Page 39 of The Leaving Kind

But before Cam could shift the gears in his head toward whether he’d sleep with a client—of Luisa’s business or his—Victor asked the question guaranteed to redirect his thoughts.

“How did you get those scars?”

Cam’s grin didn’t have the same ease he’d shown earlier. But neither did he appear pained. Either way, Victor refused to feel censured or embarrassed. Questions formed the shortest path to answers, and the more direct the enquiry, the better the results.

Besides, if Cam preferred not to discuss his scars, he wouldn’t have taken his shirt off. Twice.

Right?

After swallowing the rest of the water in his bottle, the plastic crackling under the squeeze of his fingers, Cam wiped his forearm across his mouth and said, “Alligator wrestling in Louisiana.”

Victor eyed him suspiciously. “That’s a thing?” He studied the scars again, looking for bite marks or ... bite marks. When he glanced up, Cam’s eyes glinted with dark humor.

Hands on hips, Victor shot him a disapproving look. “Where are the bite marks?”

“Oh! You mean this scar?” Cam dropped his chin so they were both studying his chest. “I was hitchhiking through New Mexico and got picked up by aliens. Sliced me from hip to right here”—he touched the top of the longest scar—“and left me in a bathtub full of ice.”

Honey whined. With a quiet chuckle, Cam rubbed between her ears. “This is why you don’t hitchhike,” he said with mock seriousness.

The dog whuffed softly and pressed her nose against his arm.

Victor snorted. The likelihood of Cam wrestling alligators or aliens felt equally remote. Also, if he wasn’t mistaken, the two lumps near his shoulder were bullet wounds. Still, he could play along.

Victor pointed one out. “Let me guess. This one is the result of a ray gun?”

Cam inspected the rounded lump closest to his clavicle and sobered. “M16.”

And ... game over.

Victor swallowed the embarrassment he hadn’t felt earlier. If he’d spared a moment for thought, it would have been obvious. The speed with which Cam had arrived at his side the day they’d met, and the genuine concern regarding any possible injuries. His calmness and efficiency. His occasional gruffness. Yes, Victor could be describing any number of people, but the facts also fit one particular profile. Cam was a veteran. Of course he was.

“Where did you serve?” Victor asked.

“Afghanistan.”

And obviously during the worst of it. Then again, much of it had been “the worst of it,” Victor imagined. “Does it make you uncomfortable when people say thank you?”

“Why, are you thinking about it?” Cam’s lips crooked into a grin that was difficult to read. Not exactly cheeky or mischievous but definitely teasing.

“I was generally curious,” Victor said. “I’ve observed several reactions.”

“Probably because some days it’s like, sure, and others it’s ...” His smile faltered.

Victor watched him for a few seconds. When Cam turned away, it seemed clear he wasn’t going to continue. Victor wouldn’t press. Also, the tattoo behind his left shoulder was now on full display and quite interesting up close. A ribbon, rippling back and forth, each pass imprinted with a date. The artistry and ink differed slightly between the lines, as though each had been added at a different time. The most recent was about five years ago, with the earliest being from 1992.

What Victor had taken as a patch of moles across his right shoulder blade was a second tattoo. Were those ... fireflies? And stars, each with a yellow-orange corona.

How curious.

“I think you could be one of the most fascinating people I have ever met,” Victor murmured.

“I think we should finish putting those trees in the ground.” Cameron put his empty bottle on the table and jerked a nod toward the garage.

Victor prepared to follow him around the side of the house, only to nearly collide with his back as Cam stopped to pet the dog again. To give the impression that had also been his plan, Victor gave Honey a soft stroke as he passed.

He could feel Sinister watching him from the kitchen. Turning toward the window, he made a shooing motion. “Off the table.”

The cat, of course, did not comply. A moment later, Dexter joined him, the pair resembling outsized and fluffy salt and pepper shakers. When Victor moved, they continued peering through the window at the dog.