved each other.

"You sound so in love with him," she said, grinning in response to Mac’s obvious happiness. Turning the water on, she flipped the plug to trap the water and dribbled vanilla scented oil into the water, watching the colored oil mix into the bath, spreading and dissipating with the force of the water.

"I am," Mac said. "He's a good kid. Is that water in the background?"

"Uh, yeah, don't ask," Cameron said, changing the subject back to Logan. "So," she asked, "since he knows about me, what does he say?"

"He says, 'Ew dad, you're old! What do you need a girlfriend for?'"

"I see. And in your ancient wisdom, what do you tell him?" Cameron asked. Standing in front of the mirror, she grinned at her reflection, listening to Mac roar with laughter. She twisted to inspect her rear, ran her hands over the curve of her hip and up the slight indentation of her waist. As always, the tattoo under her left breast caught her eye, the raised black ink stark against the natural tone of her skin.

My Own.

To some degree, Cameron almost liked the tattoo; slightly hidden below the heavy curve of her breast, the tattoo was dainty, slanted and feminine in a font with elegantly curved letters. It was the history of the mark that shamed her, the remembrance of how she came to wear it that made it ugly,  and the fact that it was like a modern brand, marking her as someone else’s property. Still, without the history, viewed only as a work of art in itself, it wasn't exactly terrible.

"I'm sorry, what?" Cameron asked, tuning in to realize Mac had been calling her name. "I'm here, I just got distracted."

"I said I told him he'll understand when he's older," Mac answered. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good, I'm sorry. Really, I'm good. I can't believe you gave the kid that tired line though. He'll understand when he's older?" Cameron's fingers traced the tattoo as she listened to Mac laugh and joke on the other end of the phone.

"Well, he will. One day he'll meet a pretty lady like I did, and when she's with him, his problems will fall away, and when she's not, he'll wish that she was. And he'll get it."

"Is that how it works, then?" Cameron teased, turning away from the mirror to turn off the bathwater and slip beneath the silken surface of the scented water.

"I hope so," Mac murmured. "I'd hate for him to suffer through dozens of wrong ones first. I want him to have someone good in his life someday."

Cameron sighed, her breasts rising with her breath and then sinking into the water as she relaxed further. Crossing her ankles on the edge of the tub, she rested the curve of her skull against the wall and closed her eyes. "Is it really that possible?" she asked.

"I think so," he answered. "I found love when I was young. Alex and I were inseparable from the day we met until the day she was gone. And I don't fall into that one person for each person philosophy. I think when two people who are reasonably compatible get together, and they want things to work out, they work to work it out, to make it solid, to make it right."

"Even people who are damaged?" she whispered.

"Damaged?"

"Yeah, like me. Like you. People touched by tragedy or violence, or just bitterness. Do you think it can happen then?" Cameron listened to the silence as Mac gathered what he wanted to say; he sighed, and in the quiet, she could hear the cartoons Logan had been watching in the background.

"I think people who can let go of the bad or learn to embrace it can find happiness, even if it was stolen from them in the most horrible ways. I see it all the time in my work, Cameron. People come to me so broken that they can barely move, but they learn and they grow, and they adjust. A bad past or a tragic event doesn't have to ruin everything. You know the old adage, 'if at first you don't succeed --'"

"'Try, try again.' I had a teacher who always used to say that when I was younger." Cameron laughed, remembering the cranky old woman who'd taught her fifth grade reading class.

"Me too," Mac answered. "But I still believe mine."

Cameron's laughter caught in her throat, the knowledge of her own bitterness rising up to taunt her. "I'm not sure I do," she admitted, the rush of air from the air conditioner vent cooling her skin. She lowered her feet into the water, swishing them back and forth, and then raised one foot again to twist the hot water tap with her toe. A trickle of warmth cascaded into the tub, instantly warming the bath near her feet.

"I think somewhere inside you, you believe it," Mac murmured quietly. The sound of the TV quieted, and Cameron listened as he put his son to bed.

"You believe it," he repeated when he'd finished with Logan. "Because otherwise you wouldn't have been willing to even try with me, Cameron. Somewhere, there's a part of you that still believes in possibility."

"But why didn't I before?" she asked, watching steam rise from the bathwater near her feet, swishing her toes back and forth to spread the heat of the new water.

"Didn't you?" Mac challenged.

"I didn't date," Cameron answered, frowning.

"Maybe, Cameron, it wasn't you that you didn't believe in. Maybe you just didn't meet someone you thought could handle whatever it is that bothers you."

"And have I now? You know, met someone? Someone who can handle it, I mean?"

Mac chuckled. "I'm a therapist, remember? My job is to listen to people's horrors, and then help them find their way out of the darkness."

"But I'm not a patient Mac."

"Honey, my ability to care doesn't just kick in when the insurance companies write a check. I see you, and sometimes you're lighthearted and laughing and you have the cutest little smile when I've said something nice that you don't believe. And then other times, you get this look on your face, like something has reached out to you that's dark and repulsive, and you've accidentally taken it in, and let it poison you. And I want to catch you up and kiss it away, and listen to your stories, and reassure you that you're just right, and perfectly perfect."

"What if I can't be fixed?" Cameron asked.

"What if you aren't broken?" he answered.

***

"You seem a little distracted tonight," Mac said, stopping and taking Cameron's hand. He drew her back to him, tucking a loose bit of her hair behind her ear.

"I'm okay, Mac," she lied.
I'm as okay as I can be on the tenth anniversary of the worst day of my life.

"You sure you're up for this? We don't have to go to the show. I mean, it'll be crowded, and ... " he trailed off with a sigh. "We can just go somewhere quiet. Dinner? Maybe a movie?"

Cameron laughed in spite of the quiet panic threatening to choke her. "Nope. I'm doing the conquering fear thing lately, remember?"

"If you're sure," Mac said, allowing Cameron to pull him along as she started walking again. He knew the concert would be crowded and loud, and Cameron seemed to be more tense than usual. He was aching to ask her what was really wrong, what had happened to her that made her so skittish and closed off. Respecting her right to talk when she was ready was getting harder and harder as his need to take things to the next level grew more persistent.

A man could only hold a girl so many times without wanting something more. He could only kiss her forehead so many times without longing for her lips. He could only kiss her lips gently so many times before his body started craving her body.

What the hell happened to you?
he thought, sneaking a look at her swaying hips before catching up to her completely.

"Thank you for being concerned," Cameron murmured, looking over at him as he came alongside her. Her eyes caught a glimpse of something over his shoulder, and as he glanced over at her, the color drained from her face. She froze, ripping her hand from his. Confusion gripped him as he watched her fingers tangle together, her hands gripping tightly together over her stomach, knotting protectively beneath her left breast.

"Cameron?" Mac asked, looking quickly around. The area was not terribly crowded yet, but it was already busy, full of men and women walking together toward the site of the outdoor concert. "Cameron!" he called her name sharply, but she was frozen in place, her dark eyes filling with tears as she watched a crowd of men lounging with their women on the riverside lawn.

Her tongue darted out, dipping to the corner of her mouth and then swiping across her bottom lip, her eyes still watching the crowd, her body tense beside him. "Oh God, no," she whispered. "No, no, no."

"Cameron!" Mac snapped his fingers in front of her, but her eyes were sightless now, her face showing a mix of emotions as her entire body began to tremble.

"Dude, she cool?" someone asked, tapping Mac on the shoulder. To his credit, he did look concerned, but his most genuine emotion seemed to be simple curiosity.

"She's fine," Mac lied. "She, uh, just got bad news on the phone." He sent the other man away, and turned back to Cameron, who seemed to have shrunken in on herself in the absence of his attention. As her date, she looked frightening to Mac, still quietly whispering, "No, no, please no," holding her arms around her waist as if desperately afraid of something. As a therapist, Mac dug into his career history, and he saw a classic post-traumatic panic attack.

"What to do, what to do," Mac muttered. Taking her arm to guide her might snap her out of it, but it might also jar her and cause her to scream or lash out, which would make their situation much worse in a crowd full of people who might misjudge what was going on. Still, he couldn't just stand there and watch her implode, so he took the risk.