Page 93 of The Leaving Kind
“What? No, I don’t want you to pay rent. You’re a friend. Besides, I don’t pay rent. I tried, but Emma wouldn’t let me. I’ve been saving it for her to use after college instead.” Cam sighed toward his shoes, which were getting undue attention today. “Not that she’ll probably need it. My sister left her pretty well set up.” He glanced sideways. “Then why were you sleeping on Luisa’s couch?”
Jorge held out a hand, and Cam passed over the printouts. After sorting them into an order he seemed to like, Jorge said, “I was taking a break.” He met Cam’s curious gaze. “When did you get back?”
“From Afghanistan? 2008. You?”
“Five years ago.”
They shared a moment of silence pregnant with meaning that only they would ever fully understand.
“I like trees,” Jorge finally said. “I like working with you. Wouldn’t mind if we kept on.”
Swallowing a sudden lump, Cam squeezed the big man’s arm. “Then we’ll keep on.”
As though they’d agreed on nothing more important than where to get lunch, Jorge nodded and handed the slips back. “We’ll load this one first.”
“Right on.”
The sense of being dazed followed Cam all through the morning deliveries and the two afternoon mowing jobs. ZP, as he was starting to think of Zimmermann Projects, had enough business to split between two teams. Estefan, Renata, and Beck worked mornings. He and Jorge worked the afternoons. They met up sometimes for larger jobs.
It worked because Cam and Jorge were still being paid by the tree farm. With his own place in the new venture subsidized, Cam could afford to push work toward Estefan’s team. Realistically, while he and Jorge lived rent free, he could continue doing so. But that would be half-assing the situation.
Every time he thought about what it meant to have a business, his gut curdled and he thought he might shit himself. But he still wanted to do it right.
That evening, after showering and changing his clothes, he found Jorge and Honey in front of the TV. “Wait, are you watching—”
“Shh.” Jorge shooed him away and put his hand back over Honey’s shoulders. “It’s the episode where Tuvok and Neelix get fused together by the transporters.”
Cam grinned.
“You can take that grin to your boyfriend’s house. He’ll appreciate it more than I do.”
With a salute, Cam left.
Victor had dinner ready for them, and Cam settled into what had become his customary seat at Victor’s long kitchen table. “Guess who’s watching Star Trek right now? All on his own.”
“As if the poor man doesn’t have enough scars,” Victor said drily.
“Jorge’s a survivor. He’ll be fine.” Cam dug into the baked pasta Victor had prepared. The fat raviolis were soft and the sauce rich and flavorful. “This is good.”
“Another of my slow cooker standbys.”
“You cooked this in a Crock-Pot?”
“Mm-hmm. You use frozen ravioli. Dump in the sauce, sprinkle cheese over the top, and let it sit all afternoon.”
“I gotta get myself one of those.”
Stopping short of licking his plate, Cam put his fork down and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Just as well you planned a big meal, because I wanted to talk. If you’re cool with that.”
Their evenings more often consisted of food then sex, or sometimes sex then food. Food and talking happened occasionally. Usually when they ate something heavy.
Victor put his fork aside and picked up his wineglass. “Should I be worried?”
“Only about my sanity.”
Snorting, Victor drained the last mouthful from his glass. “‘Oh, you can’t help that, said the cat. We’re all mad here.’”
Cam chuckled. “What’s that?”