26. Jagger

Jagger

I t takes a little over a week, and just like Cam predicted, we get another picture of him. Except this time it's of him leaving class, and the message it came with claimed the clock is ticking. But between the six of us, we've collected well over a dozen pictures of my dad around town, on campus, even lurking outside our house. Hopefully, it's enough.

Manilla envelope in hand, I glance over my shoulder to where our roommates are hidden behind a car in the cheap motel parking lot. Cruz gives me a thumbs up, indicating they've got a clear view of the door off the second floor balcony, and when I give Cam a firm nod, he pounds it with his fist.

There's a bit of a crash, followed by shuffling. And a few mumbled curses later, a cloud of cigarette smoke and the scent of stale beer assaults our noses. With the door wide open, I once again find myself staring at what could be a future version of me .

A weathered, grimy, yet somehow still attractive version, but one that makes me shudder regardless.

Fuck that.

"Say cheese." Cam and I both angle our bodies toward the parking lot and smile. My pose has a little look what I found flare when you factor in the finger I've got aimed at my father. Cam's, on the other hand, is feigned shock. He has his hands pressed to his cheeks–his upper ones, if you know what I mean–his mouth open, and eyes wide.

Part of me waits for a camera flash, except it never comes since the guys are using their phones to . capture our final piece of proof. Evidence that my father is here and not in New Mexico.

We wait for a long moment, hoping it was enough time for them to grab a good shot. Then I slap the envelope against his threadbare white t-shirt, holding it there until he takes it.

"Finally came to your senses and decided to pay me?" The only way to describe his smile is slimy, and it makes me gag, more from disgust than any lingering sense of fear or uncertainty.

I can't believe I spent so many years feeling abandoned and unwanted over the fact this guy left.

"See for yourself." I don't know if it's because I believe Cam's right, that he isn't a physical threat, or because he didn't take me by surprise this time, but my voice is clear and calm. Just like my heartbeat.

"What the fuck is this?" He flips through the prints in his hand.

"It's you," I practically sing-song, rocking back and forth on my heels like a little kid waiting on his ice cream, smile plastered from ear to ear. "I know it sort of resembles me, but if you look close you can see the gray at your temples, and that leather jacket is obviously you since I'm more jock than vagabond biker."

"Actually, the back is even better. Flip it over." Cam gestures and my dad flips the photo over. There, at the top of the one where my piece of shit father was trailing usas we left the stadium, is a list of numbers. His frown deepens when they sink in.

"Is this an account number?" he asks.

Apparently, they sunk in wrong .

"You don't know?" I pretend to be shocked, which feels so, so good. "I sort of figured since you gave us coordinates to find you that you'd recognize these as latitude and longitude."

"Don't forget the date." Cam points to another set of numbers. "That really completes the picture, you know. Because now we can show your parole officer where and when you were in Colorado, which I'm guessing will be news to him."

"You little—" He lunges toward Cam, getting a fistful of his shirt. One he promptly releases when Cam wraps his hand around my dad's wrist and twists his arm.

The muscles in Cam's forearm flex as he holds my dad in place, and coupled with the casual way he flicks his head to get his blond hair out of his eyes, like it takes so little effort to wrangle my dad that he's bored or annoyed… I almost forget the mission. Almost .

"Touch me and we'll add proof of assault to this collection." My dad follows Cam's gaze to the parking lot, where our roommates are all holding up their cell phones.

"You cheap son of a bitch." My dad turns his venomous glare on me. "I'll go to the press. They'll eat up a story about the promising young athlete who abandoned his own father in his time of need."

"Nothing your rap sheet won't clear up." I lift a disinterested shoulder. I'm really selling this.

"It could still cause a scandal. Ruin your draft prospects. You really want to take the chance that people won't see you as some selfish punk?

"Haven't you realized by now? The only person whose opinion I care about is his." I tip my head toward Cam. "And he loves me."

"You really are a fag, then?" I'm expecting my dad's eyes to narrow into little slits, but they're actually wide with shock. And maybe a little fear since Cam chooses that moment to tighten his grip on the wrist he's got hold of.

"A proud one, yeah," I admit.

"But why… How… You could have any woman you wanted."

"Once you go dick, don't be surprised if it sticks." It rolls off my tongue before I have a chance to think about what I'm saying, but it's true as far as I'm concerned.

Cam arches a brow, and I just shrug in return. Maybe I am a little nervous about this confrontation, but only Cam will ever know.

"You didn't try it during your first stint in the slammer?" I continue like I didn't just cheese up my whole act. "I bet you could find a tattooed bad boy next time around. That's assuming you don't leave me alone and force me to send these pictures to your parole officer."

"You expect me to believe you didn't send ‘em already?" My dad sneers.

"I probably should've, but… If the police get involved it becomes a whole thing where I have to make statements and maybe even go to court. I'd rather just move on and forget I ever saw you."

This was my one condition for Cam's plan, that instead of bogging ourselves down in a legal nightmare, we try to send my dad packing without having to involve the police. Not because I care if he goes to jail again—because I don't—but I don't want to think of him anymore. At all. Once we get rid of him, he's as good as dead to me.

"Deal?" I ask my dad.

He rubs his wrist as Cam releases him, giving me a calculated once over. "I could use some cash to get back to New Mexico."

Cam snorts. "Way ahead of you, old man. There's a bus ticket in that envelope. You leave in two hours."

"So, deal?" I ask again .

If looks could kill, Cam and I would be dead on the ground. But my dad's backed into a corner, and he knows it. And evidently, while he's not the sharpest crayon in the box, he does at least realize when he's out of options.

"Deal." He snarls, glaring at me down the length of his nose

"Fantastic. Have a nice life." I take Cam's hand in mine with fingers that are barely shaking, and lead us down the walkway to the stairs as the door slams behind us. Each step I put between me and my dad gives me hope that I'll never see him again. That thought used to terrify me, but now, I realize it empowers me. I didn't need him. I'm glad he left.

I used to be so heartbroken, and for years I was consumed with wondering if he remembered me, if he'd recognize me on the street, or whether he'd be proud. As I grew older, I started to internalize his faults, and all of those questions turned to fear that I'd end up like him.

Something about not knowing his fate wouldn't allow me to let go of the love or the hate I felt toward him. Seeing him again changed that. I know who he is now, know that I'm not and will never be anything like him, so his memory won't cloud who I am or who I want to be anymore.

I wasn't missing anything by not having him around. I'm better for it. And I don't need a dad who doesn't love me when I have a boyfriend that does. Unconditionally.

"Once you go dick don't be surprised if it sticks?" Cam bites back a laugh as we near the stairs.

Scratch that boyfriend part.

"Of all the things I said that's the one you focused on? Not the quip about his rap sheet or the whole out and proud thing? Or that you're proud of me for holding my own? "

"Those are all good, important points." He stops our progress at the top of the stairs and turns to face me, lip quivering as he tries to keep a straight face. "But nowhere in the history of the human language has a more ridiculous comment been made, and if you love me, you'll understand why I can never, ever, ever , let you live that down."

"You're not really living up to your nickname right now, Camelot," I grunt as I drag us down the stairs.

"I totally am. Confronting your dad with those pictures was my idea, so that makes me a white knight, a guardian angel and badass boyfriend, all in one. I'm like…boyfriend goals."

I stop short and the bottom of the stairs, and it's only because Cam is quick to regain his balance that he doesn't take us both out when he slams into me.

"Boyfriend goals?" I spin to face him with the most devious smile I can muster. "Talk about ridiculous. That sounds like the title of a romcom. Is that what I should call you now? BG?"

"Of course not, I have a nickname." His face sobers as he walks his statement back.

"A nickname you hated until a few days ago. You wanted a new one, didn't you?"

"I never said I hated Camelot. I actually love it now that I know the meaning. It totally suits me." He blinks those brown eyes in a way that's adorably nervous.

"So, we're on the same page then, Camelot?" I press right up to him and whisper a hair's breadth away from his full lips. "What happens at the cheap roadside motel stays at the cheap roadside motel?"

"Absolutely."

"Good." I close the distance between us, melting into Cam's lips like they can breathe life itself into me. Hell, they probably do considering I've never felt more alive, more at peace, than I do when I'm with him.

"I love you, Camelot." I whisper into his mouth.

"I love you too."

He cups the back of my head, tilting it so he can kiss me more fully, but pulls away when the sound of feet pounding on pavement rushes us like a rogue wave.

"Did it work? Is he out of here?" Liam asks.

"Next bus to New Mexico," I confirm.

"Hell yeah." Bennet raises an arm to high-five us. "Don't fuck with Dickstick and BG."

I wince as Cam's eyes squeeze shut, both of us realizing our predicament. "You just had to repeat that, didn't you?" I mutter to Cam.

"It's not my fault sound carries," he protests. "Besides, they're at the cheap roadside motel with us, so…"

"So, now I have nicknames for you two." Bennet winks at us, clearly proud of himself.

"Hey, no worries. What happens here stays here, right?" Aiden shoots Bennet a pointed look as he tries to make peace.

Bennet holds his gaze for a beat before kicking the ground and muttering, "Fine. DS and BG. Final offer."

"And you can never divulge the origin of those names, right?" Cam presses, assigning our own rule about nicknames to Bennet.

"I'll take it to my grave." Bennet makes a cross that looks more like an ‘X' over his chest.

"Honestly, the origin of DS doesn't sound so bad. Plus, it's true. For me, anyway." Cruz looks at Liam adoringly.

"Us too." I draw an imaginary line between me and Cam. "Must be something in the water at the house. Three of us tried dick and never went back. "

"Those two were together before we moved in." Bennet points at Liam and Cruz in turn.

"Eh, semantics," I taunt him.

"Don't jinx me, DS," Bennet warns.

"How would it be a jinx when I'm suggesting it'd be the best thing that could ever happen to you?" I hold my hands up innocently.

"I… You weren't…" he sputters.

"I'm just saying the five of us are clearly onto something. I'm sure we could find you a nice dick if you want to know what you're missing. The sex really is epic." If Bennet hadn't seemed curious after he saw Cam and I kissing at the bar I wouldn't press, but my gut tells me he's starting to ask the same questions I was asking not too long ago. And speaking from experience, I think he'll like the answer if he's brave enough to take the first step.

"No straight-shaming," Bennet points an accusatory finger at me.

"He's not shaming, he's just pointing out there's a reason sex between two guys gets so loud." My boyfriend backs me up. He must've picked up on Bennet's curiosity too.

"I'm not… There's still a dicks stay in the pants outside the bedroom rule, no matter what's in the water. And your grace period on excessive noise has officially expired." Bennet gives me and Cam a stern look before stomping away. I guess his questions haven't hit the serious stage yet.

Everyone mutters their agreement, and even though I nod solemnly–I'm really not trying to upset him–I whisper to Cam, "Bet we could pull off a shower fuck."

"Don't see how he could complain about that since the shower would wash away all the evidence," he whispers back. "As long as we keep the screaming down."

"Think we can?" I bite back a hungry grin.

"Only one way to find out."