It was the sound of Cam’s voice, lighter and higher, reading aloud while I painted in the corner on the little easel Cal always left just for me. My hands had been busy and my mind quiet—full of other people’s stories and Cam’s voice.

I plucked a title from the shelf, noting the multicolored, highlighted passages just as Cam found me.

“Sorry, I got distracted,” I told him, my nose scrunching.

“So I see.” He looked around the room, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he remembered the same things about it that I did.

He walked over, his boots heavy on the floor, and I cringed at my lack of manners. “Sorry, I forgot to take off my shoes after that last load.”

He snorted. “That’s our parents’ rule. Not mine, if you can’t tell.” He took the book from my hand and surprised me by not putting it back but flipping it to read the cover. “East of Eden. Good choice.”

“Steinbeck,” I commented.

“So it says.” He slightly lifted the corner of his mouth. “‘There is more beauty in truth, even if it is dreadful beauty.’” The quote tumbled from those lips easily.

“You always did have a good memory for books.” That was putting it mildly. He could remember lines and details that most people glanced over and never thought about again.

“It’s one of my favorites. Besides, books are easy,” he said with a shrug. “They lay out their truth in literal black and white. Probably why Dad never liked them. He’d rather make up his own stories so they conform to what he already believes.”

“People are harder,” I noted. “Are you really okay? I mean, he shot you.” I asked the question that had plagued me since last night.

“Right as rain.” He lifted his shirt with a smug little smirk, revealing miles of abs that dipped and rose to the tattoos that started along his side and covered his chest. In the center, just beneath his pecs, the skin was a livid red, peppered with a series of deep-purple bruises. “See?”

“Cam,” I whispered, stepping closer.

He backed up and dropped his smirk and the shirt. “No problem here.”

“I wasn’t worried about you physically,” I muttered to his back as he left the library, but I knew that was the only response I was going to get. Cam would tell you he was fine if he were bleeding to death.

“Holy shit, how many boxes did you bring?” he asked as he walked into the entryway.

Crap. I should’ve been gone by now. I really didn’t want to see him realize what his father had done. What I’d done.

“Um. A few.” I beelined across the entry as he opened a random box.

“This is my football jersey.”

I paused with my hand on the doorknob. So close.