In a swift motion, Cameron picked up the box with one hand and lifted me in the air with his other arm.
“I told you—” I started.
“Cut the bullshit, will you?” he interjected, and how infuriating was it that his scolding was delivered in the softest, most gentle tone? “Good. Now that you have stopped bitching for a minute, can you please unlock the door?”
I pulled out the key from the bag still hanging off my shoulder and did as I was asked.
Cameron kicked the unlocked door open with his foot and stomped inside the cabin, carrying me and the box in his arms.
“Box,” he barked. “Where?”
“Beside the bed,” I answered with a sigh. “Please.”
He moved in that direction. “Not a bed.”
“Yeah, I know,” I admitted with barely any energy left. “Who knows, maybe Matthew somehow managed to fit a mattress in that tiny box.”
My comment only seemed to spike Cameron’s frustration, because instead of putting the box down, he let it drop to the wooden floor with a thump.
“Hey. What if it’s something fragile?”
“I’ll replace it.” He shrugged, shifting my body and bringing me more securely into his chest. “Where?”
“Down on the bed, please.”
With more gentleness than I was able to process in that moment, he set me down. His eyes roamed around my body. Down, and up, and down again. His jaw clamped down tightly.
“I’ll be fine,” I murmured. “It’s just a sprained ankle.”
His brow arched, his eyes still not meeting mine. More words were barked. “Shower, ice, painkillers, and sleep.”
“Why are you enumerating things or barking out single words?” I fumbled with the buttons of my trench coat. “Why are you not talking or looking at me? I already apologized for earlier.”
That muscle in his jaw jumped. “It’s not an apology I want.”
“What do you want then?” A pause. No answer. “Fine, don’t talk to me then.”
His gaze finally met mine. “I’m not talking because I don’t trust myself,” he said, the storm that I could tell had been gathering inside of him breaking free in the green of his eyes. “Because if I say more than a few words, you’re going to find more reasons to hate me, Adalyn. You’re going to throw a fucking fit, and you’re going to make this extra hard for me. So, please,” he said, his voice turning rocky and strangely low. “Shower, ice, painkillers, and sleep.”
What, I wanted to ask. What exactly am I going to make extra hard for you?
But I knew the answer to that. Everything. Every single thing. Because that was what I did best. Complicate things. So I managed a nod and told him, “You can go now. Thanks.”
Cameron’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he muttered a “Good fucking riddance” before turning away and walking off.
I waited for the door to close behind him and when the sound reached me, I did exactly the opposite of what I’d just agreed to do. First, I limped to the kitchenette, grabbed a pair of scissors, and returned straight to the box. Inside, there was a note stuck to something that had been rolled in tissue paper. It read:
MAKE IT UP TO ME.
YOUR （ONLY） BFF,
M.
Make what up to him? I wondered while I tore apart the paper. If I’d been a little more lucid and a lot less in pain, perhaps I would have immediately known, but it wasn’t until I unwrapped it and turned it around that I understood.
I stared at the shirt—the black long-sleeved jersey with the number 13—and seven simple letters that spelled a name: CALDANI.
“This jerk,” I said, dropping down my arms and setting aside what had been Cameron’s L.A. Stars jersey for the last years of his career. “This jerk sent me this so I could get it signed for him.”
Any other day, I would have called Matthew and told him that he could forget about it. Perhaps I would even ask how he’d managed to get this package here so fast. But today? I didn’t care.
I grabbed my pajamas, limped to the tiny bathroom, set everything on the counter, and dragged myself into what passed for the shower. I let the hot spring water warm my body. Once done, I dragged the curtain back only to discover that both my discarded and sleeping clothes had fallen to the floor and were now drenched.
“Great.”
I wrapped my towel around my chest and limped back to the bed. My gaze fell on the black jersey with the tiny white stars scattered around the shoulders and upper section of the sleeves. Hardly thinking, I snatched it up and slipped it over my head. Polyester and nylon weren’t ideal fabrics to sleep in, but at least the thing covered my ass.