Love, Scars, & Shooting Stars

Chapter Fifty-Five

Cameron tossed a few more scraps of lumber into the fire and topped off his drink before resituating himself on the hideous floral settee, its threadbare drop cloth lying balled at his feet. He brought the paper cup to his lips and swallowed, staring into the flames as the amber liquid flowed down the back of his throat like molten lava. The burn settled in the pit of his stomach alongside the previous shot, further fueling the seething bitterness that was roiling just beneath the surface of his skin.

'Hero Complex', my ass! Cameron reached into his trusty cooler and scooped out a few ice cubes to toss into his drink, his battered knuckles launching an agonizing protest, but he didn't care. She's the one who walked into my life, not the other way around! What the hell was I supposed to do, leave her and her kid underneath that damn bridge? Well, the hell with her—she can go right back to living in her car, for all I care!

The last sentiment had barely passed through his mind before Cameron regretted thinking it. That wasn't really how he felt, and he knew it. He could never stand by and let something like that happen, regardless of how he felt about the person involved. And what he felt for Julie... well, he liked her. A lot. Hell, lately he'd begun to think that he might even love her, if that was possible in such a short amount of time. Either way, he cared about her, and if she needed help, then he wanted to be the one to give it to her.  What was so wrong about that?

A faint knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Cameron groaned and hauled himself up to standing, the whiskey impeding his progress somewhat as he felt his way along the wall in the darkened hallway.

Maybe I should've fired up the generator after all, he thought. Or at least have grabbed a flashlight...

Another knock sounded. Probably one of the newbies from the volunteer fire department had spotted the smoke from the chimney and come to—

"Julie?" Cam said, bracing himself on the open door and squinting out through the darkness. "What are you doing here? Where's Finn?"

"He's fine, he's home in bed," she said, not quite meeting his eyes. "I, um... I wanted to thank you. For finding him and bringing him home, I mean."

Cameron shrugged. "Well, I didn't really have much choice," he said. "You know, on account of my 'Hero Complex' and all..."

He saw her wince as the barb hit home, but she took it gamely on the chin.

"I guess I deserved that," she murmured, and then raised her eyes to his. "May I come in?"

Cameron didn't say yes, but he didn't say no, either. "Your call," he said, letting the door swing open wide. "Watch your step."

He didn't wait, leaving her to find her own way while he headed back from whence he came. Reclaiming his drink from the makeshift table he'd placed in front of the sofa, he flopped back into his seat and took another hit. A moment later, Julie stepped through the archway behind him.

"You had the chimney inspected," she surmised, indicating the roaring fireplace as she moved hesitantly to stand at the opposite end of the sofa.

Cam didn't invite her to sit down. "Nope," he said snidely, raising a mock toast to the flames before swallowing another gulp. "But so far, so good."

Her eyes flickered to the bottle sitting on the table before him. "I thought you didn't drink the hard stuff."

"I don't, usually," he said, fixing her with a stony gaze. "But tonight just seemed like a whiskey kind of night, you know?"