Chapter 22

Troy glanced at the bedside clock and flopped an arm over his face. Four and a half minutes until he needed to wake Cam again for a concussion check. The first time he had her count backward from twenty. He should have had her recite the periodic table, except he’d have no idea if she was right. Maybe this time he’d mix it up and have her list the state capitals.

She’d know what they were, too. Every last one.

He could listen to her voice longer, then. The quiet, sleepy lull that drove his libido mad. He was starting to contrive ways to irritate her just to hear his name from her lips.

He’d made her laugh. While dancing in the rain under duress, he’d made her laugh. His rib cage was still shaking from the way the sound had made him feel. Like he was Superman. Like she was Lois.

Back at his house, when first discussing the plan, he’d joked that shams like this always ended with a backfire. The couple overcame the odds, couldn’t live without each other, and declared their undying love with a musical interlude.

He turned and looked at the back of her head. Cam didn’t believe in that stuff. Nonsense, she’d called it. But he believed. And he was digging his own grave by allowing himself even the idea that they could be more. What moron permitted himself to have feelings for a woman who didn’t believe in magic?

He wondered if doing this list in his head would loosen her up, make her remember how carefree she once used to be. Actually, she was always mature, even as a child, but she had an errant optimism to her back then that she’d somehow lost along the way.

Rolling on his side, he tapped her shoulder. “Cam, wake up. Concussion check.”

She moaned.

His dick jumped. He so didn’t need to be thinking with his other head right now. “What’s your name and where are you?”

She shifted to her back, and the sheet fell, exposing her belly button below the hem of her tee. He gripped the blanket to stop himself from edging over and placing his mouth there.

That was the other thing. Thirty years, and he never once viewed her as a romantic option. Never had the urge to kiss or hold her in a way other than friendly. Or brotherly. And he was definitely not feeling brotherly lately. What the hell was happening to him?

“Alice, and we’re in Wonderland.”

He froze, concerned about her mental state.

The bed shook as she laughed.

He narrowed his eyes, unamused.

She rolled on her side to face him. When one eye peeked open and she caught his expression, she laughed harder.

Stopping abruptly, her hand flew to her head. “Ow.”

“Serves you right,” he said. “That wasn’t funny.”

Sighing, she dropped her hand and tucked it under her cheek. “You’re losing your sense of humor, Troy.”

And you’re growing one. “Two items checked off in one night. I’m impressed.” She sent him a questioning glare, so he elaborated. “Dance in the rain and laugh until it hurts. Check and check.”

Her gaze roamed his face before she asked, “Are you trying to change me with this list? People don’t change, Troy.”

Yes, they do. At least, some people did. And she didn’t need changing. He liked her just as she was, uptight quirks and all. She'd had this whole other side to her once. She'd just lost it somewhere along the way. If no one else but him saw this part of her, he could live with that. Just so long as she knew she could expose it once in a while. Just so she knew there was nothing wrong with her.

“You’re changing me,” he said, and immediately regretted the slip, no matter the truth.

By the look on her face, she thought he’d insulted her. Which was probably for the best.

Her swallow clicked in the quiet of their room. “You were good with Emily today.”

“Before or after I dropped her off a horse?”

She smiled as if by reassurance and with utmost patience, her features relaxed in the moonlight from the balcony. “The way you handled her panic about riding? It was amazing. You’ll make a great dad.”

And wasn’t that the damnedest thing she'd ever said. More than anything, being a father was his greatest fear. The thought of losing his temper and laying a hand on a defenseless child…

“You’re not him,” she whispered like she’d read his thoughts.

His gaze shot to hers, certain he’d heard her wrong.

“You’re not your father, Troy. Far from it.”

Holy damn. His chest constricted to the point of pain and his sinuses stung.

How hard had he fought to hide that part of himself? To bury it deep where no one could ever see the weakness? The darkness? And in one sentence, she'd spilled it all out there. Said every trepidation in three words. You’re not him. She’d been a lifeline back then. So had Fisher, but for different reasons. She'd told no one about seeing him cry. About the mean things he'd shouted at her while working through the anger. It had all stayed between them. Every last private, humiliating moment.

And it seemed she was still the one person who he believed, who could offer assurances and boost his confidence when all else was lost. He wouldn’t be half the man he was today without her support and guidance.

A topic change was sorely needed. “Tell me the state capitals.”

She pursed her lips, and he wanted to laugh, but refrained. “I don’t need a quiz. My head is fine.”

No comment. “Maybe so, but I can’t sleep. State capitals should bore me enough.”

She smiled and closed her eyes. “The capital of Wisconsin is Madison. The capital of Illinois is Springfield. The capital of Iowa is Des Moines. Wyoming’s capital is…”

She trailed off and fell asleep before he could learn the capital of Wyoming. Shame, too, because for some reason, he wanted to know.