Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Ats

He glances up, his hazel eyes filled with confusion for a moment.

Then it clears and his mouth kicks up.

Gorgeous.

He shakes his head. "I'd never give up Car Snacks." A beat. "What exactly are Car Snacks?"

I roll my eyes, hate that my anger is ebbing.

I've made the stop when I should be well on my way home—yes, it wasn't really all that far off my planned route, but it was a stop, and he was drunk and in an unlocked house and fucking naked.

I grind my teeth together.

Naked is the smallest problem in this scenario.

Okay, well not the smallest ? —

Fuck, Ats. Just stop.

He gets up, but instead of reaching toward the pile of Car Snacks like I expect, he pushes off the couch and heads into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I wasn't kidding with my mom. I drank my calories these last few days. My body needs green things and some protein."

I wrinkle my nose because that sounds awful.

"And then I need my empty calories."

Okay so that's a little better.

I rip open a candy bar and make my way back into the kitchen.

"Not pissed any longer?" he teases.

"You're alive and talked to your mom," I say. "You text the family group chat and stay sober enough to not go incommunicado again and lock your fucking door, and you'll be clear in my books."

He glances at me then pulls his phone from his pocket and taps at the screen. "Done on the text. Noted on the lock. And you saw my fridge and cabinets—I've emptied the bulk of my alcohol stash."

I have seen the state of his fridge—chicken and broccoli, yogurt and fancy protein shakes.

Fucking lame.

But also very Cam. And very much not like a man who's going to drink himself into an early grave.

He starts pulling ingredients out and heads to the counter to prep. "It's getting dark out there and the rain's falling harder."

I pause and realize the sound I'm hearing is raindrops hitting the roof.

"You should leave soon, or you'll need to stay. The roads will be unsafe."

I have complete confidence in my ability to navigate bad roads—I've taken the driving classes, have the certifications, have the experience driving through many a winding, dark road.

But he wants me to leave.

And that prickles enough of my senses that I don't go out the door, get in my car, and start heading back down the mountains.

Instead, I grab my pile of snacks, sit at the table, and watch as he prepares something disgustingly healthy.

He doesn't break the silence, though, and I find myself sitting here and watching him, trying to figure out what the hell feels so wrong about this whole situation…

And what feels so right.

And why I want to get up and walk over to him, to pinch that ass and see if it's as firm as it appeared when he was naked.

Because it looked like I could bounce a fucking dime off it, or take a bite?—

I nearly choke on my candy bar.

Enough.

This is Cam Jackson.

Baby Jackson.

I cannot be thinking of his ass or his big dick or?—

Thunk.

I jump as he sets a plate in front of me then one in front of the chair across from me and folds his big body into it.

"Eat," he orders quietly, passing me a napkin and fork. "And don't bitch about the green stuff. It's good for you."

"It may be good for me," I mutter, but I pick up the fork and start eating, finding myself pleasantly surprised by the taste—it's not have bad, but, "it's still green."

Mirth in his golden-green eyes. "Yeah, baby. It's still green."

My lungs freeze, and I know I should tell him off for using that endearment, but…

I can't.

It settles somewhere in me, across a deep-seated wound that I didn't know I had.

A man calling me baby . A man cooking me dinner. A man looking after me.

I mentally slap myself.

I'm fine. I can take care of myself and?—

"Can I have a Snickers?"

I look up, shocked to see his plate is already empty, and roll my eyes before passing over the requested candy bar. "Jackson hollow leg syndrome strikes again?"

A big shoulder lifts and drops. "Not my fault that you pick at your veggies like a toddler."

I purposely stab a piece of broccoli, shove it in my mouth, and chew. "See?" I say around my bite. "I can eat my vegetables."

It just doesn't mean I like them.

A grin. "Yes, I can see that you're enjoying them so much."

"Not my fault you can't cook."

His grin widens. "Rude, Ats."

There's a mix of relief and disappointment when he uses my name instead of baby , but I push it aside, finish the green stuff, and then start in on the chicken. "You're not a half-bad cook."

"And you bring good Car Snacks."

I roll my eyes. "Cool it with the cockiness, mister. I'm still pissed I had to come and wake up your drunk ass."

That grin fades, and I kick myself. "I'm sorry."

I set down my fork. "No," I say. "I'm being a bitch. I was worried about you and mad you left the door unlocked and frustrated that you scared your family."

And that you were naked, and I saw ? —

Enough.

Fucking enough .

"I really am sorry," he says again. "You shouldn't have had to come here and?—"

"I was already in Tahoe," I say quickly. "Lex called and it took no time to pop over, Cam." His expression doesn't change, and I reach over and take his hand. "I mean it. I was pissed when you were here, and I found you sleeping. I just…I was concerned that something really bad happened and?—"

I had more words on the tip of my tongue, but the pain that tears through his eyes, ripples across his face has them stoppering up in the back of my throat.

What the fuck?

What the actual fuck?

"Is it the video?"

He blinks and the emotions are gone, carefully tucked away. "Coach was an asshole, that's for sure, but that's professional sports, and it's not like it's the first time he's put the team on blast."

"You," I murmur. "He put you on blast."

Cam rubs his forehead and sighs. "Yeah, that fucking stings." He bites off half of the candy bar, chews and swallows. "But I'll get over it. Bonus is I have a few months to stew on it before I go back to work."

"So, what's really bothering you then?"

He frowns. "Nothing."

A blatant fucking lie.

"Bullshit."

"Ats," he says on a sigh. "I drank a couple of beers and some whisky, did some raids with my friends. You played that game. You know how addictive and distracting it can be."

His game is addictive and distracting, and I've personally experienced how easy it is to lose a few hours to it.

But also…

This has been going on long before the end of the season.

"Bullshit," I say again, more firmly this time.

He opens his mouth, but I slice my hand through the air.

"Cut the crap, Cam." I drop my hands onto the table and lean forward, my gaze locked onto his. "I know it's more than what's going on with the Eagles. You were off before the season was over."

"I'm fine," he lies. "I've been fine."

"Nope. Not fucking buying it. Try that shit with someone else."

"Athena—"

"Ats," I correct. "But neither Athena nor I believe the bullshit you're trying to spin."

He sighs, opens his mouth.

I wave my hand at him. "If excuses are about to come out of there then I don't want to hear them."

A growl rumbles from his chest and it's fucking hot, same as the anger clinging to the edges of his eyes.

Would he fuck angry?

Would it be as glorious as I think it would be?

And…I shouldn't be thinking that, but I'm only fucking human.

"Ats."

I lift my brows.

"You should go."

I cross my arms. "Not until you tell me the truth."

He tosses up his hands. "There's nothing to tell."

"Again. Bullshit ."

Another growl, but this time he drops his own hands on the table and leans toward me, our faces just inches apart. "It's not bullshit," he grits out.

" Liar," I say, ignoring my pulse speeding through my veins, the urge to close the distance between us and kiss him.

Yes, I'm losing my mind.

But this is more important.

"I'm not?—"

"L.I.A.R," I spell jauntily.

"The roads—" he attempts.

"Are fine." I shake my head at him. "And you're still lying. Tell me, Cam. Tell me what the fuck is happening in that brain of yours."

"It's fine ."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," I taunt. "You are so full of shit. I can see it from here. And I'm not fucking leaving until you clue me in, so just shut up, spit it out, and just fucking tell me. "

"Ats—"

"Tell me."

"Athena—"

"Tell. Me."

I see it then.

The final thread of his temper snapping—and Jesus, it took him long enough. I watch the fury in him expand, and I hear it too, exploding out through his words.

"I can't fucking have kids, okay?"