Page 75 of Wanting Cameron

“Come to Ashford Landing with me,” I say.

The words are out before I’ve fully thought them through. Part of me wants to take them back immediately, wants to keep that world separate from this one, from him. But another part of me needs Cameron there. Needs him to see all of me, even the parts I’m not proud of.

His eyes open. “What’s that?”

“My family’s property. In South Carolina. The Lowcountry.” I shift onto my side, propping my head on my hand so I can see him better. “We go every winter to hunt wild hogs.”

Cameron’s brow furrows slightly. “You hunt?”

I laugh, small and quiet. “Not really. I mean, I do it because my dad expects it. But I don’t enjoy the hunting part. Never have.”

“Then why go?”

The question sits between us, and I realize I’ve never really articulated this to anyone, not even to myself.

“The camaraderie, I guess,” I say slowly. “Hanging out with friends, away from the world, totally surrounded by nature. There’s something about being out there, tracking through the woods, watching the way animals move, reading signs in the mud and broken branches. It’s like solving a puzzle. I love that part.”

I pause, trying to find the right words.

“And it’s tradition. My family’s been doing this for generations. When I’m there, I feel connected to something bigger than myself.” I swallow, and I hate the way my voice sounds when I continue—smaller somehow. “Plus, I don’t see much of my dad normally. These trips are one of the few times we’re in the same place.”

Cameron’s expression softens. He gets it, the longing for a parent’s attention, even when they’re shitty. And the thing is, my father is different there.

“I’m inviting a few friends from the frat, Alex and Matt. And Austen. He’s from South Carolina. I’ve known them all since we were kids. Our families are connected.” Their presence will be a buffer, I don’t say. They know how to navigate my father. They know when to laugh at his jokes, when to stay quiet, when to disappear.

“When is it?”

“The week before Christmas. Just a weekend. We’ll have to stay in a hotel on the drive down because I don’t like to fly. We’ll stop in Charleston and meet my family on the way back.”

Cameron nods.

I take a breath, trying to explain what I can barely explain to myself. “He’s usually in a good mood on these trips. Mostly. It’s one of the few times he seems… satisfied. Like he’s doing what he was meant to—” I stop, catching the irony of defending a man who once made me afraid of his own hands. “I mean, he’s easier to be around when he’s happy. And I want him to be happy.”

I hear how that sounds and I want to take it back, but I don’t.

“It’s complicated,” I say finally because it’s the only honest thing I can say. “I want you there. I want you to see this part of my life. But I’m nervous about what you’ll see, about what he might say or do. And about the way he’ll look at me when I don’t pull the trigger.”

I’ve never admitted that aloud. I look at Cameron, searching his face for judgment. “I go for the parts I can control—the tracking, the watching, the fire at night with people I’ve known my whole life. I tolerate my father because he’s mostly tolerable when he’s doing what he loves. And because I’m still waiting for him to be proud of me, and these are the only trips where that’s even possible.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“But I want you there anyway. Does that make sense?” I hold my breath and wait for his answer.

“What’s it like? To have a dad like that?”

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.

“He was heavy-handed,” I say finally.

Cameron sits up. “What does that mean?”

I blink. Sigh. “I think you know what that means, Cam.”

“Like…he hit you?”

“Yeah.”

The word hangs there, simple and brutal.