Page 80 of The Leaving Kind

Cam started joining words. “Milford Lawn, Milford Beautiful, Milford Grounds.” It was harder to marry his name to the ideas on Nick’s growing list, but he tried a few. “Zimmermann Landscape, Zimmermann Garden, Zimmermann Prospect. How about Zimmermann Projects? That sounds good.”

“Either that or Cam Do.”

“Cam what? No, oh, no. That’s terrible.”

Nick grinned. “We’ll start with Zimmermann Projects. It’s versatile. You can fit a few business models underneath it. Now we need to figure out whether or not the name is already registered.”

The roiling returned. What if someone already had the name? He’d be stuck. And how long would he have to wait to find out how stuck he was?

Nick flipped back to the website Cam had found and brought up a search tool. He handed over the phone. “Type it in.”

Cam put the phone on the counter and drew in a deep and not refreshing breath. He picked up the phone with a trembling hand and put it down. Fuck. He tried again and nearly dropped the phone. The kitchen started to spin, and it was as though he hadn’t been breathing at all. A roaring started up somewhere inside his head, and he had to fight the urge to cover his ears. His back hurt and every one of his scars ached.

Shit. Not now.

It’d been more than two years since he’d fought dread so strong, he nearly blacked out. But with as hard as he’d been avoiding thinking, he almost wasn’t surprised to feel it now—strong fingers of doubt pressing at the base of his skull and the noise. Why was panic always so loud?

Pushing off the stool, Cam stood still for long enough to ensure his feet were on the ground and then took off. Or tried to. Nick grabbed his arm again. He might have been talking, his mouth was moving, but the crashing waves inside Cam’s skull drowned him out.

Shaking his head, Cam jerked his arm out of Nick’s grasp and made for the door.

Nick beat him there and spread his arms from side to side, forming a barrier.

“Don’t.” Cam pushed ineffectually at his chest. He didn’t want to hurt his brother. Not Nicky.

When Nick didn’t move, Cam pushed a little harder.

The roar inside his head was now so loud, it hurt. And he still didn’t seem to be getting any air. Black spots crowded in around the edges of his vision, and the sense of being exposed crept across his shoulders. The need to duck and cover swamped him. Turning, Cam scouted the room and chose the couch in the living area facing the kitchen.

Somehow managing not to knock over anything in his path, he lurched toward his destination, bundled himself into the farthest corner of the couch, hunched forward, and curled his arms over his head.

Breathe.

If he didn’t, he’d pass out, which might be a mercy.

Air ripped down his throat and his lungs convulsed. He managed another breath, and the roar started to fade. The hum beneath remained steady, though. No, the hum was new, the hum was ...

Tears pricked his eyes.

The hum was his brother, sitting next to him on the couch. His skinny little brother who had followed him everywhere, day and night. Through the house, out into the yard. To the creek where they’d float side by side until Nicky was old enough to play games. Up and down the street where Cam taught him to ride a bike. In the basement, batting a ping-pong ball back and forth.

Cam remembered waking up with the sun on Saturday mornings to find Nick sitting at the end of his bunk—he’d had the upper one—stacking cars or blocks or books or whatever the fuck he’d carried up there. He’d look up when Cam woke and show him that awkward, lopsided smile.

It hadn’t always been them playing, though. Nick had had such a hard time connecting with others. He’d come home from school bewildered and in tears and sometimes he’d yell and scream and rock into walls.

Cam remembered rocking with him. They used to try to stop him until they figured out that he needed the rhythm of movement—and that he could be left to do it on his own as long as he wasn’t in danger of hurting himself. Cam had never liked leaving him alone, though.

Until he had.

Now, he read the concern in Nick’s eyes. Saw what few others would see. The love beneath. Nick’s emotions on full display.

“I’m sorry,” Cam whispered.

“It’s okay.”

“No, you—” It was too hard to explain.

Nick allowed a beat of quiet to pass between them before speaking again. “Is this because you want to start a business?”