Never Bargain with the Boss: Chapter 25

We barely make it in the house before Cameron shoves me up against the wall, buries his hands in my hair, and consumes my mouth with a heated kiss that says he’s wanted me all night. His tongue dances with mine and his hands roam my body, building the desire in my belly quickly. Not that it wasn’t already at a flashpoint after spending all evening with our knees ‘accidentally’ bumping under the dining table, and every time Cameron acted like he was politely wiping his fingers on his napkin, he was running his hand up and down my thigh.

He’s been driving me crazy for hours at this point, and I’m not a woman who likes to wait.

He lays a line of kisses from my jaw down my neck, wrapping my necklaces around his hand and using them to pull me where he wants me, and like the needy-greedy girl I am, I let him. I trust he won’t break them, but I wouldn’t even care if he did. I’d trade every treasure I own for more of his kisses, more of his tongue, more of his heart.

Okay, and his dick. Because fuck, is it beautiful, and big, and mine.

I run my hands across his chest, then let my nails scrape down his abs to his belt, where I fumble to undo it gracefully. Just as eager as I am, Cameron releases my jewelry in favor of dropping his coat to the floor and ripping his buttoned shirt open. I do the same, taking my coat off and pulling my sweater over my head. The sight of my black lacy bra stops Cameron’s progress at his waist, where he’s successfully undone his belt, button, and zipper, revealing that his cock is bulging obscenely in his underwear.

He growls out my name as he cups my breasts, kneading and lifting the small globes, making me arch into his touch. He pins me against the wall, right there in the entry area, dipping his mouth to taste my skin. His devilish tongue licks a line at the edge of the lace, and my nipple hardens, begging for the same attention. He doesn’t move the fabric, but rather sucks me right through it, which feels naughty somehow. I grip his head, holding him to me and demanding more, which he gives, nibbling and sucking one, then the other nipple.

Overwhelmed with need, my hips buck in the scant space between us as I try to find relief by rubbing myself on the ridge of his dick. But it’s too far away and I whimper. “I need you, Cameron. Now. Please.” He steps back, making a move like he’s going to get on his knees for me, but I shake my head. “You.”

Something clicks in his eyes, a primal instinct I love to see overtake him. Growling, needy, he says, “Pull your skirt up.” I obey instantly, gathering the silky leopard print fabric and wiggling it up my body until it’s nothing more than a band at my waist. He runs a finger over my cleft, feeling how wet I am for him through the sheer lace, and a dark light fills his eyes. “I’m going to ruin these.”

“Do it.” I think he’s going to rip them off my body, but instead he pushes them to the side and tells me to hold them. I reach between my legs, holding my panties out of the way while he slips a finger inside me. I shudder at how good it feels, but it’s not enough.

I think I make a sound of disappointment because Cameron chuckles and slides another finger in, fucking me with them. “Still want more?” he asks, giving me a third finger. I groan at the stretch, but it’s not what I want.

“Please,” I beg, reaching for him.

He pulls his fingers from me and pushes his underwear down, taking the current focus of my immediate, insane need into his hand. He swipes my own juices up and down his length. “This what you want?”

Panting, I nod.

Or I think I do because the next thing I know, Cameron has scooped me up. My upper back is against the wall, my arms and legs are wrapped around him so that my booted feet cross at his back, and his hands grip my ass so hard the bite of his fingerprints hurts so deliciously, but what feels best is that I finally feel his tip at my entrance. He pauses there for one second, like he’s enjoying the anticipation, and then slams into me, bottoming out in one deep stroke. I cry out at finally getting the fullness that I’ve been craving.

There’s no more build-up. There’s no more time for that. I’m instantly flying too close to the sun as Cameron plows into me. He’s chasing the high too, his eyes locked on mine and the tendons in his neck strained as he grits his teeth.

“Fuck.” Slam, slam, slam against the wall. “I love…” Slam, slam, slam.

My entire body freezes, on the edge of explosion. On the brink of pure hope.

“This pussy,” he growls. Slam, slam, slam.

But it’s enough, and I plunge into the waves of pleasure, letting them overtake me and pull me under. I cry out something… maybe it’s his name… maybe it’s more… maybe it’s gibberish, but he answers with a grunt of his own. I feel his heat pulsing into me as he comes too, and I want every drop of it so I squeeze, milking him and prolonging his orgasm.

He holds me there, his face buried in my hair for a moment as we catch our breath and his mouth finds mine. Still impaled on him, we kiss passionately, as though none of our desire has been quenched.

But eventually, he slips from me and lowers my feet to the floor. He fixes my panties, pulling them back over my leaking core and cups me there, like he’s enjoying the slick, wet mess of our combined cum. “Where next?”

My mouth? My ass? I’ve never done that, but he can take me anywhere he wants as far as I’m concerned.

“Living room?” he suggests with a smirk.

Oh. He means where… in the house.

But I’m not disappointed. Not at all, because there’s a lot of rooms in this house and we have all night to christen each and every one of them. Kitchen, bedroom, and shower? Check, last time. Front entryway? Check. So yeah, the living room will work.

I nod. “And then your office. I want you to eat me out on your desk, Boss.” I wink, letting him know that it’s strictly for play and I have zero concerns about our professional relationship anymore.

Because I don’t. There’s so much more between us than mere employer-employee, and I’d be a fool to not see that, not feel it.

He groans. “That first,” he says, nodding. There’s a glint in his eye when he adds, “Run.”

It takes a single heartbeat for what he’s said to register, then I scream as I take off, running through the house, through the formal living room, and down the hall toward his office. Cameron is hot on my heels the whole way, and it’s exciting, sexy fun. Especially when he catches me…

“Mmm-hmm… sunshine… whoo-oh! I’m walking… mmm… sunshine.” I’m half-humming, half-singing to myself as I flip through the racks at the thrift store that’s become my new favorite. It’s not too far from home, has a great selection, and doesn’t overprice the good stuff like some stores do.

I feel like the sunshine is literally shooting out from the smile I couldn’t hide if I wanted to. Not that I would.

Thanksgiving is my new favorite holiday. How could it not be?

Dinner with the Harringtons was better than I imagined, and I’d built up the expectations in my mind to be pretty spectacular. Still, they overshot by being welcoming, friendly, funny, and did I mention… welcoming? That sense of belonging had only grown while I was there.

And Cameron and I made full—and I do mean, full—use of the empty house, fucking here and there and everywhere until, so worn out from multiple O’s, we fell into his bed, where he fed me leftover turkey and mac and cheese before we passed out. I victoriously declared ‘carbs, orgasms, and Egyptian cotton’ three of my favorite things and pointed around the room Oprah-style, chanting, “You get a bite, and you get fucked, and you get sheets.” Okay, in hindsight, the sheets might not be the best of those three, because orgasms obviously win, but Grandmom Beth’s infamous mac and cheese is a close second. Luckily, Cameron laughed at my antics and simply feasted on me, which meant both more mac and cheese and orgasms for me!

After sleeping in, we woke up for two more rounds—one in bed and one in the shower. I swear, whoever said older men aren’t as ready to roll as younger ones must not have been talking about Cameron Harrington. Despite the age difference, I’m the one fighting to keep up with him. That might have to do with the way he takes control of my body, showing me things I never knew it could do and working me until I’m boneless and breathless, but whatever it is, I’m enjoying every second of it.

Later that day, Miranda brought a very-caffeinated and boisterous Grace home. Miranda gave us knowing glances, making a very educated guess about why we look tired despite the late hour, while Grace filled us in about their shopping trip around the mall, which of course wouldn’t be complete without a stop at Grace’s favorite store—Starbucks. She had a peppermint mocha Frappuccino—which explains the caffeine high—and swears it’s the absolute must-do of the season.

I predict we’ll go for another one this week so I can try it too.

Miranda had left with an airy wave, telling us good luck getting Grace to sleep. She’d been right and we’d ended up having a holiday movie marathon. Grace chose Elf, I chose Nightmare Before Christmas, and Cameron chose Die Hard, which had led to a spirited discussion between Cameron and Grace on whether it qualifies as a Christmas movie. They’d wanted me to be the tie-breaking vote, but I’d declined by stuffing popcorn in my mouth and hitting play on the remote, which made them both laugh.

And now, we’re back to the normal swing of things. Mostly.

Cameron was up early for his workout, but when he stopped in the kitchen for his smoothie, he’d planted a quick kiss on my lips and given my ass a firm squeeze before disappearing to get ready for work. I took Grace to school this morning, listening to her grumble about the long weeks until Christmas. To be clear, she has a completely reasonable three weeks of school before she gets a two-week break, but to her that’s nearly an eternity. I dropped off a load of packages at the post office, happy with my Black Friday sales and glad to see cool pieces find new homes where they’ll be appreciated. And now, I’m shopping for more.

I find a sweater I think would be a good seller, with lots of vibrant colors and wild patterns, and begin searching it for any pulled threads or stains. Not finding any, I tell it, “Into the cart, you go.” It doesn’t answer, considering it’s a sweater, but I don’t let that stop me.

Singing and humming to myself, I look for more treasures and luckily, I find several. It’s already a great day, and when I see my favorite cashier, Patricia, is manning the register, I’m even happier. “Hey, girl, you have a good Thanksgiving?”

She smiles, looking tired but happy. “It was okay. Lots of work, especially since I made the turkey again this year. But I’ll take that option every year over John doing it again. He nearly caught the carport on fire last year. Whoever heard of frying a turkey, anyway?” Her shrug says she might not be so against her husband cooking again if—and that’s a big if—he could do it safely. “How about you?”

“Best one I’ve ever had,” I answer honestly.

“Good for you,” she says with a nod. “Oh! Hang on, I put something in the back for you. Let me grab it.”

This is one of the many reasons Patricia is my favorite cashier. Not only is she friendly and chatty, but she also understands that I’m just trying to make a buck like everyone else. She’s adjusted pricing when someone got a little spin-happy with the pricing gun—I mean, seriously, is anyone going to pay $80 for a used Gunne Sax dress with stains and a missing button, even if it is designer? No, which is why she lowered it to a reasonable forty, allowing me to clean and rework it, then sell it as a custom piece.

And now, she’s saving the good stuff for me too? I’m gonna owe her a finder’s fee at this rate.

She returns with a chocolate brown, calf-length leather coat, with fringe hanging from a yoke outlined in conchos. It’s my western-wear dream and a sure-fire big seller. Depending on what it’s marked, I could probably profit more on this one piece than I have from everything else I’ve sold this month.

Eyes wide, I gasp and move to slam my hands over my mouth, thankfully stopping right before I make contact because I haven’t sanitized the hell out of my hands yet. “It’s gorgeous,” I tell her in shock, as if she can’t see that for herself, and she nods excitedly.

“I knew you’d love it.” She hands it over to me, and I grasp it to my chest, my jaw dropping open.

“I do! Thank you so much!”

She makes a few clicks on the register and tells me the total, which is only fifty dollars higher than before she added the coat. I tilt my head, giving her a questioning look, and she waves a hand, acting like it’s no big deal when it most definitely is. I swipe my card and tell her thank you again, vowing to see her later this week.

The day’s getting better by the moment, and I virtually dance my way out to my car. By the time I pick Grace up from school, I’m buzzing with joy. Or maybe it’s caffeine, because it’s been such a great day that I preemptively stopped and got us both peppermint mocha Frappuccinos. Mine’s half gone already and I feel like I could take on the world.

When Grace hops in my car and sees the whipped cream-filled, domed cup, she screeches so loud that I swear my eardrum considers rupturing. A second later, she’s sucking down the minty-chocolatey goodness like it’s the oxygen she needs to breathe.

“Thank you, Riley!”

I don’t even second-guess the caffeine choice at her riding lesson. Her canter with Pegasus has gotten so good that even I can see the difference. She stays centered and rides smoothly, like she’s with Pegasus, not merely hanging on for dear life while the horse does its thing beneath her.

“Looking good, Grace,” Miller calls out to her, and I can’t help but clap proudly.

Miller turns his head, peering back at me on the bleachers from where he’s standing ringside. “You don’t have to sit out here for every lesson, you know?” he reminds me. “It’s cold as balls and it’s not like she gives a shit if the nanny’s watching.”

We’ve been in the ring barn for Grace’s lessons for several weeks now, and though it’s technically heated, it’s still chilly. I’ve learned to dress in layers, wearing a coat and beanie, plus bringing a heavy blanket to wrap around me, because if there’s one thing I’m gonna do, it’s watch Grace’s lessons. Every one, every time, from warm-up to cool-down, and then stay out of the way while she does her chores.

“She absolutely cares. And so do I,” I counter. As if proving my point, Grace glances over to me and smiles as she goes by. She doesn’t wave, which shows how focused she is on her balance and keeping her reins held properly. “I love watching her ride.”

I can feel his eyes still on me, but I keep my attention on Grace.

“You’re still here,” he says, as though he’s surprised I’m sitting here despite having stood next to me for the last thirty minutes and being mid-conversation with me.

I arch a brow. “Your powers of observation are astounding.”

“I mean, you’ve hung around longer than I thought you would,” Miller informs me.

I huff out a laugh. “I’d say thanks, but I don’t think you meant it to be a compliment. I know an insult when I hear one.”

He purses his lips, unsurprised at being busted, but probably not expecting to get called out on it so bluntly. “Nothing personal, I just figured you’d be too soft to deal with them. Most of the nannies are. That’s why they ended up crying and quitting when Daddy Warbucks was mean to them.”

Not touching the Daddy Warbucks nickname with a ten-foot pole, I deadpan, “So, you’re calling me hard?”

He shrugs in a ‘shoe fits’ kinda way. “Then I decided you were too smart to put up with the bullshit.” He waits a beat, like I’m supposed to jump in with gushing appreciation for being called smart. When I stay silent, he finishes his thought, “Yet here you still are.”

Yep, there it is.

“And now, you’re calling me stupid.” He flashes me an irritatingly smug, one-sided smirk, showing zero remorse. Fine. Apparently, we’re doing this. “Does this work for you? Like ever, when you try to hit on women?” I ask point blank, my tone as flat as my itty-bitty titties. “’Cuz I gotta tell you, drier than the Sahara over here.” I wave my hand over my general crotch region, which is buried beneath the blanket, “and feeling a major case of the icks.”

I wave my hand his way in a ‘go away’ motion, crinkling my nose like Miller himself is the cause of the smell in the barn. I’m not being rude. This is kinda our deal. He’s an asshole, I act bitchy, and in the end, we tell each other to have a good day. It’s not friendship, but it’s something.

“I’m not hitting on you.” At my look of severely dubious doubt, he insists, “I’m seeing Shana.”

“Sure you are, buddy.” He might be. I don’t know, but I’m not rushing to make him feel better when he’s slinging shit at me.

He glares, acting like he’s the one who’s been insulted, and maybe in some alternate universe, his pissy attitude would have an effect on me. But it’s nothing compared to Cameron’s frown-glare-scowl spectrum, so Miller’s bounces off like nothing. “I’m just trying to figure you out,” he explains, sounding exasperated. “Their situation sucks bad enough that they go through nannies like most people go through paper towel rolls. But you’re different. You’re sticking around.”

I start to tell him to ‘fuck off’ because its none of his business, but he verbally runs right over me, saying, “It’s good for Grace. She likes you, but it’s more than that. She’s less anxious, more confident, and doesn’t seem as heavy-hearted as she used to be. Whatever it is you’re doing, I want to figure it out so that when you’re gone, I can try to do it for her. Or fuck, maybe do it for some of my other students. I’m a damn good teacher and an even better rider, but even I’ve got shit I can still learn.”

I blink, completely shocked into silence. Of all the places I thought Miller was going with this conversation, self-improvement wasn’t on my long list, much less the short one. Hell, I wouldn’t have thought he possessed enough self-awareness to know he has areas of potential growth, given he’s typically all bluster and cocky arrogance.

But I don’t detect any hint of bullshit in him right now. At least not about this, so I decide to take him at his word, believing that he’s simply observed something he could improve on and is asking genuinely. “Just love them. That’s all it takes. Love them so much that you want what’s best for them over everything else.”

“Pshhaw. That’s it?” Miller asks mockingly, sounding way more like himself again. “I thought you were gonna tell me to give ‘em cookies, or threaten them with extra chores, or some shit like that. I don’t get paid enough for love and all that bullfuckery.” He pulls his hat off, taps it on his leg like he’s getting dust off though there’s not much on the felt to begin with, then sets it back on his head, pulling it down low so I can’t see his eyes. He’s acting brash, but he heard my suggestion. I think he might even take it to heart himself because he’s right. He’s already a great teacher, which shows he does care, even if he likes to hide it for some reason.

“Grace! Let’s hit the stables. It’s colder than a polar bear’s ass in here today,” he hollers as he walks toward the ring’s gate. She leads Pegasus easily, both of them following Miller, and I settle in to wait for her to finish her chores.

At home, she goes upstairs for a quick rinse to get the horse smell and sweat off while I start pulling out ingredients for dinner. I’ve chopped an onion and two bell peppers when the doorbell rings. Cameron didn’t say he was expecting anyone today, but it might be something he or Grace ordered online, especially with Christmas only a few weeks away, so wiping my hands on a towel, I go to open the door.

I really wish I hadn’t bothered. Because as soon as I open it a crack, I see that it’s not a delivery person, or even a Harrington making a random visit. It’s Austin.

I immediately try to slam the door shut, but it gets stuck on his foot where he’s slipped it over the threshold. I know it has to be hurting him, but still, I push harder. “What the hell are you doing here? Leave now.”

Damn it, I wish I still had my boots on, but I took them off when I came in, and right now, I’m only armed with fuzzy socks. They’re cute, with neon hedgehogs on them, but not nearly as effective as my boots would be at stomping Austin’s foot.

He plants his hands on the door and shoves. I’m no match for his strength and instantly stumble back a couple of steps, sliding in my now least-favorite socks. With the door open, he walks on in like he owns the place. He even whistles as he glances around, taking in the sparkly chandelier, the fancy marble floor, and then my hate-filled glare.

“Rye, that’s no way to greet your old man.”

“You are not my old man. Get out, Austin,” I order, injecting every drop of venom I possess into the command and pointing back at the open door.

He ignores me completely, the way I wish he had all those years ago and all those years since, and walks on past me. I swear I’m about to jump on his back, spider monkey-style, and start wailing on him, but a single word stops me.

“Riley?” Grace is standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at Austin and me with a look of concern on her face.

Fuck. I don’t know what to do.

Because as much as I’d like to, I don’t think I can technically beat him over the head with the brass candlestick from the console table and claim self-defense. But he also has no right to be here.

Why is he here?

I try to gauge the situation as best as I can in the span of a single heartbeat. The instinct that’s screaming the loudest is the most obvious one—protect Grace. I need to get her away from Austin, away from any danger, and the best way to do that is to play every single damn card I have at my disposal. As far as defenses go, I’m not sure 52-card pickup is ideal, but it’s what I’ve got right now.

I lock eyes with Grace. “Hey, honey, can you call Cole for me? Tell him we’ll be late to babysit Emmett tonight because my… friend showed up unexpectedly. Thanks.”

I hate to call Austin my ‘friend’ when he’s most definitely not. But I also can’t exactly call him my dad because that would confuse the hell out of Grace and lead to a whole bunch more questions that we really don’t have the time for right now. As it is, I’m praying she understands that something is very, very wrong here and I need her help.

“Uh, okay.” Her brows are furrowed and her eyes ping-pong from me to Austin, who is walking deeper into the house like he has any right to. The only good thing about that is he’s not trying to talk to Grace or go upstairs because then I would full-blown lose my Mama Bear shit, and I’m trying really hard to de-escalate this dumpster fire of a situation.

“Hurry,” I tell her, and then I chase after Austin, right into the formal living room, where he plops down onto the couch, stretching both his arms out along the back and throwing his feet up on the coffee table. I can see the dirt on his boots falling to the table’s pristine glass surface from here. It feels like a symbol of how he intends to ruin everything for me.

It’s what he always does. I can see that now. Over the years, every time I found some sense of happiness, some tiny shred of hope for better days ahead, he’d show up to shit on it. He’s a ruiner, and one of the big reasons I never dare to dream of the future.

“Wow, Rye. You really got it made in the shade here, don’tcha?”

“Say what you came to say and get the fuck out,” I demand from the doorway, not getting any closer and standing guard between him and Grace. He won’t leave until he’s done that, at least. Fucking up my life as much as he can is a bonus.

“Why’re you being so bitchy? You’d think living in the lap of luxury like this would have you feeling friendlier. Maybe even generous.” He rubs his thumb and first two fingers together meaningfully.

I shake my head, astounded at his unmitigated gall. After all this time and all the damage he’s done, after so much drama and trauma, it all boils down to money?

“That’s what this is? You want money?” He tilts his head and purses his lips like ‘I wouldn’t say no’. “Absolutely not. You’ve never gotten a dime out of me and you never will.”

I see his jaw tighten at the reminder that I have never once given him a single red cent. Hell, by leaving when I did, I probably cost him money because they could no longer take in more kids the way they’d planned. That was the only reason he officially adopted me and cut off my state-funded support checks when he did. Well, at least it was the reason he told the court and Beth. I’ve always suspected more, which is why I didn’t hang around to find out.

“You think you’re all high and mighty now that you’re working for some asshole in a suit, taking care of his spoiled brat?”

“Say that again, and I’ll have your ass,” I spit out.

He grins, an evil glint in his eyes as I show my cards too soon. “Rye, don’t you go thinking you’re on their level when we both know you’re not. You don’t deserve any of this rich bitch shit.” He waves a hand around, gesturing at the luxury of Cameron’s home. “You’re nothing but a throwaway, just an unwanted, disposable bitch. That’s all you’ve ever been. All you’re ever gonna be. Hell, your own momma died to get away from you.” He chuckles like that’s funny. Fury boils up inside me, but before I can say a word in retaliation, that sweet bitch Karma has him choking on his own spit and pounding on his chest as he coughs.

Thanks, girl, I tell Karma.

But he’s hitting my triggers, pushing all those buttons that get hard-wired in childhood when a kid goes through something like I did. A throwaway? Yeah, I felt like it every time I’d shove all my belongings in a trash bag and get sent somewhere new. Unwanted? That too, every time I tried to sit with someone at lunch and they’d tell me that seat was taken. I watched and no one ever sat there. They just didn’t want me—the foster kid—to sit with them. Disposable? Forgettable? Unimportant? Yes, yes, and yes.

I’ve done a lot of work on myself over the years to unwrite those scars and heal that damage, but they’re still there… way down deep, right where Austin knows to cut me.

All that self-therapy taught me something else too.

“You’re a small man, Austin Collins. So pathetic and spineless that you can only prey on children, lording over them because you know everyone else sees you for who you are.” I look him up and down, frowning and sneering. “Weak-willed, lazy, manipulative, a user.”

“Don’t speak to me that way. I’m your father⁠—”

“You’re not my father!” I snap. “And I don’t know why you think throwing that word around will do you any favors when I see how you look at me. How you’ve always looked at me.” I narrow my eyes, letting every bit of the accusation lie thickly in the air.

I have spent my whole life running, cutting my losses before anyone could leave me, and drifting here and there like the wind, not feeling like I was worth a home, a family.

Things are different this time. I finally have something worth standing up for. Love.

I won’t let him steal it from me the way he’s stolen everything else from me in the past. I’m done with Austin. He will never have the hold on me that he once had. Not because he’s weaker, but because I’m stronger.

“You’ve always wanted to keep me small and scared, taking sick pleasure from my being hopeless and lonely, and it worked for a long time. But not anymore. I’m finally happy, and I won’t let you ruin that. Ever. I’ll fight back this time, Austin, and you don’t want that.”

He makes a chuffing sound, dismissing my threat. “You’re not gonna do nothing.”

It’s what he said on the phone that day. Then, it was the push that had me calling Cole. Now, it’s the push I need to go full-bore offensive because the time for defense has long passed.

“I already did.” I hold up my phone even though he can’t see the text I sent Cameron. Just one little letter—X. But Cameron, Grace, and I know the code. It’s what had me rushing to her side at Hannah’s. And hopefully, Grace called Cole and he understood the message. “The calvary is on their way. Probably the police too. I will press charges for harassment, stalking, trespassing, breaking and entering, and whatever else I can.”

I have no idea what I can do legally and am totally talking out of my ass, but I mean every word. Whatever hell I can put Austin through is well-deserved at this point, and I have no qualms about laying out every single one of his appearances, calls, ‘requests’ for money, and veiled threats if it means I’ll never see him again.

He yanks his feet from the coffee table, sitting forward. “You wouldn’t.”

I level my gaze at him, making sure he can see that there is zero hesitation here. “I will. And I’ll file a complaint with the state, which means Beth is gonna find out exactly where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to. Think that’ll be enough to finally make her leave you? And the children? They’re gonna get placed with someone else, anyone else but you.” I shake my head, frowning like I’m sad. “And how will you survive without those monthly checks? I mean, you might end up homeless, bouncing from couch to couch, never getting enough to eat, and praying that one day, you’ll live a better life.”

I look around Cameron’s formal living room as if it’s my own, pretending for just a moment to prove my point. I lived that life I’m describing, and I got out. It took a lot of hard work, a bit of luck, and several truly good people taking a chance on me, which I did my best to be worthy of.

Austin isn’t capable of a tenth of that, and he knows it.

I can see the fear in his eyes as he realizes he’s overplayed his hand. “Rye, let’s not be hasty. I just wanted to see how you were doing, and it looks like things are going well for you, so I’ll just be on my way. No harm, no foul, yeah?”

He stands, wiping his hands on his jeans, telegraphing that his palms are sweaty.

But it’s too late.

I can hear the sirens in the distance. And the nearly silent garage door opener is whirring quietly.

I didn’t need him. I stood up to my biggest bully myself, thanks to the hope he’s built in me. But even though I did it on my own, I can’t help but smile because… Cameron’s home.