"Fuck," I curse again, running a hand through my hair, watching her walk out onto the terrace where the pool glistens under the midday sun, the water casting faint, rippling shadows across the patio. She clearly needs some space, and I know I have to give it to her, even if my chest tightens as she walks away.
I head out to the car and pull my guns from under the seat of the truck, feeling the cool weight of them in my hands. Back in the quiet of the living room, I set everything down on the coffee table and begin cleaning them, the sharp, metallic scent mixing with the faint smell of coffee and the fresh citrus from Kendall's shampoo that still lingers in the air.
The rhythmic motion of wiping and reassembling the guns steadies me, lets me focus on something other than the lingering ache of our earlier argument.
But really, what do I expect? She heard me say that I'm stuck with her.
Anyone's feelings would be hurt.
After about half an hour, I let out a groan, putting down the guns and getting up, glancing out to the terrace where I see Kendall, lying on a lounge chair with her sunglasses on, her skin glowing in the sunlight, bronzed against her black bikini.
The sight is enough to make my pulse quicken, but I make myself focus on her face.
The serene expression she has when she thinks I'm not looking, the way her lips part slightly as she relaxes-she doesn't need to know how much seeing her like this affects me.
I sit down beside her on the ground, the stone warm beneath me, radiating the heat of the day.
She doesn't flinch or pull away, which gives me a glimmer of hope.
"Kendall," I call softly, watching as she tilts her head slightly, the mirrored lenses hiding her eyes. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" she asks, her tone flippant, but there's a slight tremor in her voice, and I know she's waiting for something more.
"You know what," I mumble, heat crawling up the back of my neck.
She's not going to let me get away with that, though, and I can tell she's going to make me spell it out. "I'm sorry for what you heard me say on the phone. I didn't mean it."
"Didn't you?" she asks, her voice cool, like she's weighing every word, testing them for honesty.
"Dante offered for you to stay with him and Mia," I say quietly, the confession slipping out, each word heavy with meaning. "I said I wanted to stay with you, instead."
"Why?" She sits up, frowning, the soft creases between her brows a sign of confusion that only deepens when I hesitate.
"Why would you want to stay when you could be rid of me?"
"I…I don't want to be rid of you, Kendall," I say haltingly, stumbling over my own admission.
My words feel foreign, awkward, but it's the truth. "I'm not really good at this whole…talking things out."
"I need a little more than that," she says dryly, crossing her arms, but there's a flicker of something-curiosity, maybe-in her eyes.
"I like being here with you," I finally manage, each word feeling like a weight lifted but somehow leaving me more vulnerable.
"I've enjoyed spending time with you."
"And?" Her voice softens, and she leans in just slightly, the warmth of her skin close enough to touch.
"And what?" I groan, trying to hold on to what little control I have left.
"And you want to protect me," she says, a hint of a smile teasing at the corners of her lips.
"I want to protect you," I agree, the intensity of my feelings surprising even me.
"That's what I've done, this whole time. Right?"
"Right," she says, the hint of a smile turning into something real, something warm, and it makes her look radiant.
"And part of you likes being stuck with me."
"I wouldn't go that far," I mutter, feeling my own lips curve into a smile as she shifts, climbing into my lap.
My heart slows, the anxiety from earlier fading in the comfort of her nearness.
I hate her being mad at me-it makes my heart pound with guilt, an ache at the back of my mind that I can't shake.
"You like me, Mr. Andretti," she teases, her voice low and playful as she begins kissing along my neck, her lips soft against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
Before I flip her over and start biting the back of her neck, I feel a hot flush on my cheeks.
I'm not much of a blusher, but here I am.
She's not able to talk much after that, thank God.
---
Two weeks pass, and we've exhausted our supplies.
Despite the quiet, there's still no sign of Marco, and the tension is building, a steady, nagging weight that keeps me on edge.
It's like waiting for a bomb to go off, knowing it's coming but not knowing when.
I talk to Dante every day, hoping for something, anything, to break the silence.
One day, I get a call from Elora.
"Let me talk to Kendall," she demands, her tone sharp, laced with worry.
"Good to hear from you too, sis," I say, trying to keep my tone light.
"Put her on the phone," she insists, not taking the bait, and I sigh.
"She's sleeping," I tell her, glancing over to where Kendall is resting on the couch, her face peaceful, softened by sleep.
"You better be taking care of her," Elora barks, her voice fierce, almost like a warning.
"I'm fine," I say flatly, feeling a bit annoyed by her assumption. "Thanks for asking."
"I know you're fine. You're too stubborn to die, but Kendall… she witnessed something really messed up, Camden. You have to keep an eye on her."
"I am," I say, looking out to the pool where Kendall is now sitting at the edge, dipping her toes in the water, her hair loose, blowing in the light breeze.
The sun casts a golden glow across her skin, and my eyes linger on her and that bikini I've untied with my teeth about-
"…that bikini I've untied with my teeth about a dozen times now," I mutter under my breath, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of my lips.
"Have her call me back when she gets up," Elora insists, her voice softened slightly, and I agree.
"All right, all right. You doing okay?" I ask, genuinely wanting to know.
"I'm fine," she says, a hint of a smile in her tone.
"Like you, too stubborn to die."
I laugh, a genuine laugh that surprises even me.
"Fair enough."
I hang up and walk over to Kendall, the warmth of the stone patio beneath my feet as I sit next to her at the pool's edge.
The faint scent of chlorine mixes with her floral perfume, making it hard to concentrate.
"Elora wants you to call her," I tell her, and her eyes light up, the excitement bringing a new energy to her face.
"Can I?" she asks, her voice almost shy, and I nod, feeling a smile tugging at my lips.
"Just call Dante's number, ask for her," I tell her, watching as she bounces up, a wide grin on her face, and heads toward the lawn chair where I've left my phone.
She's too damn cute, her excitement so genuine, and I shouldn't be thinking about how her happiness makes my chest ache in a way I can't explain.
I shouldn't be smiling like this, watching her as she goes inside, her movements light and easy, the image of her filling the quiet of the house with a warmth I've come to rely on.
I shouldn't be looking at her this way at all…but what else do I have to do?
Like I said to Dante, I'm stuck with her, even if I don't mind it so much anymore.
What I don't know is how much longer that'll be true.