28. Cameron

Iwatched Sam walk away until he disappeared around the front of the building, squinting through the rain at his muscled back. I was soaked through, and the January rain was freezing, but I couldn't move from this spot. I'd told Sam I was in it with him, but that hadn't been enough.

Ihadn't been enough.

Well, fuck that, then. Fuck him if he didn't think I was good enough for him. If he wasn't prepared to deal with my anxiety, what the fuck kind of shit Daddy was he, anyway?

My feet started pacing up and down the alley without my permission as my chest heaved. Anger boiled hotter with every step. Where the fuck did he get off? I'd been there, right there with him this whole time. I'd let him into my home, showed him the body I had innumerable insecurities about but had worked hard to get, performed the most intimate acts with him that any human could perform with another. I'd let him in, goddammit!

Hadn't I?

My steps slowed as the realization crashed over me like a tidal wave until I felt I might drown.

I hadn't.

Sam was right.

Instead of letting the man I loved inside my soul, I'd let him inside my body and called it good enough. I'd kept him at arm's length because I was terrified of getting hurt again. Of being let down.

Of risking my heart.

And in doing so, I'd pushed him away. I'd made him believe I didn't love him. I'd let my own fear win.

Saying I'd been unfair to him felt like a cop-out—I'd been brutal.

The man loved me, showed me every day in countless ways. He'd been the perfect Daddy for me since the moment we started talking on the Daddy's Boy app. He'd even made it a point to join the Daddies and Subs Club, connect with the other Daddies, and learn from them so he could be better. For me.

And what did I do?

I threw it all in his face like I didn't fucking care at all.

"Camingo?"

I huffed out a watery laugh at Tristan's ridiculous name for me despite the fact that my heart was breaking. Sam was a part of me now, and though I'd tried to deny it, I loved him with everything I was. His pain was my pain, and knowing that I'd caused it made the knife slice that much deeper. "I'm here, Tris."

He rushed to me at the sound of my hoarse words. The rain had lessened to merely a damp mist. "Cammy? Are you okay?"

Tears fell down my already soaked cheeks as I started sobbing, shaking my head over and over again. I couldn't stop doing either. "No, Tris, I'm not."

His arms instantly wrapped around me, soothing me, but I felt like I didn't deserve it. I knew I didn't. So I pulled away though my body was screaming at me not to.

Tristan held me away from him as he surveyed my current sorry state. "Cameron, why are you all wet? Have you been out here all this time? Where's Sam?"

"He left."

"He—" Tristan cut himself off, shaking his head before throwing an arm around my shoulder and dragging me toward the door. "Let's get you inside, honey. We can talk once you're out of the cold."

I let him lead me through the side door, but I didn't want to talk. I wasn't even sure what I would say at this point anyway.

"I'm actually just gonna go sit at the bar, think about some things, okay, Tris?" I asked him just before our table came into view. "I'm not ready to talk yet."

He eyed me before nodding. "Okay. But I'm here; you know that."

I nodded, leaning in for a hug. He pulled me close to him, and I loved that he would always have my back. He'd promised to take care of me until I found my forever Daddy.

And I had. But now he wasn't here because I'd pushed him away. Fuck.

We parted ways, and I headed for the bar. I didn't need more rum, but I could nurse a sparkling water while my brain processed everything that had gone down tonight. I needed to give Sam time to clear his things out of my place anyway.

The thought shot a lance through my heart, and I whimpered under my breath before climbing onto a barstool at the far end of the bar, near the unused stage. Henry found me a minute or so later.

"Hey, Cameron. You okay?"

God, I probably looked like a train wreck. "Yeah, just got caught out in the rain." I chanced a glance up at him, pursing my lips. "Is it that bad?"

Henry laughed, a deep, booming sound that would've carried if this place wasn't so full of half-naked gay men bumping and grinding on the dance floor. "You're okay. Maybe just mess your hair up a bit, and you'll be fine."

I bent in half, shaking my hands through my sopping wet hair under the bar so I wouldn't spray any customers. When I sat back up, careful not to knock my head on the underside of the bar, I found Henry's gaze again. "Better?"

He grinned. "Sure."

I rolled my eyes. "Ugh."

He laughed again. "What'll it be? Another rum and coke?"

I shook my head. "Nah, it's time to sober up. Sparkling water?"

He nodded once, reaching for a glass. "You've got it."

After pouring my drink and sliding it in front of me, Henry headed off to wait on other customers at the bar. I got the feeling he loved it, despite the fact that he always seemed short-staffed, a little harried, and a lot tired. To each his own, I supposed.

I sighed into my drink as I played with the stirrers Henry had put in my drink, like he always did.

Always.

The word gutted me, and I wondered if Sam really was going to clear out of my place. I wanted him there more than anything. Hell, I wanted him to move in. I wanted to give him all of me, let him see all the broken pieces.

Somewhere along the way, I'd learned to trust him. I'd learned he could be trusted. I'd learned that he wasn't perfect, but that he was perfect for me.

Fuck, I hoped he'd take me back. He'd said he would, that he always would . . . always. There was that word again. The word he'd used to end every email back when it made no sense for him to confess such a thing. But he'd proven it to be true. He'd proven his always was real.

All those months ago, I'd told him I wanted us to be real, and I'd gotten my wish. Then I'd watched it come crashing down around me because I'd been too fucking scared to dive in, let him see my imperfections, my fears, my insecurities—and let him hold me through them. Let him tell me everything was going to be okay. As my Daddy, that was his job. One he wanted.

But I hadn't let him in.

I just wished I'd realized I'd gotten everything I'd ever wanted before it slipped through my fingers.

***

"Heading home?" Henry asked some time later when I slid my third empty glass toward him. I wasn't sure how much time had passed, because I'd just been sitting here sipping this sparkling water, people-watching and drowning in my misery. I'd seen Henry in a flurry behind the counter during a rush of people wanting drinks and the way he leaned back against the bar when it slowed down. I'd noticed something in his eyes, too, especially when he glanced out at the crowd earlier . . . something like longing, I thought.

Or maybe I was projecting.

"I suppose." But I made no move to stand up.

He eyed me as he wiped down some clean glasses during this current lull. "You don't sound too sure about that."

I sighed. "I'm not."

Henry hesitated as he watched me, then he set the glass on the countertop and moved directly in front of my stool. "Look, maybe it's none of my business, but I'm here if you want to talk."

Tristan and the other guys had headed home awhile ago, so I was just sitting here by myself, pathetically alone. And after doing so for—I checked my phone; like two hours?—I realized I was ready to talk.

As I glanced around the bar, I realized the place had started to clear out. How was it so late? Maybe I should just get home.

But as I saw Henry's dark-blue eyes watching me, his words offering a sympathetic ear, I realized I wanted to take him up on it. I didn't have anywhere better to be, anyway.

"Sam and I kind of had a fight."

Henry reached for a bottle of amber beer and popped the cap off before taking a large swig. When I raised an eyebrow in question, he gulped down his mouthful and chuckled with little humor. "Seemed like this story would require beer."

I huffed a derisive laugh. "Um, yeah."

Henry took another swig, nodding at me to continue.

Straightening in my seat, I settled in to tell the sordid tale. To borrow Sam's words from last month, this was gonna suck. "Sam accused me of stuffing down my emotions, of keeping him at arm's length. Of not letting him in."

Henry took another drink before replying. "Did you keep him at arm's length? Did you refuse to let him in?"

I jolted at the way he'd rephrased that second question, a harsher version that was truer than I wanted to admit. He was right. I'd refused. "Yes. God, I was an asshole."

His eyes were clear and kind. "What happened?"

"Basically that. He accused me of not being all in, and because he was right, I had no defense, no way to refute it. So he left. Told me to come find him when I figured out how I felt."

"And have you? Figured it out?"

I stared at the shellacked countertop, my fingers nervously tapping the glossy surface. "Yes." My eyes flicked to his, and the softness I saw in them made me want to confess everything. "I love him, but I never told him."

Henry just waited, and I realized that didn't mean much without the full context, so the whole story came spilling out of me.

I didn't give him all the details, but by the time I was done, he got the gist. He knew that Sam and I had talked online, started a semi-anonymous relationship. He'd already known that we'd kissed here at Mix It Up back in September because he was here when it happened, but now he knew that Sam had confessed to being my online admirer soon after. He knew that was when Sam told me he loved me. Months ago.

And he knew I'd never said it back.

I fell quiet, letting him process. He stared at me for several moments then took another sip of his beer before setting it on the bar top. "Why do you think you didn't tell him?"

I frowned, scraping my thumbnail along the bar as I considered it. "I don't know."

Even without looking up, I could feel his eyes boring holes into me. "Yes, you do."

I sighed, releasing my shoulders. "I was scared." I chanced a peek at Henry.

A proud smile was pulling on his lips. "And why was that?"

I glanced away, sighing. "I was worried about getting hurt again."

"Again?"

I nodded. "Long story, but my relationships haven't gone well. Hell, even my first dates have been a shitshow." I paused, taking in a slow breath. "Until Sam."

When he didn't say anything, I met his gaze again. His arms were folded across his chest, and he was still smiling.

But the churning in my gut hadn't abated, so I knew my confessions weren't done. I steeled myself to utter my biggest fear. "I'm afraid I screwed up so badly he'll never want me back."

Henry leaned against the back of the bar, crossing his arms over his muscled chest. His dark-blue T-shirt stretched tight, and if I'd been into silver foxes, I'd have been salivating. But he was not my type, and I was too heartbroken for that, anyway. "How did you screw up?"

My face scrunched, and I was sure Henry could see the pain on my face. "I basically told him that I'd never pictured myself with someone like him."

He whistled. "Damn, man, that's kinda cold."

My eyes flew to his. "I know! I'm the worst. He deserves so much better than me."

Henry tutted. "Well, I certainly won't have talk like that in here, Cameron, even if I'm not your Daddy."

I muttered a "Sorry," properly chastised, and only then did I remember Sam's third rule. Fuck, I'd get a harsh punishment if he knew I'd said that. But right now? I'd take it and more just to have him back.

"Look, Cameron—I've seen you two together. You have something special with him, something real, and regardless of how this situation seems right now, how badly you fucked up, he'd be a fool to give that up."

I swallowed hard, and my throat seemed drier than the desert. "But how can I ever be the man he deserves after what I've done?"

Henry finished his beer and leaned in again, setting the bottle on the counter beside us. "Okay, you need to really listen to me. Cameron, you already are the man he deserves. Because he loves you, and you love him." His eyes narrowed in on mine. "Am I right?"

I just nodded.

"So you fucked up." He shrugged with a casual frown. "It happens. He said he loves you, that he's not giving up on you. Do you believe him?"

"With my whole heart," I answered without hesitation.

Henry smiled softly. "Then I'd suggest you tell him how you feel, in a way that makes sense for you both, a way that makes him believe you're serious." His lips pursed. "After you apologize, of course."

I nodded slowly, gazing off into space as I considered his words. How did I do that? How could I convince him that I'd loved him for months, that my declaration of love was sincere?

When I didn't answer, Henry tapped the bar and leaned back. "I need to get back to work, but may I give you a last piece of advice?"

"Of course."

"Don't wait too long. Our biggest regrets in life are often the things we don't do soon enough." His expression turned pensive, and I knew there was a story there. Then he shook his head as if to clear it. "I hope I've helped."

"You have, thanks." I smiled at him before he walked back toward a group of paying customers who had just sidled up to the bar.

I stared at my reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar as I let everything sink in. Something he'd said had sparked an inkling of an idea . . .

Yes.My idea was brilliant, and it was perfect for us. God knew I was imperfect—everyone was—but I was going to make things right if it was the last thing I did.

If he agreed to talk to me, I'd let Sam know how I truly felt. And I'd do it in the best way I knew how: by writing it.