Page 41 of Caged Hunger

Basher sat forward and studied the young man’s face. “Is everything okay? Did somebody hurt you?”

He clenched his fists as he waited for the name of the man he was about to murder.

Cameron gave him an unenthusiastic half smile. “No, nobody hurt me. Not physically, anyway.”

Basher hated seeing the boy so down. Normally, Cameron was all smiles and rainbows, bubbly and chatty.

But now? Now he was all mellow and quiet. It was like someone had sucked all the color from his rainbow.

Eyes still locked on Cameron’s, Basher reached into the cooler next to him and fished out a beer. He popped off the top, then passed it to Cameron.

“Thanks, man. I hate showing up like this, but I… I just couldn’t go home and sit all alone right now.”

“Hey, bud. Anything that you need. I know I don’t say much, but I’ve been told I’m a great listener.”

The corner of Cameron’s mouth lifted in a grin as he let out a soft chuckle.

That was a good sign.

Cameron took a sip of his beer, then crossed his legs as he stared into the fire.

He was dressed in tight blue jeans and a simple black shirt. Cool and stylish, yet down-to-earth and relaxed. No matter what Cameron wore, the guy always looked cute as shit.

They both sat in silence for several minutes. Cameron stared into the fire while Basher watched him from the corner of his eye.

He got the sense that Cameron wanted to say something; he just needed some time to collect his thoughts.

"My mom has Alzheimer's,” Cameron announced without any warning or segue.

Basher’s breath caught in his chest. He was caught off guard by the gravity of his confession. Something this important and sensitive needed to be handled with care and patience.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Basher said in a low, calming voice.

He wanted to give Cameron the time and space he needed to process what he wanted to say, without pushing him for more details.

“I just came from visiting her at the assisted living home. That’s where I keep her. Such a great son, I know.” The pain and hurt in his voice were clear. This was not something that Cameron took lightly.

Eyes still locked on the fire, Cameron took another sip of his beer, clearly trying to choke down the words he wanted to say.

Basher reached over and placed his hand on Cameron’s. The boy looked down at where their hands were joined and let out the softest of smiles.

He wanted to offer support and let him know he was here whenever he was ready to talk.

They continued to sit in silence for another moment.

This was all about Cam and what Cam needed.

“Sometimes I see her, and she’s the mom I grew up with. The mom who worked three part-time jobs, trying to make ends meet and keep a roof over our heads. Other days, she slips back in time and doesn’t recognize me. To her, I’m still that ten-year-old kid who fell off his bike and scraped his knee. She doesn’t see the twenty-five-year-old man who cooked dinner with her two nights ago, laughing and making jokes.”

Cameron wiped his nose and took another swig of his beer, his eyes fixed on the fire as if drawing strength from its warmth—something to steady him as he pushed through what needed to be said.

Basher tightened his hold on Cameron’s hand, hoping to give the boy some of his strength and courage.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Cameron’s mouth. He placed his hand over Basher’s and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I go to visit my mom at least three times a week. It gets hard to see her sometimes. Especially on nights like tonight, when her mind pulls away, and she doesn’t recognize me.”

“I can only imagine how hard that must be. Especially when it’s someone you care about so deeply,” Basher noted, giving Cameron’s thigh a little squeeze.