Chapter 39

[Vibe Track: Holdin On - Flume]

Henry couldn’t do anything but stare.

Cameron’s slouched silhouette tried to blend in with the cool, dark night. The moon was having trouble peeking through the inky black clouds, matching the color of her limp hair. Dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants, she was huddled into herself, maybe from the temperature, maybe ... maybe from something else.

But ... but she never knocks, Henry thought to himself, as if trying to argue with the fact she was really there, in front of him.

She hadn’t spoken a word, but her eyes were already pleading with him not to slam the door shut in her face.

“Please, Henry, I just ... need to get this out, okay?” she said unsteadily, letting her voice follow the lead of her eyes. “Then ... I’ll ... I’ll leave you alone if you want. I promise.” He felt like he hadn’t heard that voice in years, even though he’d heard it loud and clear just yesterday. It sounded different now. More like the one he missed.

Henry couldn’t really react one way or the other. Thoughts of another night — of Mal showing up unannounced on his doorstep — flashed through his mind. This time, though, there was no part of him screaming inside to shut the door and lock it. Maybe there should’ve been, he admitted to himself, but ... there wasn’t. That part of his brain was only petrified of whatever Cameron had come here to say.

The larger, dumber part of his brain ... it just wanted a little longer with her. She’d hurt him so much ... but he couldn’t help it. The person he wanted to tell about it, to be around — the person who made him feel calm when the storm was roiling around him — she was standing right in front of him.

It was her eyes that unfroze him. They were imploring, begging him to trust her, just for now.

So he did, slowly moving aside.

Cameron shuffled past him, her head down as he shut the door again. She seemed unsure of where she wanted to go, stopping at the couch and leaning against the armrest.

Da Vinci interrupted whatever she was about to say, hopping down from his perch on the couch and stretching dramatically at her feet. She bent down and gave the cat an affectionate scratch behind the ear while he rubbed against her gray sweatpants.

She was anxious — Henry could tell that much — wringing her hands and darting her eyes around the room. But she finally took a deep breath and started with whatever it was she came here to say.

“I’m ... I’m sorry Henry,” she began. Her eyes still hadn’t met his. Maybe she couldn’t bear to. “I’ve ... I’ve never been good at... this.” She gestured around generally, then gave more explanation after another deep breath. “Whenever shit even looks like it might get real, I ... I immediately try to fuck it up. Like ... unconsciously or whatever. And then ... I just ... walk away.”

Her eyes made their way to his, searching. He wasn’t sure what she saw, but from her reaction, he was pretty sure it wasn’t what she’d been hoping for.

What are you hoping for?

He tried to remain as blank as he could, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his flannel pajama bottoms.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” she repeated, a rawness to her voice. “I’m so fucking sorry for what I said, for what I did. And ... and I’m so fucking sorry that I left. You ... you trusted me with ... with you. And all I did was hurt you with it.”

Her hands flexed at her sides, fidgeting as if she didn’t know what to do with them, and she started to take a hesitant step forward. Henry reflexively took a matching step back, his expression unchanged as he watched her warily.

I’ve heard this speech before.

She tried to hide how much his backpedal seemed to hurt, but she couldn’t. It showed in her eyes — the eyes that were straining to hold back tears.

“You need to know, Henry, please — none of that shit was true. None of it. I ... I knew it would hurt you. That’s the only reason I said it.” Shame dripped from her quavering voice as she went on. “I just kept... pushing. I’m so fucking sorry, Henry. I always fuck things up, and then I run away, and I don’t care what happens after.

“I fucked this up.”

The tears she’d been suppressing finally appeared in her soft, pale blue eyes, even as her voice sounded more determined in its conviction.

“But I’m not running away. Not this time. I said all that shit and I can’t ... I can’t take it back. I fucking so badly wish I could. But I can’t. I just need you to know that it’s bullshit. That’s not who you are.

“You ... you make me want to fucking try, Henry.”

When she spoke again, the conviction had overcome the quavering, even as both continued.

“Don’t ever think you’re ... you’re ... you’re anything less than ... compassionate, and caring, and-and ... and strong,” she said, like she was trying to find words she didn’t know. “Since the first night we met, Henry, you showed me... fuck ... I don’t...” Now it seemed like she really didn’t know what words to say next, looking around as if the right ones were waiting to be found somewhere on the walls.

Henry tried to keep his own impulses in check. All he could see was this woman he cared about, crying in front of him.

It took all his willpower not to blabber out how sorry he was, how stupid he’d been — to try and get out all at once how deeply he regretted that he’d made her doubt how much he cared about her, how much he wished he could be the man she’d thought he was.

But he hadn’t been lying to his sister. He didn’t want to go through this again. He didn’t trust himself enough, not when he’d so disastrously misjudged Mal after an apology just like the one Cameron was giving. And not after ... after last night.

More tears poured out of her as she threw out her hands, unable to come up with whatever it was she was trying to articulate.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, okay?” Cameron blurted, arms spread in surrender as she spat tears that dripped into her mouth. “You’re ... I mean ... well, you’re like, lame, obviously,” she said, gesturing at his pajamas.

Henry snorted, unable to help himself, and that seemed to free something up inside Cameron, letting a crooked little smile break through her tears.

“But, like, you’re funny — sometimes — and ... and you like watching shitty sci-fi movies, and ... and I like that you’re a teacher, that you do something that matters and that you believe in so much, that people look up to you for. And ... and I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking and it makes me feel... fucking uncomfortable in the fucking best way, okay?”

He felt tears start to well up in his own eyes as she kept going, taking a step closer to him as she went.

“And ... and you don’t ask me the shit you know I don’t want you to ask me. But ... for some reason, I ... I fucking wanna tell you that shit anyway. And you’ve ... you’ve never, ever, even once, brought up the ... the thing we don’t talk about or, or looked at me any differently.”