Mother. You brought a guest.
Shane froze inside the hay loft, William's deep voice resonating through the hot autumn air.
It sounded, he thought, like a gong ringing you to dinner.
Where someone was about to be murdered.
"Oh, you don't mind, do you?" Angie's tone was bright, clearly not caring whether William minded or not. "After all, I was worried. Thought Cam could take a look at you. Now where is that man you hired?"
"Busy, Ma. Because we work out here."
Shane slowly bent to pick up a bale.
Cam?
That was the guy Angie had mentioned last time, the one going through the divorce. Was he another common guest out here?
Sliding his bale onto the stack, Shane heard another car door shut, followed by a smooth masculine tenor.
"William! My goodness, the drive up here was beautiful."
Shane gave the bale a final shove, heart beating with a different kind of anxiety.
"Well," said William flatly, "looks like he finally stowed a ride out here."
Ignoring the tone of zero fucks, or maybe not noticing it, Cam replied with the same ease as before.
"Don't be a child, Will. I've been dying to see what you've been up to out here. And now I can see how you achieved your gorgeous tan. It's been a long time since we've spent a day together."
"Long time," William grunted. "What a shame to break a streak."
"Boys," Angie snapped. "None of that now. I'll go unload the car."
"I've got it, Ma."
"Nonsense. Go show Cam around the farm. And tell Shane that lunch will be ready in half an hour. I swear you starve that boy."
Shane had been listening so hard, he didn't realize he'd quit moving. At the sound of his name—accompanied by the word lunch—he snapped back to reality, right as Cam sang out again.
"Shaaaaane? Who is Shane, Will?"
"None of your business, Baker," William snapped. "And fine, Ma. But next time, lemme know when I'm supposed to give a damn tour."
"William. Language."
Shane was dying to get a glimpse of this man. He spoke like he'd known William for years, yet William sounded as thrilled to see him as mastitis on one of his cows. But by the time he'd gathered the courage the voices had died down, and when he peeked out the window the men were gone. Just Angie's prim little form, carrying boxes from her car to the house.
Maybe William would wriggle him out of lunch. He'd said so last time, hadn't he? That Shane would owe him, and could skip out on the next visit? Anxious as he was for a look, he wasn't desperate enough to want to join social hour.
Just hide in here. Pretend you can't be found. They'll eat and leave.
The next ten minutes were quiet and Shane resumed a steady pace of work, trapped in the maze of his thoughts. What was Cam's relation to this family? Based on that uncomfortably familiar greeting, he and William had a history.
Then, maybe he didn't want to know.
He'd just broken a sweat again when the barn doors rolled open. His heart almost stopped as William meandered in, hands in pockets and looking bored. Beside him walked a graceful black man.
Silently, Shane set down his bale and took a few steps back. It was enough to keep hidden from sight, yet still allowed him to see the ground floor.
Cam wore cream slacks and a pink button-up, a tan sweater folded over his shoulders. When he turned, a diamond earring and wristwatch reflected the sunlight streaming through the window, sparkles dancing off the wall of the barn. He walked as if afraid his loafers might find a cow patty with every step.
Probably, Shane thought, he hadn't gotten the memo that the country was not the same thing as the the country club.
"And here is the barn," said William in a dull voice. "We milk cows here."
"Hmmm." Cam looked around. "Lucky cows."
Shane almost choked, tucking his mouth to his shoulder at the last second to stop the noise. When he'd finally swallowed and glanced back down at the two men, a streak of hatred rushed through him.
Hatred for, of all things, the sweater folded over Cam's shoulders.
Who the fuck wore sweaters like that? He looked like he'd stepped out of a preppy magazine ad. One of those men who sat on yachts, fake laughing with toothpaste-commercial smiles, just pleased to fuck with their shoulder-sweater lives.
You're fucking losing it. You don't even know this guy.
William, to his credit, was looking at the ceiling as if asking a higher power to smite him down.
"Baker, what the fuck are you doing out here?"
Another dart of irritation, this time as Cam looked William up and down, practically undressing him with his eyes.
"Well right now, I'm appreciating the view."
"You like watching people throw up in their mouths, do you?"
Shane choked down a second cough against his shoulder, though this one from laughter rather than mortification.
Maybe they didn't have a history. Maybe Cam was just incredibly dense, or without shame. Either worked for Shane, so long as it stayed well on his side of the pastel fence.
"Well, well, Sgt. Bauer! You used to be so much fun," Cam said with a sniff—then made a face, as if regretting that inhale. "It's simple. Angie asked that I come look you over. After your bruises the other day and your recent absences, she was worried. It's not as if you volunteer to go to the doctor."
William snorted. "You liar. You're nosy. Plus, you're stubborn and can't take 'still not interested' as an answer. Some mistakes should stay in the past, Cam." He turned, starting toward the door on the other side of the barn that would take them to the pasture.
Mistakes.
So Shane had been wrong. They did have a history.
He pressed against the wooden beam where he was hiding, though not before stealing another glimpse of Cam. This is what William was into in the past? Well-groomed, fancy guys like that?
Shane rubbed his neck. Working on the farm meant he only shaved once or twice a week now, the old five o'clock shadow replaced with a short scruffy beard. His jeans were dusty, and his shirt had a dark streak of sweat down the chest.
He looked at his rough hands, picking at a dry cuticle.
What are you doing here?
"You walk like you've been pushing yourself," Cam said, jerking Shane from his unpleasant reverie. He'd zoned out for the last few seconds of conversation, and now William was crossing to the other side of the barn, Cam tight on his heels.
Were they leaving? He thought so, until Cam boldly placed a hand on William's lower back. Hot jealousy seared through Shane, right as William whipped around.
"Don't fucking touch me," he hissed, catching Cam's wrist.
"Oh," Cam said, obviously unafraid of the threat. "Like you'd do anything. And your back feels swollen, William. I thought you were icing it at night and soaking it in the afternoon."
William dropped the arm, his shoulders tight. "It's none of your goddamn business."
"Clearly," Cam said, though obviously not agreeing at all.
What was with these people? Talking to him with that condescending tone, as if William were a child and they alone knew better. So maybe it was his mother. Maybe it was some old boyfriend. Didn't give them the fucking right to waltz into his home and call the shots.
Cam crossed in front of William, blocking his exit. "Oh, come on, Will!" he cried, fists on his hips. "It's ridiculous!"
"Your fucking shirt?" William said. "Yeah, I agree. Stupid looking."
A surge of affection rushed through Shane, knowing William silently agreed about the dumb clothes.
Cam just rolled his eyes.
"No," he said. "This entire farm experiment. Clearly you've been doing well for yourself, but you're working too hard. Angie said you've missed two check-ins. That's not like you to avoid your mom, unless you're hiding something." He narrowed his eyes. "But I wouldn't think you'd start using again."
The words fell like lead.
Using again.
So this fucker knew William used to do heroin. But that holier-than-thou tone…who gave him the fucking right? And farm experiment? Like the land William had thrown his whole damn life into the last few years was a project for the 4H-Fair. As if he toiled in a flower garden each afternoon, instead of busting his ass from sunup to sundown.
Despite Shane's silent rage, William merely crossed his arms.
"Is that what she's worried about?" he said, like the entire conversation bored him.
"She worries about a lot of things."
"She should be worried that her lapdog is in heat. That divorce sounded real messy. I bet you're all eager to find a new master these days."
Cam flinched. "You bitch."
It was the first time he appeared truly affected by one of the barbs, but Shane couldn't even relish in that victory, distracted by William's words.
New master.
He wanted badly to chuck a hay bale; to get out whatever feeling was wilting in his chest like a dying flower.
"Takes one to know one, Cam," William said. "But I've already got a cat. Don't need another pet."
Cam threw his hands up.
"Ugh! I forgot what an irritating, crude, barbaric jackass you could be."
"Glad to give you a reminder," William said.
Cam glared. "I'm getting tired of your same old song and dance. Here I was thinking that coming to visit you would be interesting."
"The door is pretty damn interesting."
"One of these days you're going to need help, but you'll have chased away anyone who gave a damn," Cam snapped. "I'm not so easy to scare off, Will. Whether you like it or not. Now come on. I'm sure that Angie needs help in the kitchen."
On that note he marched out of the barn.
Soon as he was alone, William rubbed his face and glanced around the room, looking like he'd aged several years. Then—slipping on a fixed, neutral expression—he followed Cam, closing the barn door neatly behind him in the way he liked it kept.
Shane stared at the mess of hay bales in the loft, helpless.
What had just happened?
William seemed to hate Cam. All the sarcasm and insults, and that anger shooting through the air when he'd touched him. But if he hated him, what was that look about after? Why did he get the sense that William was hurting from that whole exchange?
Because under the insults there's feelings, dumbass.
Shane picked up a hay bale, throwing it on the stack.
He wasn't gonna do this. Wasn't gonna sit here and wonder what kind of history they had.
He chucked another bale.
Wasn't gonna wonder how long they'd been together, or why they'd broken up, or what Cam meant by not easy to scare off.
Another bale.
Wasn't gonna imagine William's beautiful body, bent over Cam in a kiss like he'd given Shane in the spa.
Nope.
Grunting, he threw three more bales, one after another.
Wasn't gonna imagine any of that.
William lost his shadow at the harvest sheds. One minute he was letting Cameron fuss over all the fresh fruit, and the next he'd slipped away to the dairy barns.
This was, he decided, bad. Very fucking bad. Because Shane was about to get introduced to his ex. And not just any ex, but his mother's adopted son of an ex. Which maybe, if they were on stable ground, wouldn't have been such a big deal. Instead they were deep in a secret quagmire of 'it's complicated'.
It wasn't like he was hiding Cameron's existence. But he hadn't had time to take Shane out on a fucking date yet. How did one explain the convoluted, Jerry Springer, chosen-family bullshit going on with his mother and ex-fiancé? With a powerpoint? Some type of laser light show? Maybe with props?
Kick that can down the road.
How did these things keep happening to him?
"DANIELS? WHERE YOU AT?" he shouted, as soon as he was moderately sure his voice wouldn't carry to Cameron.
No answer. He ran his hands through his hair.
This was not supposed to happen. Yesterday Shane had voluntarily kissed him. And how was he repaying him? By shoving him face-first into his opened suitcase full of issues.
He left the dairy barns, following the trail of finished farming projects until arriving at the equipment barn. When he saw Shane standing in the doorway, something inside his chest relaxed.
Shane couldn't have been more of a fucking opposite picture of Cameron Baker if he tried. Where Cameron had a fresh fade and wore an expensive wool sweater, Shane was in a sweat-stained work shirt, mud on his boots, hair dusty and dirty with hay shavings.
Rip it off like a band-aid, he thought grimly, closing the space between them.
"Look." He glanced over his shoulder to keep an eye out for Cameron. "There's been a complication. Ma popped in. Unannounced. Again. And she brought...my ex-boyfriend with her."
He braced for a freak-out.
Shane grabbed his wrist, absently twisting circles around it. "Er, yeah," he said. "Heard 'em when they pulled in…"
"Yeah." William rubbed the back of his neck. "You want me to say I couldn't find you?"
Shane opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak they heard:
"Well! So this is where your farmhand was hiding!"
Cameron strolled out, a basket of apples in one hand. William's neck tightened. Of course he'd helped himself. It seemed like Cameron did that a lot lately. Helped himself to his family. Helped himself to his personal time. What were a few apples?
Cameron's sharp gaze scanned over Shane for all of 0.5 seconds, catching on his bruise.
"Oh my goodness," he said, stepping closer with a look of concern. "What in the world happened to your eye, sir?"
Shane froze with a foreign expression of alarm. William stepped forward, putting himself between them.
"Daniels took a fence post to the head yesterday," he said. "Just a small bruise. No big deal, Baker."
"A head injury?" Cameron snapped, glaring at him. "And you didn't at least take him in for an MRI, Bauer?"
"For a bump? He's fine. Stop being a mother hen."
Cameron sidestepped him to look at Shane. "You know," he said, "OSHA exists. You have a right to a hospital if you get hurt on your job."
Shane pulled on his arm. "It's fine. Wasn't hard or anything…"
"Hard enough to leave a shiner though," Cameron said. He looked between the two of them and gave a huff. "Unbelievable. You found a worker who is just as thickheaded as you are about doctors. Fine, ignore the medical professional. But"—he regarded Shane—"you start feeling sick, you make this man pay your medical bills. God knows you can afford it, Will."
"Enough," William said. "You pretend to have manners sometimes, so maybe use them and stop making mom wait." He nodded at Shane. "C'mon, Daniels. Ma has lunch ready."
He stalked toward the water pump.
If these were the guns his mother reached for in response to an unexpected absence, he was never going to skip another Sunday again. He wanted to throw his hands up and shout that this type of supervision was unfair and unwarranted, but he hadn't forgotten what a fucking mess he'd been four years ago.
"These are beautifully heavy...apples," Cameron said, catching up to both Shane and William. "You grow them?"
"Grandpa had an orchard when I moved in," William said indifferently, turning on the pump.
Cameron made a face at the mud around the base, mincing to the side. "Well, I'll see you at the table, boys," he said, and continued walking toward the porch, away from the ooze, as if he hadn't been knee deep in it less than six years ago.
William rolled his eyes, shaking his hands out and sidestepping so Shane could wash up too.
"He'll behave better in front of Ma," he muttered, unsure if he was trying to convince himself or Shane.
Shane splashed water on his sweaty face, then patted it dry on his shirt sleeve. "He's, uh…eager."
William snorted. "Eager for a kick in the ass. Whatever. Fuck this shit. Forward unto dawn and all that noise."
Time for some clarity. He pushed away the irritation, slamming a mental door shut. As they stepped towards the porch, William listed his goals as though laying out a battle plan. Goal one: protect Shane from any of the petty bullshit that Cameron or his Mom cooked up. Goal two: don't embarrass either one of them in the process of completing goal one. Goal three: resist the urge to kick the shit out of Cameron at the first opportunity.
Easy peasy, lemon squeezey.
Once at the house, William kicked off his boots before marching inside and Shane followed suit more quietly. Cameron was sitting at the table while Ma stirred a pot over the stove, her cream-colored dress and pearls clashing with the homey task. She'd found the apron where he'd hidden it, this time in the back of the freezer. William gave her a prefatory kiss. Soft fingers patted his bearded cheek, not missing a beat as she cooked.
Opening the fridge revealed that once again, Ma had rearranged his condiments. He grabbed two beers, tossing one to a surprised Shane, then snapped his top on the opener fused into the fridge handle.
Cameron raised an eyebrow from the table. "A little early to be drinking, hmm?"
Oh, fuck you.
William leaned against the fridge, narrowing his eyes at him. Defiantly he began to swallow the beer, the line of liquid creeping down the brown bottle. Cameron huffed, looking away.
William's gaze swapped to Shane and he winked.
We get it, don't we, Shane?
Shane swallowed. Though, William thought, he might almost be blushing.
"Leave it alone Cam," Ma said, exasperation at his antics. "He's got a hard job. Besides, his dad says the micro-brew is very good."
"Yeah, Cam," William taunted. "Dad thinks it's good."
"Boys, honestly."
Ma began carrying several covered dishes to the table, and when she saw Shane standing to the side she smiled warmly.
"It's so good to see you, Shane!"
"Um. Same to you," he said, stiffly taking a seat in the chair across from Cameron. He closed his eyes and took a long swallow of beer, as if it would soften Cameron's sharp presence across from him.
"Are any of the summer bottles left from last year, William?" Ma asked. "Cameron, his wine is amazing. I keep telling him to enter it into that homebrewing contest at the club."
William placed his beer down at the setting next to Shane's. "Got some in the cellar. You want a glass?"
"Oh, one at lunch won't hurt."
Cameron sniffed. "None for me, thanks." He ran long fingers over the table cloth, turning his attention to the food. "Angie, this looks delicious."
Asskisser.
William fetched a bottle from the cellar. When he came back up, the food had been spread out: potatoes au gratin, roast vegetables, sliced chicken breast in white gravy, and fresh rolls. Ma and Cameron began to fill their plates, Cameron with only chicken and veggies, ignoring the carb-heavy foods. Probably on another diet. What was it about divorces and dieting that seemed to go hand-in-hand?
William poured Ma a glass then sat down on Shane's other side. The two of them matched. Ma and Cameron were dressed like an issue of 'Country Club Today,' but he and Shane looked like regular people with fucking jobs. "So, what'd I miss at your last shindig, Ma?" he asked, scooping potatoes onto his plate.
"Oh!" Cameron beamed. "William, the Hollys are getting a divorce."
Ma shot him a reproving look. "It's a shame."
"I called it six months ago," Cameron said, "and you said I was being catty."
"You yowl like one," said William.
"William!" Ma snapped. "Manners."
Cameron smirked.
William saw it as the ploy for attention it was. Still, ploy or not, he'd rather him get attention through verbal sparring than from digging into a taboo subject. Every time Ma or Cameron steered towards uncomfortable and unwelcome topics such as William's personal life, or rude questions about the farm, he distracted them. He had a range of subjects to pull from: people they knew, events that had happened over the last two years in Zuzu, or gossip about a shared social enemy.
Next to him, Shane hid like a shadow, silent as he ate. Though doing everything possible not to draw attention to himself, William couldn't help but notice him—including the regretful look on his face when he realized he'd run out of beer.
Under the guise of refilling his own, William fetched him a fresh bottle, the whole while discussing the stupidity of one of his parent's neighbors.
"—and I said no wonder their boat had a hole, Ma. He stores it in a damn garage." William set the new beers on the table. "Ain't good to do that to a boat."
Cameron scoffed. "Like you've ever taken care of a boat before. You were Army, not Navy."
"Got transported on plenty of them."
Cameron turned his focus to Shane. "Will and I met on the front lines. He was loud and hard to ignore."
"Had to pull this one off a local who'd called him a cheap floozy," William said, his stomach tightening at the sudden beam of interest in Shane.
"I would have won that fight," Cameron sniffed, and when Ma giggled he added, "Angie, I would have!"
"Sure you would have, dear."
It had been a long week, William reflected. They'd both been on leave after a big personnel switch. At least half of their platoon had been off-duty, and the bars had been crowded. He'd retreated down the road to a hole-in-the-wall local place—intending to get a drink he didn't have to fight four other guys for—when he'd seen him.
Back then, Cameron wasn't into this prissy bullshit. He'd been a lean man in a white sleeveless tank, eyeliner, and a BDU jacket tied around slim hips. At first sight, the openly gay fellow serviceman was intriguing. William had offered to buy him a drink just as he'd gone off like a screaming fishwife at some dumbass who'd mistaken him for a rentboy.
The fight itself hadn't been anything to write home about; whatever training medical staff received in basic hadn't stayed with Sgt. Baker. William had hauled him over one shoulder and spent the rest of the night babysitting his drunk and shrill ass.
They'd both been lonely, horny, and in that thrill of surviving combat. It had been repeated fun back then. No pressure. No stakes. Just getting off.
"The front lines," Shane repeated, woodenly.
William snapped out of the memory and to the present, feeling guilty. Last night, he and Shane had shared more intimacy and realness than in the entire first six months of fooling around with Cameron.
"Yes," said Ma, her eyes on William's tense face. "William—"
"Is very sure no one wants to talk about that," he interrupted smoothly.
Cameron cocked his head. "Will, haven't you told your new employee about how you're a hero?"
William's entire body tightened.
What the fuck does he think he's doing?
Ma shot Cameron a warning look.
"Cameron," she said, standing, "do be a doll and go gas up my car? Shane will help me clean, and then you and I can head home."
Relief sizzled down William's back. As frustrating as his mother could be, as interfering and nosy, and as loyal as she'd been to Cameron…it was nice to be reminded that he was still her son. That she wasn't going to let old wounds get opened just so Cameron could relive the glory days.
Cameron opened his mouth to argue, but Ma cleared her throat with a steely cough.
"Yes," he said, defeated. "Of course. Will? I don't know where the closest gas is. Could you be a dear and help me?"
William shotgunned the rest of his beer and slapped it down. "As long as you're driving, Lapdog."
Cameron scowled and tossed his napkin on the table.
William weighed the risk of leaving Shane with his mother, but she wasn't going to hurt him, even if she did get a bit nosy. He passed behind Shane, resting a hand between his shoulder and the slope of his neck, trying to give him silent courage before going to complete the last task that kept their uninvited guests here.
As the door closed behind them he felt Shane's eyes on him, and silently promised he'd be back soon.
William stomped into his boots once on the porch, ignoring Cameron's sigh of impatience. It had been like this all day. Lectures here and there. Nosy-ass questions. Sighing instead of coming out with what he really thought. How they'd ever lived together for two whole years without killing one another, William would never know.
Silence stretched, uncomfortable and tight, like dried glue on skin. As he took his time with his laces, it was clear Cameron was ready for another round of verbal throwdown. It must have been something he didn't feel comfortable saying in front of Ma, otherwise he wouldn't be obviously and impatiently biding his time.
Fucker always did love an audience.
They slipped into his mother's sleek sedan, William pushing the seat all the way back and reclining the chair.
"You are too large for an average car, Will," Cameron tutted, pulling on his seatbelt. "But then, your size was always one of your strong suits."
William drummed his fingers on the car door. "Maybe if you'd accepted a beer, you wouldn't be so damn thirsty, Baker. Thought Ma was going to set you up with that lawyer she knows. Henry whatshisface."
Cameron gave the car gas, turning down the dirt road that William pointed to, his movements easy behind the wheel. "Oh we went out. He's got good taste in wine, at least. Horrendous judge of art."
"Art museum on the first date?" William asked.
Cameron smirked. "Is that jealousy?"
"Boredom," William corrected. "Go fuck whoever you want, Cam. Whatever it takes to get the taste of Roy out of your mouth."
Cameron grew silent at the mention of his ex. They drove for another few minutes.
"How far are we from the gas station, anyway?"
"It's not a gas station. It's my pumps. I keep them out here so that if there is a leak, it doesn't jeopardize the crops."
"Crops. Cows. Countryside. My my, William. For a rich city boy, you sure are getting good at this whole farming schitck. When are you going to be done with it?"
"I dunno," William said, as the pumps came up in the distance. "When are you going to be done healing all the sick people?"
"It's not the same thing. My job has hours. It has benefits and a payscale."
"And mine isn't limited by some arbitrary rules set in place by a board of directors," William said, pointing to a concrete slab.
Cameron let out a low whistle as he slowed the car. "Those tanks are huge."
"They ought to be," William said. "I paid enough for them."
They got out, and Cameron watched him turn on the pump and insert it into the car. The gas began to pour, slow and steady. It wasn't as quick as the commercial fill stations on roadsides. He'd gotten it from an auction and had to fix it twice before he could trust it. Still, for a rusty old machine, it did the trick.
William glanced back toward the house. He could see it in the distance, across his acres of crops and near the cluster of barns. The sun was starting to sink from its overhead noon position and he figured they still had at least six more hours of daylight.
He wondered what fresh hell his mother was starting with Shane; what she might be up to or prying about.
The gas stopped and he frowned. The car's tank wasn't full yet.
"I want to talk to you," Cameron said, leaning on the red kill switch, his brown eyes intense. "Really talk to you."
"You're saying words. I'm saying words. That's talking, Ba—"
"Cam," Cameron said, stepping forward. "Stop with the formalities, William. Give me some fucking credit here. You're not okay. You are saying you're okay, but I know you, and I know you're not okay."
William squinted at him.
"Fresh country air does not agree with you," he said, leaning back and punching the green button on the pump to return the flow of gas.
Frustrated, Cameron slapped the red one again.
"Stop avoiding this! Stop avoiding what I've been trying to talk to you about for weeks."
William's pulse raced.
He so did not want to do this. He'd done enough to Cameron over the years. Hurt him. Made him angry. Pushed him away. Lied to him. They were finally at a place where they didn't hate each other, but he always demanded more than William could give him.
"I'm not avoiding anything other than hurting you," William snapped, slapping the green button. When Cameron reached to hit the red button again, William snatched his wrist.
Cameron's grip twisted. He slid his own hand over, putting William's arm in a lock.
"You want to touch me? Good. I want you to touch me too," Cameron said, closing the distance. "I want you to remember how it was."
Ice ran over William's arm where they connected. He jerked it away, breaking the hold.
"You think I don't remember?" he said, his voice rough.
"I don't think you remember the right things," Cameron said, rubbing his fingers where William had pulled them away.
The hose from the pump acted as a barrier, like a velvet rope between them. William knew, based on the desperation in Cameron's eyes, that he was going to reach too hard. Was going to stretch to move past that line, and if he did—if William let him do what he wanted—it would end terribly for both of them.
Only one solution then.
"You know what I remember, Cameron?" William said, letting his voice deepen. "I remember how we met."
Hope lit in Cameron's face. "You do?"
William watched, absorbing it.
"Yup. I remember the nights at the base. I remember the way I'd leave you before you woke up, because I hated the idea of dealing with your clinging."
Unease flickered across Cameron's face. William continued, the words coming out from the dark place that he normally didn't let himself sink to. But he had no choice; he had to make sure this bridge stayed good and burnt.
"You clung all the time. Choked me with it. It was like sleeping with a python, always wrapping too tight. I also remember how angry I was when you'd come with me to my physical therapy sessions. How you used to talk to my therapists about me like I wasn't even there."
Cameron flinched at the words, as though William had struck him.
"That's not true, Will," he said. "I was—"
"Being an overbearing dick," William said. "Trying to control every part of my life."
"You needed an advocate," Cameron snapped. "They weren't helping you."
"I remember," William went on, "how you used to make decisions for us without asking me." He didn't let himself feel guilty; didn't let the hurt in Cameron's face sway him from what he was going to say. "I remember how pathetic it was when you tried to get me to stop using. How stupid you looked when you planned your failure of an intervention."
Cameron's hurt morphed into rage. "You idiotic man-child!" he snarled. "You ungrateful asshole."
"You see? I remember how much we suck together, and whatever fucking fairytale you've built in your mind about what is between us? It needs to die. You need to grow the fuck up Cameron, and stop trying to revisit toxic shitheads who did nothing but hurt you."
The gas pump clicked and William set it back into its cradle.
Cameron was crying now. Not the alligator tears he pulled out when he wanted his way, but genuine messy streams of heartbreak running over his face. William locked that image into his mind's eye. Because that's what he'd wanted—to hurt him with the truth. Make him remember what a bad fucking idea it all had been.
"You are so fucking wrong," Cameron hissed, shaking his head and rubbing his thumbs under his eyes with frustration. "So fucking wrong."
William tightened his mother's gas cap and replaced the nozzle. When he turned around, Cameron hit the locks.
"Listen to yourself! You always do this shit. Try to act like you're so damn tough, when someone just wants to care about you."
William threw his hands up. "You don't want to care about me, Cameron. You want someone to fix your life, and I cannot do that! I cannot be what you're asking. I cannot go back to what we were, because what we were is dead and fucking buried, okay?"
"We were good together," Cameron insisted. "Don't you remember?" He stepped forward, putting his hand on William's arm, who was too tired to push him off. "You used to cook for me. I'd come home after a bad day, and you were there. You'd always get my favorite wine. We watched television and riffed on the bad sitcom writing."
William swallowed back his pity. The reminder was painful because he hadn't actually cooked, he'd just reheated food he'd picked up from Gretchen and his mom on those days. Cameron would always rave over the clean kitchen. It was easy to clean a kitchen you'd never cooked in.
Between his own shitty behavior and Roy's abusive side, something had broken in this once proud man. A wave of guilt ran through him as Cameron begged.
"Just...look. One date. I'm asking you to—"
"It's over," William said, his voice soft. "It's been over, for years. It's been buried and mourned and moved past."
"YOU MOVED PAST IT!" Cameron shouted, eyes filling again. "You destroyed it and moved on, but here I am asking you to just help me pick up these pieces—"
"Cameron. I never loved you. And I never will."
It was, he knew, a dark and dirty truth. One that Cameron wouldn't believe unless he made him face it.
Neither of them had really known what love was back then. What it meant to seek for something, or to put someone else truly first. And William didn't know what it was now, but he knew what it wasn't. And whatever he and Cam had had, it wasn't love.
"You are a fucking trash heap of a man, William Bauer," Cameron hissed, finally jerking his hand back. "A lying, selfish dick."
"That's what I've been saying," William said, turning to the driver's side.
"Where are you going?"
"To drive Ma's car back. So she can go the hell home, and so I can get on with my life."
"I'm. Not. Done."
"Doesn't matter. Because I am."
He regarded Cameron's flushed face. Didn't he realize that what he wanted had been a fantasy? It had crashed and burned because they'd never been based in reality.
"No one will ever care about you as much as I did, William," Cameron snapped. "And I'm not giving up on you. Because you need me out here. You need someone who knows you, someone who cares about your health, even when you don't."
"You know what I need?" William asked in a tired voice. "I need you to move the hell on. You feel free to call when you've gotten over your quest to reunite, alright? You're bearable when you're not trying to get in my pants."
Cameron screamed in outrage as William shut the door. He turned the car back toward his house, and behind him in the dust Cameron threw two middle fingers up in the air.
Letting out a breath, he leaned back in his mother's too small seat.
He wasn't sure if that was going to be what it took. Fighting with Cameron was always an exercise in rubbery physics. They'd yell and shout, but after tempers had cooled, William would return to apologize. Because the facts were, back then, he'd needed Cameron. Needed someone to help him with basic hygiene. Needed someone to help him untangle the spaghetti phone lines of the VA, and to make those appointments. Needed someone who could drive and help him in and out of his wheelchair.
Needed someone with access to the good, strong, and life-affirming opiates that he'd craved.
He'd needed what Cameron could do, but he'd never needed who he was. And love wasn't like that.
He parked the car and waited a moment, collecting himself, and looked down at his scars and tattoos.
Feather-light ghost fingers ran over his arm. He turned his head, almost expecting Shane to be sitting in the seat next to him.
But it was empty.
William swallowed the guilt and slipped back into his cheerful ego that would put his mother at ease. Fake as it was, he just wanted to get through this visit without losing his mind from self-loathing.
"Time to get this over with," he muttered, stepping towards the house, and to the person he really felt could understand him.