The One That Got Away (10 page)

He
turned on his heel and stomped from the bedroom. His head hurt like a
bitch—thanks to the booze—but his heart hurt worse. He
snatched up the phone and talked in a clipped tone to his boss. The
head chef was off sick so he needed Will to cover. He looked back at
the room Cammy was in and agreed.

He
would need something to take her from his mind—once he had
gotten her out of his life.

Fuck,
and to think he had pined for her for most of his life! Before he let
his temper flare he reminded himself it wasn’t her fault that
she had moved on and he hadn’t. It wasn’t her fault he
had given his heart to her all those years ago.

But
it was her fault that he had to take the rejection for the third
time. What was she even doing here?

With
that thought in mind, Will strode back into his room to ask.

*
* * *

Cammy
looked up from making Will’s bed when he entered the room. He
stopped dead in his tracks and watched her with cold eyes. She
couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk as he pinned her with a
look that spoke of anger and hate. She gripped her hands together and
dropped her gaze, as fear bit into her chest like a venomous snake.

His
nasty glare was so reminiscent of his father that Cammy had to fight
to keep from running.

Just
breathe. It isn’t him. This is Will; he would never hurt you,
like his father did.

The
words that she knew to be true, gave her courage and she raised her
stare once more. Will was standing closer now, his hate-filled gaze
no less hateful.

“
Please—don’t
look at me like that,” she pleaded, hating that she begged. She
had promised never to beg again—never to cower and whimper to
anyone again. But Will looked so much like his father, it was
impossible not to allow the old fright to climb.

He
didn’t react to her words, he just moved closer and barked,
“Why are you here?”

Cammy
swallowed and tried to square her shoulders. How dare he stand and
yell at her, when she had all but dragged his sorry ass to bed last
night? She had cleared up the mess and destruction he had wrought in
his drunken stupor. Foolishly she had been worried he might cut his
feet if he forgot it was there.

She
wanted to laugh, and if the fear hadn’t closed around her
throat in an iron fist, she would have. She shook her head and tried
to walk past him. He stopped her by taking hold of her arm and
dragged her back a step.

“
Get
off me,” she growled through her teeth—hating that, no
matter how angry she was, her skin still heated under his firm touch.

“
Not
until you tell me why you’re here.” Venom sat in his tone
and stung at her ears. She winced inside and felt her heart shrivel.

“
No!”
she growled in reply. There was no way she would tell him now why she
had come. No way in hell she would admit to loving him now. How could
she love a man who had turned into his vile father? Realization
hammered into her organs with a painful thud. How could she claim to
love a man when his father had tried to kill her? How could she love
anything that was related to that scum?

How
could she love a man who had left her—twice?

She
couldn’t.

Something
gave way in her chest, and Cammy ignored her mind as it railed
against her decision. She had done it for ten years, ignored her
heart’s demands to find him. And she just supposed this was a
fight she would have to win every day for the rest of her life.

She
couldn’t be with him if he was an aggressive drunk like his
father.

She
yanked her arm free from his iron grip. She lifted her chin and
glared with all the hate she felt. “Get. Out. My. Way.”
Her voice sounded manic, crazy. And as if he was worried about what
she would do next, he took a step back.

Wide-eyed
and watching her, he allowed her to step past him. She felt his hand
circle her wrist, she stopped walking but did not turn.

“
Just
tell me why you came.” He sounded so reasonable, so calm. Cammy
swallowed and dropped her head. She fought the need to fall into his
arms and tell him she had loved him for years.

He
wasn’t the man she had thought him to be. He was weak like his
father, violent and a drunk. Disappointment crashed inside her.

“
I
came to say goodbye,” she lied.

His
hand tightened on her wrist. He pulled her around and wrapped his
arms around her body and held her close. Emotion rose in her throat
and threatened to choke her. Will’s arms held her in a fierce
grip and Cammy fell against him in defeat.

So
easily she fell for him all those years ago. So easily she fell
again—tumbled in that bed-and-breakfast bed. And she wasn’t
sure she could ever get up again. She wasn’t sure she even
wanted to.

“
Don’t
say goodbye,” he whispered into her hair. His breath tickled
all the way to her scalp, and Cammy held her breath against the surge
of heat.

“
I
have to,” she replied honestly. Tears burned her eyes and
threatened to fall. She shoved away from his chest and took a step
back. She kept her gaze down, because she never wanted to see hate in
his eyes again.

“
No,
you don’t.” His voice had taken on that demanding—oh
so domineering tone—and Cammy turned away from him. “Why
did you come?” he demanded again.

Cammy
took one step, then another and headed for the apartment door. Her
hand fell on the handle but suddenly he took her shoulder in a heavy
grip and held her back.

Fire
crackled under her skin. Why wouldn’t he just let her go?
Disappointment still stung and the concoction of hurt, rage and fear
slammed into her mood. She spun on him and glared.

“
Yes,
I do! You’re not the man I remembered. You’re a drunk, a
violent drunk—just like him. And I will
not
fall victim to that again! I will never be attacked by a mean drunk
Granger man ever again!” she yelled with all her might. Her
voice rang out into the large apartment and bounced back to her ears,
just as shock registered on Will’s face.

Oh
fuck!

His
eyes flicked down to her scars and back up to her eyes. He stared at
her as if searching for some truth—and he apparently found it.

“
He
did that?”

Oh,
God. Oh, God. How could I have told him? Especially like this
?
Shouting his surname had been spontaneous and uncontrollable, but
equally cruel.

She
felt sick and suddenly dizzy. The look on Will’s face would
haunt her forever. He staggered back a step and then caught himself.
His pained gaze fell back onto her neck and Cammy gritted her teeth
against the need to cover it up. She had told him—and she had
nothing to be ashamed of.

So
why did she feel ashamed? Because she had basically told Will she
believed he was the same as her attacker—his father.

“
My—he
did that, to you?” His voice was a whisper, sounding dazed,
shocked and broken. Will waited for Cammy to reply.

She
nodded and felt the tears burn her eyes. The warm drops wet her
cheeks as they fell, and Cammy fought to breathe through it all. He
swore soundly and ran his fingers through his hair. She watched him
turn around, his shoulders stiff and his steps shaky.

“
When?”
he demanded, sounding angry—violent.

Cammy’s
blood went cold, and her inner alarms began to buzz wildly.

“
When
I was nineteen—I went–” She swallowed the hard lump
in her throat when Will looked at her over his shoulder
.
He hates me
.
“I went to find out if he had heard from you. It-it was your
birthday.” Tears fell rapidly and dripped from her chin. Will
just watched her over his shoulder as if working out what to think.

Oh,
God, he doesn’t believe me.

Cammy’s
heart pounded, throbbing as her stomach rolled. What had she done?
Panic clawed at her neck and closed around her lungs, and Cammy had
to get out. She turned, yanked open the door and ran for the stairs.

Chapter
Ten

Will
sat back from his computer and thought over the email he had just
read. It was from an old friend who was in the police force, someone
he knew when he was a kid, and apparently someone who knew all about
his father—and his violent moods.

From
what Will could gather, his father had often been dragged out of pub
brawls and fights—always because he was too drunk, and always
because he had been the one to start it. Will knew that the man
was—or had been—a prize dick, and he was just finding out
his father had been a lot worse than that.

He
dropped his head into his hands and groaned out loud. His heart hung
heavy in his chest and beat with slow, painful thuds. Guilt was an
uncomfortable taste in his mouth, and Will had no idea how to change
it.

The
memory of how Cammy looked when she had told him about his father
still felt like a punch to the neck. It winded him and caused him
pain whenever his bastard mind replayed it. But worse than that was
the knowledge that he had caused it. He had caused the scars to her
neck; he had caused—not directly, but most definitely
inadvertently—his father to attack her, in what his friend the
police officer described as an unprovoked brutal show of violence.
Will stood up as the force of his anger made him act. He stalked over
to the window and watched as the busy people in the street milled by.

The
last line of the email confused him:
‘She
dropped the charges—saying she couldn’t be sure it had
been him who had attacked her.’
Why
had she dropped the charges? It didn’t make sense. When she had
told him that horrible morning, just before she left his life, she
was certain it had been his father—absolutely certain. And Will
trusted her.

A
heavy double knock sounded on his front door. Will turned and went to
let his friend Rich in.

“
All
right, mate?” Rich asked cheerfully. He held up some beer and
Will gave a half smile, knowing Rich would be the only one to drink
tonight.

“
Hi,”
Will murmured, as he motioned for Rich to come in. Rich sauntered
past him, pulled out a beer and cracked it open, all the while
watching Will with a calculating gaze.

“
So,
you still moping about that girl?” Rich asked as he plunked
down on Will’s sofa. Irritation spiked in Will’s chest
but he sighed instead of glaring. He ignored Rich’s question
and went to get a glass of water.

“
Missed
you at work this week,” Rich hedged, and Will nodded.

“
Sorry—I
have just had stuff to work out.”
Like,
just what the fuck to do about Cammy and the knowledge that my Dad
assaulted her—attacked her.
Even the words burned his chest, and Will had to clear his throat to
speak again. “I’ll be back in on Monday.”

He
walked over to the sofa area and sat opposite Rich. Rich watched him,
took a deep pull on his beer and then sat straight.

“
You
know what I think?”

Will
looked up and raised an eyebrow at the seriousness in his friend’s
tone. Rich wasn’t known for seriousness.

“
What?”
Will asked as he leaned back on the comfy couch. In his mind, he
suddenly wondered what Cammy had thought of his things. He had worked
so bloody hard in the past ten years to own nice things—and,
pathetically, whenever he’d bought something he had, in the
back of his mind, wondered if she might like it too.
Pathetic.