Aspen shrugged. “Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s not. We’ll soon find out. Until then, well, I’m not worried. Nor am I finding it a reason for us to be roomies again. But I’m not surprised that you’d try to exploit the situation to get your way. It’s a total Camden move, so I really should have seen it coming.”
“Yes, you should’ve. You know me better than anyone. And I know you better than anyone, so I know you don’t like us living apart. If you did, I’d roll with the change. Maybe. But you don’t.”
God, getting the man to let something go could be an exhausting business. He was stubborn to a fault, much like his tiger.
She hadn’t expected him to be this bugged by their change in circumstance. Maybe he simply didn’t like living alone, though that didn’t ring true.
Done with her cereal, she rose from her seat and placed her bowl and spoon in the sink. “If living alone bothers you so much, you could look into getting another roommate.”
“I don’t want another one. I want you.”
Even though he didn’t mean the latter words in the way she wished he did, her stomach still clenched. She folded her arms. “Out of interest, how long are you going to sulk about this?”
“Every single day until things go back to the way they were. And trust me, they will.”
Camden met her gaze full-on, making it clear that he meant every word. He held her too tight, too close—he knew that. Knew it probably wasn’t fair of him. But when there was only one thing in the world that mattered to you, you were determined not to lose it.
Friendships came and went. People drifted apart. But since the day she’d first befriended him, Aspen had been at his side through every high and every low. She’d seen him at his best and at his worst. She was the only person who really knew, understood, and accepted him. The only person he wholly trusted.
Camden always felt at ease around her. Like she was his own personal comfort zone. He knew he could tell her anything at all and she’d never judge him. He knew she’d stand by him no matter what he did.
She made him feel better without even trying. Always seemed to sense what he needed, and always gave it to him—advice, a distraction, someone to listen, a chance to vent. She was his release valve, in a sense.
More, she’d saved him. No bullshit, no exaggeration, she had full-on saved him.
When he thought back to his childhood, there were no emotions attached to the memories that came before he’d met Aspen. His therapist had claimed that his experiences had desensitized him back then and caused him to disassociate from his own feelings. She hadn’t bought that he was oh so suddenly getting “better.”
To be fair, he’d simply mimicked Aspen at first, following her advice and feigning emotion. But in helping him seem normal, Aspen had inadvertently helped him reconnect with parts of himself. Not all of them. But enough to count.
Still, Dr Cooper had insisted that his attachment to Aspen wasn’t healthy. Maybe it wasn’t. Back then, everything in him had latched onto her, because she’d been a lifeline. He’d decided he was going to keep her. So where she went, he went. What she did, he did.
He couldn’t say they’d bonded straight off. At first, it was more like she’d been his favorite thing, and he hadn’t liked anyone touching or messing with his things. He’d viewed her as almost an extension of himself. Viewed her as his. And he hadn’t wanted to share her with others.
He’d seen everyone as a threat to their friendship—including Havana and Bailey. He’d tried running them off at first. It had worked with others, but not them. He’d considered threatening them, but he’d known that Aspen wouldn’t like it. He’d preferred to not do things that Aspen wouldn’t like.
When it had become clear that Havana and Bailey weren’t hoping to shove him out of the picture and that Aspen wouldn’t favor them over him, he’d relaxed. Now, as an adult, he preferred that Aspen had them. She wasn’t like him. She wanted people in her life. She needed to belong and have a sense of family.
The destructive pressure that had built and built inside him as a child … It never went away. But it had shifted. Instead of being a pressure to explode, it had become a pressure to protect Aspen; to keep her close; to not let anyone steal her from him. But if shit hit the fan, the pressure would turn dark again.
He honestly didn’t know what he’d become if he ever lost her. Because, really, “friend” was too tame a word to describe what Aspen was to him. She was his one constant. She kept him sane. Centered. Anchored. For Camden, she was the person in his life. Anyone else? He could take them or leave them.