Keeper, page 15
I feel him smiling, even though I’m not looking at him. “I’m going to miss you too.”
He squeezes me tighter to him, and I let him while we watch the movie on the screen, my thoughts running wild while he laughs and sings along with Lucy.
This is really going to happen.
I’m really going to leave.
I’ve never been more afraid in my life.
THIRTY-FIVE
CAMDEN
It’s graduation day. Holy shit. It’s graduation day.
We made it. I listen to LeAnn’s valedictorian speech as she stands up before the crowd, talking about the future and making the world better. My eyes drift to Kingston in his black cap and gown, that great big smile on his face as he whoops and cheers for LeAnn with the rest of the crowd.
I can’t believe we made it, that these kids I grew up with are all adults and now about to go out into the world—even if it’s just this small town and not the great big world out there. It’s still change. And most of them look excited, though some look scared, but it’s all happening together.
They don’t really know me, not a huge part of me. But they know I broke my leg when I was ten, on a dare from Kingston, jumping off a barn. They know Oakley’s first kiss was with Alyssa Peterson behind that same barn in seventh grade. They know my dad left, and so did Kennedy’s. We all know so much about each other.
We’re bonded forever.
And I was fooling myself, believing I could leave and never look back, because there are so many memories here.
Good memories.
I take a deep breath, and we toss our hats into the air, cheering and hollering. We’re all greeted by our families and familiar faces. Congratulated by the faculty who’s known us since we were tiny kids.
And then it’s over. We all get into our cars and drive to our homes, to our own individual family parties—although mine is meshed with Kingston’s party at his house.
It’s a surreal feeling.
We’re setting up for the picnic out in the backyard when Mrs. Kingston asks me to go help my mom in the kitchen, and that’s when I find her. Huddled in the corner by the fridge, sobbing quietly. “Mom?” My voice cracks on the question.
She looks up at me, startled and wiping at her wet eyes, trying to play it off as she pushes off the counter. “Hey, sweetie. I was just finishing the potato salad.”
I’m not letting her brush this off. “Mom, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She forces a smile, but I know it’s not nothing. Something’s wrong.
“What’s going on? Please tell me,” I plead, stepping closer.
Her eyes meet mine, and she wipes at her cheeks again, smearing her mascara. “I don’t want to do this to you today.” She cups my face in her small, soft hands. “I want this to be only your day and a happy day. I’m so, so proud of you, Camden.”
I place one of my hands over one of hers. “I know you are. But you need to tell me what’s going on. It’s okay.”
God, I hope it’s okay.
“I’m pregnant,” she says the absolute last thing I thought she was going to say, and I swear all the blood drains from my face. My hands shake at my sides because she didn’t just say that. She couldn’t have just said what I think she said.
“What?” I barely make the word come out.
“I’m so sorry, Camden. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I can’t believe it happened.”
I just stare at her. How could she do this? It’s not fair. She’s pregnant again? I’m glad she had Lucy, more than glad. I love my little sister. But another baby? How the hell is she going to raise another kid on her own? “Who?” I clear my throat. “With who?”
She waves me off, her tears streaming down her face. “It doesn’t matter.”
I scoff angrily, too angrily because she’s still my mom, and she’s a good mom, but I cannot believe this. “It does matter. Is this one going to stick around? Is he going to help out with his kid? Or is he going to be like my dad? And Lucy’s dad? What the fuck, Mom?”
My voice rises, and she winces, but she doesn’t yell back. She looks so ashamed and so sad that all I want to do is make it better for her. “I’m so sorry, Camden. No, he doesn’t know.”
“You haven’t even told him yet?”
She shakes her head and sniffs. “I’m not telling him. He’s already gone. It doesn’t matter.”
I stare at her, overwhelming rage flowing through me. Disappointment and worry. How can this be happening?
I’m almost free.
“I’m not telling him.”
“What do you mean you’re not telling him?” She can’t be serious. This can’t be happening.
“I mean I’m not telling him, Camden. I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll be fine.” I’m furious now. “How? How the hell are you going to be fine with a five-year-old and an infant all alone?”
“I’ve made it work.” She’s defensive now, though she’s still crying, and I hate it. I hate that I still want to make it okay. I hate this part of me that always wants to make it okay because it’s not at all okay.
“You made it work because of me, Mom.” I point to my chest, saying it a little too loudly.
“I . . . I—” she stutters, and I interrupt.
“I made it work. I balanced school and practice and part-time jobs. Just small nothing jobs on the side. Everything. But I made it work. You can’t do this on your own.”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. Don’t talk to me like that, Camden. I did the best I could.” She’s full-on sobbing now and goddammit.
I walk toward her, pulling her into a hug because she looks so lost and broken. Because she’s taken care of me, and I know she didn’t expect my dad to just leave. I know she’s lonely.
“It’ll be okay, Mom,” I say, even though I don’t feel it.
I feel my future drifting away from me.
Because how the hell can I leave her like this? Especially if she won’t tell the father that he’s going to be a father.
I can’t.
I know I can’t.
And this hurts worse than any pain I’ve ever felt.
THIRTY-SIX
KINGSTON
Something is off with Camden. He didn’t say much during dinner, and his mom was definitely upset too. My mom thought it’s just the normal emotions of the day, but I think there’s something else going on.
When we get out to the big-ass party for our graduating class, all I want to do is question Camden, but of course, everyone else is around. There’s booze and a fire, as usual. Even some people are playing their guitars.
Kennedy is here and actually not giving me the death stare but also not paying attention to me either, which is exactly how I like it. But the second I can get Camden to the side, away from everyone else, I take the opportunity and pull him away from the party, leaning on the hood of my truck.
“What’s going on?”
He won’t look at me, that broody angry look on his face he sometimes has. I don’t understand it. He should be on top of the world today. He did it. He graduated, and he got a scholarship. Everything he’s wanted is about to happen for him. He’s clutching a whiskey bottle, which isn’t really out of the ordinary, except he takes a huge gulp from it.
That’s not like him at all. He sips. Hell, he even usually has a water bottle with him to hydrate in case he has to leave early. He’s the most responsible eighteen-year-old I know.
“Camden. What’s wrong? Talk to me.” I take the risk and touch his shoulder, even though touching him physically hurts because I want to do so much more.
He takes another big-ass gulp of whiskey, and now I know something is wrong. He takes another, and I steal the bottle from him, earning myself a glare.
“Talk. To. Me.”
“She’s pregnant,” he says quietly, but there’s a deadly edge to his tone. He’s so damn angry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this mad.
“Who?”
He takes the whiskey bottle back and takes a long, slow pull from it, his throat flexing as he swallows. I know he’s going to feel this tomorrow. There’s no way he won’t. He’s not used to drinking this much.
“Cam. Please. Who’s pregnant?”
He wipes the back of his mouth with his sleeve, still clutching the bottle, but he lowers it to his side. “My mom. She’s pregnant. Again.”
“What?” It’s all I can manage in a quiet whisper because how could she do this to him? How?
“She’s pregnant, and she isn’t even going to tell the father. She’s not even going to try to get his help because she has me.” He raises his arms in the air, the whiskey sloshing around in the bottle, but he’s drunk enough that it doesn’t spill. “She knows she has me too. It’s not like I have a future. Or fucking college eight hours away. No.”
Yeah, he’s really mad. And he has every right to be mad. “This is not on you. You don’t have to do anything for her.”
He laughs darkly, sniffing. “Bullshit. Everything is always on me.”
It’s a truth we both know, but one I’ve never heard him ever speak out loud. He’s always just taken it in stride, but I knew it had to bug him. I knew that deep down, it kills him that he couldn’t ever just be a kid.
He deserved that. I place my hands on his shoulders and look into his eyes. “You don’t have to take this on. You’re going to college.”
He laughs again, so lost and broken and sad. “We both know I’m not. She can’t do this on her own. I was worried about her taking care of Lucy alone. But now, there’s going to be a baby.”
“Not your baby.” I’m so goddamn mad at his mom and frustrated with him for being so selfless. “You deserve to go to school to have your own life. You don’t have to be everyone’s keeper all the time, Camden. You can’t do that.”
“What am I supposed to do? He left. My dad left, and she had no one.”
“You’re her kid,” I say firmly. Maybe I should have done it years ago, but I know how stubborn he is. “Not her husband. Not her caretaker. She should have taken care of you.”
He waves me off, swaying slightly on his feet, the booze now hitting him. “That’s not how this works, not with my family, and you know it.”
I do know it. And it’s so fucking sad.
“Come on.” I take the bottle of whiskey from him, leaving it behind for other partygoers, and walk him to my car. By the time I tuck him into the passenger seat, he’s nearly passed out, mumbling something.
I drive him to his house and help him into his bed, the rage boiling through me as I sweep his hair out of his eyes and tuck him in. He looks so young and vulnerable when he sleeps. It’s the only time he doesn’t have to worry about anyone else.
And then I leave his room in search of his mother. She wasn’t in the living room when we got here, and I see Lucy’s night light on in her room, seeing her sleeping when I peek in. Tracy’s bedroom door is open, and I knock carefully, not really wanting to be near her bedroom. I don’t want to scare her or anything.
When she doesn’t answer, I go out to the back of the house where I know she hangs out. That’s where I find her, sitting in her rocking chair, reading on her Kindle. She looks up, worry crossing her puffy eyes. She’s definitely been crying.
“Kingston? Is Camden okay?”
I shake my head. “No.” She starts to get up, fear taking over her. But I shake my head and take the chair next to hers. “He’s going to stay if you don’t do something.”
“Stay?”
I huff angrily, trying to keep my calm. “Stay. Here. Where he hates it. He doesn’t want to be here. He wants to go to KU. He wants to go to college, and you need to make sure he goes.”
Tears fall down her face, but I don’t feel sympathy for her, not right now. I’m so angry at her for doing this to him. “I never asked him to stay.”
“You won’t tell the father of the baby you’re pregnant. You can’t do this alone, and he knows it. He’s so goddamn good that he’ll stay. You know he will. Unless you do something.”
She wipes at her cheek, choked up. “What can I do?”
“You can tell the father and make him help. You can at least try.”
She shakes her head sadly, more tears falling. “I can’t do that to him. He doesn’t want kids.”
“Camden is a kid.” I’m still trying to keep my voice down. “He never got to be a kid though. Ever. When we were all fucking around and doing whatever we wanted, he was helping you. With Lucy. With money. Everything. We used to give him a hard time for cleaning the house when we were playing video games because we didn’t understand.” I touch my chest, my eyes pleading with her. “We didn’t get it because we were kids. Oakley and me. Dean. We were kids. Camden never got to have that.”
“I . . .” she sobs. “I know. I hate it.”
“So fix it.” I can’t let her off the hook about this. I’ve held my tongue for so long. “You were both dealt shitty hands, that’s for damn sure, but he’s your kid. You need to be the adult, and you need to make sure he gets to live his own life. He won’t go unless he feels like you’re taken care of.”
“I don’t think I can make him go.”
“You can. And you will. You’re his mom. Be his mom.” I stand up, my voice wobbling because this isn’t fucking fair. I want to fix this for him. “He was so happy today. And then, he wasn’t. He was so broken and sad because he thinks he has to stay here. You can’t do that to him.”
“What about you?”
I fold my arms over my chest, looking at her, sitting in her chair. “What do you mean?”
“You’re really going to let him go? You think he’s going to be able to walk away?”
I drop my arms and stand taller. “I love him. I always have, and it’s what’s best for him. So yes, I’ll let him go, and you need to as well. If you need help, I’ll be here. But you need to be the mom for once.”
“Hey.” She tries to get defensive, but I shake my head.
“No. You need to, and you know it. You haven’t been fair to him. And you know that too.”
She doesn’t argue. Just nods her head solemnly, and I go back inside. When I reach Camden’s bedroom, I strip out of my t-shirt and jeans. I climb into bed with him, wearing my boxer briefs and cuddling up to his body.
I hold him and listen to his steady breaths, knowing tomorrow is going to be hell for him. Hangovers are brutal without all the added stress. And I just hope his mom does the right thing.
He needs this chance, and I’ll make sure he gets it, whether she does or not.
THIRTY-SEVEN
CAMDEN
My head is going to explode. Holy fuck.
I sit up slowly, a low groan falling from my throat that I barely recognize. I turn to my left to see Kingston passed out next to me, drooling on my pillow, and I smile.
It’s brief, but it’s a smile. God, he’s so fucking beautiful.
And he stayed with me. I don’t know how I got back here, but I’m assuming it was my best friend. I climb out of bed as carefully as I can, so I don’t wake him and also so I don’t throw up everywhere. Then I stumble out into the hall.
I’m still in my clothes from yesterday, except my shoes were removed.
When I get into the kitchen to search for some pain relievers, I see my mom sitting at the kitchen table. Her eyes are red and puffy, like she’s been crying all night and not sleeping. “Mom?”
She looks up at me, and I must look like shit, too, because her eyes widen. “Oh, honey. Are you okay?”
No. I’m really not. I’m angry and sad. And so damn disappointed, but I can’t say any of those things. I don’t know why I can’t. I wish I could. I wish I could beg her to be my mom, instead of me having to take care of her. But I don’t want to hurt her. “I’m fine.”
“Sit down, okay?” She gestures to the chair across from her, and I take it without argument. She reaches out for my hand, and I give it to her. “I’m so sorry, Camden.”
Everything in me screams to make her feel better. I don’t know why. I’m so mad at her, it hurts, but I don’t want her to be upset. “It’s okay. I’m sure you didn’t mean for this to happen.”
She shakes her head slowly. “No. I didn’t. Not at all. But this is my problem, not yours.”
I want to scream. To tell her that her problems are my problems. They’ve always been. But I just stay stoic.
“A couple of months ago, I ran into an old friend.” Her eyes catch mine, and I see her sadness before she continues. “I know we don’t talk about your dad much, but we were so young when I got pregnant. We were high-school sweethearts.”
I nod because I know that part of the story. He was the star football player, and she was the cheerleader who got knocked up.
“When I got pregnant, our parents demanded we get married. So we did. He didn’t want babies. He had a full scholarship to college but had to get a job instead to support us. He was so angry. So bitter.”
“What does this have to do with the new baby?” I ask rudely, but my head is pounding, and I feel like I could be sick to my stomach at any moment. I know this part of the story.
“Your dad and I had this friend, Phillip. He was a great friend. Super smart. Sweet. Always there. When I got pregnant, he told me he was in love with me. That he would marry me and raise you.”
“What?” This is not part of the story I know.
“I wanted to do it. I loved him too,” she sobs, and I stare at her in horror. “But I couldn’t. It wasn’t his baby, and it wasn’t his responsibility. I cared about your dad.”
“But you loved this Phillip?”
She nods, swiping at tears that keep falling. “I did. But I told him I didn’t. That he should go. So he did. He went on to college and then started some big company in Dallas. He does really well.”
“What does this have to do with anything?” I’m trying to follow, but my brain is mush.
