Page 73 of The Leaving Kind

Pushing away from the desk, Cam sprang to his feet and paced around the small office, shaking out his arms and hands. What the actual fuck? What had just happened? Why had he been such an ass? A phone call didn’t equal commitment. It was... a phone call.

Maybe he was on edge because of the whole new-business thing. His conversations with Luisa and Jorge about all the equipment he needed to purchase. The realness of actually seeming to start a business.

The office door opened, and Cam jumped out of his skin. Whirling, he nearly dropped into a crouch ... and stopped as Jorge’s large frame filled the doorway. “Fuck, man.”

Jorge lifted his chin, which was his way of asking if Cam was all right.

“I’m fine.” Cam pressed a hand over his ribs. “Freaking out is all.” He frowned. “What are you doing here?”

Jorge looked between Cam, the couch, and back again. He had a damned pillow and a folded blanket tucked under one arm.

“You’re sleeping here? Does Luisa know?”

He shook his head.

“Where do you go before she gets here?”

Breakfast, obviously. And somewhere he could shower or wash.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jorge. Why didn’t you say something?” Cam held up a hand to forestall any reply, not that Jorge appeared ready to start talking. He’d probably used up all his words that morning.

Cam pointed toward the door. “Grab whatever you need. You’re coming home with me.”

There was no point in asking why Jorge had to sleep on Luisa’s couch. Not only had he likely used up his verbal allowance for the day, he might prefer not to share the story. Cam got it. He’d been there—a few times, now.

Jorge insisted on bringing his car, and they parked side-by-side in Cam’s driveway. They’d gone from one lonely vehicle to three in a short space of time.

Cam led the way to the front door. “So, this is the place. It’s in trust for my niece. I’m looking after it until then.” He didn’t know all the specifics of how the ownership would transfer, he just figured someone would tell him when it was time to move out.

Inside, they greeted Honey, giving her ear rubs and belly pats. Cam put her on the long leash he’d attached outside the back door and let her out for a bit while he toured Jorge through the rest of the house.

“Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge. There’s not much. We can shop tomorrow if you want.” Having someone else around would mean they could plan meals and such. “TV’s in there.” He pointed out the family room. “Bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs. You can have my brother’s old room.” Cam opened the door and leaned in. A smile spread across his face. “I grew up in this house. In this room.” He turned his smile on Jorge. Clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s yours for as long as I’m here.”

Jorge studied him for a long, silent moment, and Cam expected nothing more than a nod at the end, and for Jorge to disappear into the neat and somewhat impersonal bedroom Nick had left behind.

Quietly, Jorge said, “Thank you.”

“Sure. I just wish I’d known you needed somewhere to stay sooner. Why didn’t you say so?”

Jorge didn’t answer.

“Want something to eat?”

Jorge followed him back to the kitchen and sat at Cam’s bidding. Cam pulled out the leftover burgers he’d grilled up the night before and set them on the table with fixings: buns, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, mayo.

“Mustard, ketchup, or both?”

Honey scratched at the door, and Jorge let her in. Then, together, they fed her and themselves. While he sat there chewing, watching Jorge chew, listening to Honey chew the scraps that kept miraculously falling in the vicinity of Jorge’s feet, Cam contemplated their situation.

He put his burger down. “Some, they come home and pick up right where they left off.”

Jorge nodded.

“Why didn’t we?”

After swallowing his mouthful, Jorge sipped his beer, set the bottle back on the table, folded his hands, and looked Cam square in the eye. “If I had an answer for that, I’d still be married and you wouldn’t be living in your niece’s house.”

Cam’s dinner turned into a black hole intent on devouring his stomach from the inside. “You have any friends?” he asked. “I don’t mean why aren’t you staying with them. I mean people you can sit with and not talk about Afghanistan but know they’re hearing every word anyway.”