Though she still appeared to be leery, as if she thought he’d haul her straight back to Cameron’s house—which was tempting—she finally gave in.
He escorted her to the Miata, and then drove her to the Holiday Inn. As he pulled to the curb, he asked, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Olivia appeared thoughtful for a moment before she murmured, "Actually, I think it’s the only option I have." She smiled sadly at him. "You’ll take care of him, won’t you?"
"Don’t I always?"
She leaned toward him and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."
He wanted to grab her hand and keep her in Cam’s car, beg to her stick around—just a little longer.
But this was her decision to make.
Feeling as if she was deserting him—instead of his cousin—he watched her disappear inside the hotel.
As soon as she was out of sight, he drove to Cameron’s.
As irritated as he was with Olivia, Boston didn’t think he could actually blame her. It was hard to watch Cameron when he was down. No woman should have to put up with a man who couldn’t get over the fact he was human and hadn’t been able save a manic depressive.
Boston really didn’t think he should have to put up with it either. But he had no idea how to slap his friend back to reality and tell him to wake up and notice the world around him. Sienna was gone, and Olivia was here.
Olivia was better looking anyway. And she wasn’t creepy-quiet like Sienna had been. Cameron was damn lucky for stumbling across Livy; he should definitely put a bigger effort into trying to keep her around, instead of moping about something that happened a full decade ago.
Boston had lost someone around the same time, and look at him. Had he turned into a bummed-out alcoholic? No. Did he worry the family by plunging into depression? Hell no. He’d picked up and carried on. And if there were some nights when he locked himself alone in a room and filled himself with aching, bitter sweet memories, jacking off until he nearly went blind, well, then no one else had to know about it.
"I’m getting real tired of picking up your sorry ass every time you
stumble," Boston muttered as he parked in driveway. He cut the engine and
stared up at the house for a moment. Letting out another tired sigh, he exited the car and entered the house.
"Cam?" he called into the dim interior. There weren’t many lights on; he fumbled a minute before he found the wall switch.
"Hey, Banks?" he called again and frowned as he started back to his cousin’s den, which was Cameron’s main moping place.
But that room was dark too. Feeling a finger of concern skate up the back of his neck, Boston started up the stairs. He turned on lights as he went, glancing into every corridor he passed.
Not caring for the anxious feeling that washed through him, Boston yelled a little louder, "Damn it, Cameron. Where the hell are you hiding? I know you’re here. All your cars are outside." He hoped his cousin would pop out from somewhere and say,
except the one Olivia took
, so he could explain that it had returned.
But no one answered. He made a frustrated growling sound. It wasn’t like Cameron to use the silent treatment.
"I know she’s gone," he called, not sure why he was bringing it up. They might be best friends, but neither of them discussed major personal problems. Cameron tended to drink his away, and Boston locked his so deep inside no one knew about them.
But maybe, for some reason, Cam wanted to discuss this.
"Hell, I’ll even drink one with you if you want," he coaxed, thinking that would surely draw the man out.
Fear hit him when nothing happened. The house was too quiet—silent as death—so he panicked. Cameron was here; he knew it. But where was he? Starting back on the ground floor, Boston methodically went through every room.
He finally found his best friend in the master bathroom on the second floor, passed out next to the toilet. Boston smelled him first. Even as he flipped on the light, he knew what he was going to find. But he still wasn’t prepared for the severity of alarm that struck him when he spotted the drunk.
Cameron looked dead. His skin was gray, and he wasn’t moving at all.
"Cam!" Boston fell to his knees at Cameron’s side and pressed his fingers to the cold, clammy skin on his cousin’s neck, waiting to feel a pulse. When he finally felt a light yet slow thump, he nearly wilted in relief. "Cameron," he said steadily and shook his shoulders. "Wake up."
Cameron did move then, but only to slump limply against Boston’s leg. Unable to stand the stench, Boston reached forward and flushed the toilet. But as he did so, Cameron’s body heaved, and he vomited some more.
"Jesus," Boston breathed and hurried to position his unconscious friend so the outpouring was partially aimed into the toilet.
When it sounded like he was choking, Boston moved quickly to
reposition him before he suffocated on bile. All the while, Cameron remained comatose. He didn’t wake up once. Not when Boston used toilet paper to wipe chunks from his mouth or even when he pulled Cam into his lap and rocked him.
He’d never seen anyone so sick before. Or look so dead. It scared him. Something was horribly, awfully wrong and he instinctively knew that if he didn’t get help quick, his friend wasn’t going to make it through the night.
His voice shook as he gave the emergency operator Cam’s address.
Gritting his teeth, Boston cradled Cameron closer and cursed. "Stupid, selfish bastard," he muttered. "Don’t you dare die on me. I will never forgive you for this if you drop dead in my arms, you son of a bitch."
Though Cameron didn’t respond to the muttered ravings, Boston figured he’d still gotten through. At least Cameron had stopped throwing up and wasn’t in jeopardy of choking by the time paramedics arrived.
Nineteen
Cameron woke to the steady, calming beep of a heart monitor. He felt the IV next, plugged into his wrist like some kind of electrical socket to keep him running. Finally, the warm pressure of someone holding his hand entered his realm of consciousness. Knowing those comforting fingers anywhere, he managed a painful, cracked smile.
"Mom," he croaked and turned his face to the right as he opened his eyes.
"Oh, my sweet baby boy." Though tears clotted her lashes, she smiled and tightened her grip encouragingly.
"Where’s Dad?"
"Right here, kiddo," came his father’s voice.
Slowly, Cameron rolled his head to the left.
"Hey, there," Chuck said, bending down to get into Cameron’s field of vision. "Decided to join the living again, huh?"
Cameron didn’t bother to smile. He didn’t feel so alive at the moment. Drained and empty and a little numb, his licked his lips. His head felt as if someone was taking a jack-hammer to his skull and trying to drill down to his toes. Even lying down, he felt nauseous and dizzy.
"Wha...what happened?"
"Alcohol poisoning," his father answered, placing his palm over Cameron’s hair. The warmth of his fingers seeped through Cameron’s locks and soothed his aching head. "You went over the limit this time, son."
To his right, his mother covered her mouth and let out a small sob.
Cam winced. "Sorry."
"Yeah, well, you should probably save your apologies for those two." His dad hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the curtain that separated him from the main part of the ICU room. "They’re taking it worse than anyone. They both seem to think this is their fault."
Cameron managed to lift his face enough to see Boston and Olivia in the doorway. They’d wrapped themselves around each other in a very private embrace. Livy buried her face so far into Boston’s shirt, Cam feared it would
take a surgical procedure to remove her. And Boston—his best friend in the entire world—curled around Cam’s wife with his arms wrapped so tight he fisted the back of her shirt in his hands.
Jealousy hit hard. Well, thanks a lot, he wanted to snarl, though his energy level was so pathetic, he could only manage a small grunt. But it sure as hell hadn’t taken them long to turn to each other. He wasn’t even buried yet.
Then Olivia lifted her face and looked up at Boston. She was as pale as a ghost, save for the red rings around her eyes, where tears gathered and dripped. She said something, and Boston answered with a shake of the head. Then he wiped at his own eyes with the back of his hand.
Well, damn. Bos was bawling too?
"Why’re they crying?" he slurred, twisting his face toward his mom.
"Because they love you, and you scared us all half to death," she rasped, her voice growing hoarse.
Cameron closed his eyes, and listened to Boston murmur comforting words to Olivia.
Chuck gripped Cam’s shoulder. "Boston’s the one that found you," he explained. "He called the ambulance and held you while you threw up blood. The boy probably saved your life, keeping you from suffocating on your own vomit. Took ten years off his life. He was about to break down into a panic attack by the time we arrived."
Cameron glanced at his best friend. Boston appeared to be seeking comfort about as much as he was trying to give it.
"And that pretty little wife of yours." Chuck shook his head. "She’s convinced this is all her fault, and no one’s going to convince her otherwise. Keeps saying stuff like she should’ve done more, should’ve tried harder. You wouldn’t have drunk tonight if she hadn’t left. Poor thing is taking on the weight of the world. Kind of like you did when Sienna died."
Cameron’s head swiveled around. He ignored the spiking pain from the sudden movement and gaped at his dad.
"Oh, I remember everything you said back then," his father murmured. "Most of it was, ‘I should’ve done more. I should’ve tried harder. If only I’d…’" Chuck’s words drifted off as he watched a tear trail down Cameron’s cheek.
"So, I’ve turned into Sienna," Cam choked out. "Is that what you’re saying?
I’m
the manic depressive now."
"You couldn’t save her, Cameron," Allison said, squeezing his fingers. "Nothing Sienna did to herself was your fault. Only she could’ve saved herself."
"And none of us can save you," Chuck added. "No matter how much we want to. No matter how much it kills us to watch you go through this."
Cameron squeezed his eyes closed, but tears leaked through anyway. When he looked up, he met his mother’s worried features. "I’ve made a mess
of things, haven’t I?"
Allison ran her thumb over his knuckles. "It’s nothing that can’t be fixed," she assured, sounding suddenly like the woman he remembered from when he was a child and had made mistakes.
He swallowed. This was all wrong. They were treating him like, well, like he’d treated Sienna in her final days.
No.
He wasn’t turning into a Sienna. He couldn’t. He’d never do to his family what she’d done to him. He’d never put them through hell by making them worry.
But that’s exactly what he’d done. For ten years.
"God, I’m so sorry."
Allison leaned down to hug him and in doing so, finally drew Boston and Olivia’s attention. Gasping, they let go of each other and stumbled forward. Boston came all the way to his side, but Olivia hung back at the last moment, her face wrinkling into a scared, uncertain mask.
"Still got some life left in you, huh?" Boston asked in a steady enough voice, though his pale face and red-ringed eyes told the true story.