Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ats, Two Weeks Later

I sigh and inhale the cool mountain air.

It's warm down in the Bay—not blistering like mid-August will get, just definitely edging into summer. But up in the Sierras, only a couple of hours away, it's the perfect mix of cool and balmy.

I loved living in Stoneybrook, loved being right next to the Atlantic.

The sand, the surf, the whitecaps in the distance…all beautiful.

But there's something unreal about these mountains. Maybe it's the granite slabs protruding up to the sky. Maybe it's the conifers huddled in tight clumps together all the way up to the tree line, the pockets of snow that cling to the clefts and valleys, despite the incoming summer season. Or maybe it's the rivers that parallel the highway on the way up, parts both fast and slowly bubbling, or filled with rapids and smoothly flowing, dotted with huge boulders and fallen trees and bridges that cross the river, giving access to quaint cabins and winter houses.

It's…Stoneybrook in the mountains.

It's…so far away from the concrete and buildings where I grew up. Only a few hours away but with little to no greenspace. No mountains or fresh air or freedom.

I inhale and exhale again, know that I need to get into my car and drive back home.

The lead we were investigating was a bust, and everyone's headed down the mountain to enjoy the long weekend.

I need to do the same, especially with the dark clouds in the distance coming in.

But…

I take one more deep breath, stare out at the blue waters of Lake Tahoe, and hold tight to this quiet moment. Then I release a long exhale, get in my car, and start driving home.

I'm just ascending the mountains that lead out of the valley when my cell rings.

"Lex," I say, answering the call with a jab at the screen that will send it blaring through my car's speakers. "Hey."

"You're up in Tahoe right?" he asks without preamble.

I frown as I navigate a hairpin turn. "Yeah. Why? Did you find something with the case?"

"No."

Disappointment weaves through me, but I tamp that down. "So, what's up?"

"It's Cam."

That disappointment is displaced with worry and I have to pause before I speak so my voice is steady. "What's wrong with Cam?"

Lex sighs. "He's up there, just outside the basin, but incommunicado. I'm sure he's fine and just licking his wounds, especially after his asshole coach put him on blast on social media."

I wince.

Even though I don't follow sports blogging, the post with the video of the Eagles head coach, Peter Auclair, lambasting his players—but most especially Cam—has gone viral enough that even I've seen it.

And add his attitude with Cam on the bench in the playoffs.

And the pain in Cam's eyes at the end of the season, after losing that game.

And—

"Asshole," I mutter.

"Yup," Lex agrees and I can picture him leaning back in his chair, balancing it on its two rear legs. "Cam's a tough kid, has to be considering how far he's gotten, so I'm sure he's fine. But Martha's worried and frankly, it's not like him to not get in touch."

I frown as I pull into a turnout and park so I can properly focus on the conversation. "How long has it been since she's talked to him?"

"A few days. He was texting back until yesterday, but then stopped replying to everyone—including me."

My frown deepens.

Definitely nothing like the youngest Jackson.

"I can check in on him," I say before he can ask. "You'll send the address?"

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

"Already did."

Despite the concern writhing through my insides, I can't help but smile.

Of course he has.

"Let me plug this into my map," I say, pulling out my phone and pasting the address into the app, hitting the button to pull up the routes. "I'll update you when I make contact with him."

Where he's staying is barely ten minutes down the road.

Good.

" After you've read him the riot act for worrying Martha." His voice hardens. "She's barely slept the last few days and was actually looking up flights when I came over."

I narrow my eyes.

Making his lovely, sweet mother lose sleep. Yeah, that's not okay.

Riot act first.

Texting Lex second.

"Damn fucking right I will," I say and hang up.

Then pull back onto the road.

And as I drive, I already start planning the lecture I'll be giving Cam Jackson.

His car is parked in front of the isolated cabin, taking up most of the space, but I manage to squeeze my little sedan onto the other side of the narrow bridge that spans the rapidly flowing river.

No smooth streams here.

It's all white, frothy water splitting over rocks and tree limbs as it flies rapidly downstream, the runoff from the snow melt intensely fast.

But I make it over the bridge that looks like it won't support a tricycle, cram my car next to Cam's, and shut off the engine.

A gust of wind tugs at my hair as I pop open my door and get out, sending a strand forward, a curl jabbing at my eye. "Ugh," I grunt, wrestling it away as I snag my purse and lock up. The likelihood of anyone stealing it or my car are slim.

But slim isn't zero, so one can't be too careful.

And…

That's enough delaying, I know, as I move up to the cabin's front door.

You're beautiful.

The reason I didn't go back to check on him.

I was feeling too much. Thinking about him too much.

And now….adding guilt to that mix.

I saw the video, knew he was upset, and I hadn't bothered to circle back?—

No.

I'd avoided it.

Even though the Jacksons had treated me like…

Family.

And just because I was uncomfortable and weak and scared, I'd?—

"Enough," I whisper, shoving the past down with ruthless authority.

The problem is that Cam had said those words once before.

In the middle of a different night, as though it was only the two of us awake in the entire universe.

That was…uncomfortable.

It had made me run, made me distance myself.

Until Lex all but smacked me around—or bribed me with cinnamon rolls—to get me to attend another Jackson event.

Cam wasn't there.

He'd made it to the NHL.

So, he wasn't there for a lot of events over the years.

And…I guess I'd forgotten.

Or buried my response to his words, to the way his intense stare had pinned me in place, as though he'd seen me— all of me.

But it all came rushing back two weeks ago.

And all those feelings were so much stronger because…

Cam's not just the youngest Jackson any longer.

Sitting next to him on the couch, smelling the spicy scent of him, seeing the stubble on his cheeks, critically aware of the strength of him as he sat so close, as he patiently taught me how to play a video game had been so much more.

It began because I was worried about him.

It ended with me tucking a blanket around his sleeping form…but wanting to crawl onto the couch next to him.

I didn't, of course.

Instead, I got the hell out of his house before I said or did something stupid.

And I worked with more of that ruthless authority.

And now…I'm here.

Sighing, I clomp up the three stairs leading to the narrow porch—not bothering to be quiet—and reach forward to jab at the doorbell.

I hear it go off inside, listen for footsteps.

And wait.

"Jesus," I grumble, jabbing at the button again, impatiently waiting, and after a third ring goes unanswered, I mutter a curse and try the handle.

The metal knob turns under my palm.

"Idiot," I mutter, knowing I really need to talk to him about safety, before I push inside, closing the door behind me.

The house is dark and quiet, and my nape prickles as I move into the hall, gaze scanning the space, half-expecting to find him parked in front of the TV with his headphones on, unable to hear me as he games with his online friends.

But the TV is off and the entire space is lifeless.

My fingers itch with the urge to reach for my gun, carefully tucked into my holster, but I resist the impulse and move down the narrow hall to the back of the cabin.

One door is a linen closet.

Another is a bathroom.

One more an empty bedroom?—

Or not so empty because Cam is sprawled out on the bed.

My throat threatens to close up, heat blazing through me when I realize that he's?—

Buck ass naked.

Sweet baby Jesus.

He shifts and I quickly avert my gaze, but not before seeing?—

Ho, mama.

No.

Not ho, mama.

I feel nothing but concern, nothing but sisterly worry and an appreciation for a gorgeous ass.

That's it. It's just a butt.

Nothing more. Nothing at all?—

"Athena."

For a second, I freeze, thinking he's awake, that he's spotted me standing in the open doorway, staring at his ass.

But then I realize he's not—mostly because of what he does next.

He rolls to his back, hand drifting south, wrapping around his cock, and?—

"Oh God. Athena ."