Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Cam

I'm sitting on the couch after scrubbing her blood off the floor, after bleaching the shit out of several loads of laundry, and after forcing myself to not lose my cool, get in my car, and force my way into Athena's hospital room.

She didn't need a confrontation.

She needed care.

So, I did what I could—I dropped her car to get cleaned, grabbed Cookie from her house so he'd be looked after, and I defrosted some cinnamon rolls.

"Meow?"

Okay, so maybe I picked up Cookie so I would have someone to pass the time with, would have an excuse to go back and see her.

To get on my knees and grovel like I should have in her kitchen a week ago.

"It's okay, buddy," I tell him, stroking my fingers through his fur, reassuring both him and myself because we've both been sitting in my living room for hours waiting for Lex to tell me she's on her way home.

Not sleeping.

In limbo.

Waiting for my chance to drive back over to her house and fix this.

You're not good enough. Will never be good enough. You can't even give her kids.

"Fuck off," I whisper, grinding my teeth together.

"Meow?"

I cuddle Cookie close. "Not you, bud. Me. My brain. My idiotic thoughts." I sigh. "Maybe I won't ever feel good enough," I tell the voice in my head. "Maybe I won't ever feel good enough on the ice or off it. Maybe I can't give her everything she wants, but?—"

"Maybe she doesn't need everything you think she wants."

Stilling at the voice, I lurch up from the couch and see Athena hobbling into the room, Lex hovering at her side, ready to help, and?—

I stop thinking so fucking hard.

I move to her in a rush. "I'm so fucking sorry, cupcake. I-I?—"

"Was in your head again?" she asks softly.

You're not good enough.

The voice is there, loud and blaring, but for the first time since I walked into her kitchen a week ago, I'm able to bat it away, able to focus on the woman I love.

"I'm sorry," I say, gently—oh so fucking gently —cupping her jaw. "I hurt you and I was out of my mind, but that's no excuse. I know you wouldn't?—"

Her eyes slide closed, and she exhales. Then winces.

Dammit.

She's hurting.

"Come on," I say, carefully looping my arm around her shoulders, drawing her to the couch and helping her sit down.

Distantly, I hear the front door click closed, know that Lex is leaving.

Same as I know my family will have a full report in minutes…and he'll want an explanation at some point—and a promise that I won't fuck up again.

You're not good enough.

It's only a whisper now, and I slam it down, focus on what's more important.

"Meow." Cookie hops onto the couch, sniff's at Athena's side then settles in oh so carefully.

Such a good cat.

Such a good woman.

I grind my teeth together.

I am not going to fuck this up again.

"Hi, baby," she murmurs, stroking him carefully. Then she looks up at me. "I was coming over. Last night," she adds when I feel my brow furrow. "Before I got that call that we were a go for the warehouse, and before I likely torpedoed my career."

I take her hand. "It shouldn't have been necessary. I've been being a coward all week, knowing I need to make the first move, but unable to shake the voices in my head."

"You're not perfect, Cam."

I snort. "Clearly."

"And neither am I." Her mouth curves in a ghost of a smile. "It was destined for one of us to fuck up sooner rather than later. The space I can understand." Her smile fades. "But as the week went on, I thought…"

My stomach churns. "Thought what?"

"Thought the reality of being with me was too much."

"Fuck," I hiss, jumping to my feet and pacing away. "Fuck, baby," I say turning back and dropping to my knees in front of her, needing her to see me, to see the truth in my eyes. "I'm so sorry. It wasn't you at all. I…I loved you for so long and being with you is so much more than I could have hoped for. When I saw the case, heard that Jean-Michel asked for help solving my bullshit…"

I close my eyes, grit my teeth together, bat down the humiliation.

"You doing this— us —for work was the only thing that made sense. It couldn't be me, clearly, I'm not good enough. I can't give you kids, can't carry the team, can't even relationship right, and I know that's not all I am, not the logical train of thought but?—"

"Old habits die hard."

I nod. "But, cupcake, you came to me. You were hurting and fucking shot and you came here and knew I'd have you and?—"

My eyes sting. My voice breaks.

"Seeing you like that, I knew—fucking knew —that I could lose you in an instant. Not just because of your job, but an accident, an illness, life, and that would be terrible. But what would be worse?" I hold her eyes. "Losing you because I was too much of a coward to stop and think, because it was easier to assume, easier to accept the bullshit in my head? Now that would kill me."

You're not good enough.

It's barely audible, so soft the words are almost garbled.

"I'm going to talk to someone," I say softly. "Going to work with a therapist to break these habits, to talk through my injury, to make sure I have the coping skills I need to make sure I never—fucking never —do this shit to you again."

"Honey," she whispers. "It's not just you. I…well, I have plenty of baggage."

Smiling, I gently cup her cheek. "So we'll figure out how to check that shit together. Because you're too important to me to just let you go."

A tear clings to her lashes, slides down her cheek. "I blocked her," she whispers.

My heart squeezes, pride for her filling me to bursting. I take her hand, squeeze lightly. "Tell me."

So, she does.

About the messages and finally having enough. About the going back into the warehouse after the raid was called off. About saving the girls even as she got herself into a sticky situation.

"I am so fucking proud of you," I whisper as I cup her face in my hands, "but if you ever do that again?—"

She winces, covering my hands with her own. "Believe me," she whispers. "I know. And Lex read me the riot act already." Another wince. "Along with Sandra."

"And now Jean-Michel is going to."

We both blink and turn to the side, seeing that the man in question is standing in the hall, his eyes fixed on us.

"You called," he says.

"Two days ago," Athena counters.

"I was in France."

"Takes a hot minute to fuel up the jet," Lex quips as he follows Jean-Michel into the room.

"Seriously?" I ask both of them. "Have you been listening the whole time?"

Lex has the good sense to look chagrined. "Not the whole time."

I sit back on my heels, rub at my temple, at the throb forming there. "Go away, the both of you. Athena needs rest."

Steel in my friend's, my brother's eyes. "I think we need to have a talk first."

"You think you could tell me anything I haven't already told myself that will get this bullshit out of my head for once and for all?" I exhale, table my anger, knowing he's just concerned. "It's not that easy and you know it."

Lex's face smooths out and Jean-Michel steps closer, but I barely process that because Athena's talking. "Yup," she quips. "Lay it on us. The magic bullet that will solve all our problems."

Lex scowls. "I—" But he doesn't finish the sentence.

"Exactly," she says. "You can't. But considering for you it was finding Frankie"—she takes my hands—"and considering that we've found each other, I think we're off to a good start."

He scowls. "I don't want either of you to think you're not good?—"

"You can't control our thoughts," I say quietly. "Half the time I can't control my own thoughts."

"Here."

I blink, watch as Jean-Michel walks over to us, handing us both business cards.

"What's this, JM?" Athena asks quietly.

His face is gentle when he looks at her, but his words are gruff. "She'll help you find someone to talk to."

I still, shame threatening to well up.

Then he adds, "I know because she helped me."

Even as I'm processing that—and how it settles the shame—any sign of soft disappears from Jean-Michel's face, a flickering muscle appearing in his jaw. "Now, three things—one, why did you tell me to get my ass home two days ago; two, why are you sitting on this fucking couch with a bullet wound in your side; and three, why the fuck is there a bloodied picture of my ex-wife on Cam's counter?"