Dad enters without explanation. I sit at the edge of my bed, facing the bathroom. That's where he goes; drill in one hand and a wrench in the other. His footsteps are heavy as he walks to the toilet and drops the lid. Then he proceeds to screw the lid onto the base.

I should care—but I just don't.

When he's done, he gets his wrench and removes the faucet and handles from the sink. He opens the cupboard underneath and works on something there. Finally, he gets up and walks out of the bathroom. I think he's going to leave, but he doesn't. Instead, he sits on my bed next to me and drops his tools. And then he cries. Hard, and loud, into his hands.

I should care—but I just can't.

"Help me," he says quietly. "I don't know what I'm doing."

And then it finally dawns on me—what he just did. He must know. Cameron must have told him.

"I hate you," I whisper, my gaze unfocused.

"I know."

"You made me hate myself."

"I know, Luce, I'm sorry.

Tears fall. I let them. "You know what the worst part is?"

"Tell me. Talk to me, please."

"The worst part is that you made me feel ashamed—when I have nothing to be ashamed of. And you used Mom's memory to make me feel like that. You took something beautiful from me and you made me ashamed of it. I love Cameron. And I know Mom would have loved him too. You know how I know? Because she would have seen him for what he is. She would have seen the boy that was there for me every day when you couldn't be. When I needed you the most, you turned your back on me. But Cam—he didn't. And he wouldn't. Even now, after everything we've put him through, he's still here. He still shows up every day. He still cares enough to tell you that I need saving. But I don't need you to save me, Dad. I need Cameron. And I don't care what you say. I don't care how you feel because you don't understand. You don't understand because you didn't care enough to ask. All you did was call me a whore—and you used Mom to fuel your fire. And I hate you for that."

I hear his sob get louder, but I don't care.

"You might think that we're young, or that we're naive, but you married Mom after two months. You think if you guys met when you were fifteen that your feelings for each other would have been different? You think your lives would be different? You think this home—this family you both built together would be different?"

I stay silent and wait for his answer.

It never comes, and it pisses me off, because I deserve answers. I face him now, no longer afraid of him. "Do you?"

He shakes his head slowly. "No, Lucy. I don't think so."

"That's what I thought." I turn away, returning my focus to nowhere ahead of me. "Now imagine someone took that away from you. Imagine if you couldn't have the one thing that gave you hope. That's right... it did get taken away. Mom's been taken away. But the difference is that you got your life, you got your kids, you got your home. You got to share all of that with your love, your hope." I turn back to him now, making him look me in the eyes. "Mom would've fallen in love with him, just like I did. And I hate you because you took my hope away from me."

***

"Lucy." I wake up to Dad shaking me gently. When I open my eyes, I see that it's daylight. It's the first time I've slept through the night since the last time I saw Cameron.

My head's pounding from all the crying.

"Lucy," he says again. "Get up. We need to go. Meet me downstairs in ten minutes."

I don't even question him. There's nothing left to question. After our talk, he cried some more, and apologized until I told him to leave. By the end of it, I was physically and emotionally exhausted.

He drives to a familiar neighborhood, one that I haven't been to in two weeks. He stops at the front of Cameron's townhouse and jerks his head to the front door. "Go get your boyfriend."

I don't think twice. I'm already smiling when I get to his door. It opens before I get a chance to knock. His eyes go wide, and then he laughs—the relieved kind of laugh. I throw my arms around him and kiss him a thousand times. But I feel his body tense, and I know that he can see Dad waiting. "What's going on, Luce?"

And it's then I realize how much I missed him. His voice. His dark eyes. His dirty blond hair. His perfect face. His smell. Everything.

"I don't know." I shrug. "He just brought me here and told me to get you. Are you coming?"

His gaze moves from Dad's car to me. "Babe, I have to work at the dealership."

"No you don't," Mark's voice sounds from somewhere in the house. A second later he's behind Cam, rubbing his shoulders. "Go be with your girl." He smiles over Cam's shoulder. "Lucy." He nods once. "It's good to see you. We've missed you around here."

*

We drive into town in complete silence. I sit in the front and he sits in the back chewing his nails. They never even greet each other.

*

"What's going on?" he whispers from next to me.

I watch Dad pacing the floor of the doctor's waiting room. "I don't know," I whisper back.

The receptionist calls my name and I stand up, so does Cam. We still don't know what we're doing here. "Let's go," Dad deadpans.

An older man—the doctor I presume—holds the door open for all three of us.