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.

36. Kingston

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?