THE WRONG KIND OF TROUBLE

Chapter 9

What. The. Actual. f**k?

The moment my senses snapped back to reality and I realized what had just happened, I shoved Cameron away from me, my pulse hammering in my ears. My lips still tingled where his had been, and the sheer shock of it sent me stumbling back a step.

His wide, stunned eyes mirrored my own. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, fingers trembling slightly.

"I'm sorry. I don’t know what came over me," he muttered, his voice laced with confusion.

I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to steady my breathing. Drunk. He had to be drunk. But then my brain caught up with my senses, replaying the last few seconds—the scent of his cologne, sharp and intoxicating, but nowhere in it was the stale stench of alcohol.

"If you’re wasted, Cam, don’t mess with me. I’ve had enough of this bullshit!" My voice wavered at the end, betraying the tears pricking at my eyes. I blinked rapidly, determined not to let them fall.

"I... I'm not messing with you. And I’m not drunk." He took a hesitant step forward, closing the distance between us. "Okay, maybe a little. But I’m not wasted." His voice was softer now, more careful.

I crossed my arms tightly, nails digging into my skin as I glared at him. "Then what the hell was that?"

His gaze darkened, and for a second, something unreadable flickered in his eyes. Then, without warning, he grabbed my wrist, pulling me just a fraction closer.

"You have no idea how much I wanted to do that again," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin.

A sharp intake of breath caught in my throat. "What the hell are you talking about?"

His fingers tightened around mine, rough but not painful. "I miss you, Samantha. So f*****g much."

My body locked up at his words. My mind screamed at me to yank my hand away, to push him back, to tell him to go to hell. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Then he said the words I’d been dreading—the words that turned my stomach into a violent storm.

"I want you back."

The air between us felt heavy, suffocating. For a fleeting moment, I thought about the way things used to be—the laughter, the late-night drives, the way he used to look at me, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

But that was before. Before the lies. Before Jennifer. Before he shattered me.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat and forced the words out. "I don’t."

His expression faltered. For the briefest second, pain flashed in his eyes before he masked it with a cocky, almost disbelieving smirk.

"You’re kidding, right?" His grip tightened slightly.

I flinched. "Let me go, Cam."

He didn’t. "Tell me you don’t feel anything for me anymore. Look me in the eyes and f*****g say it."

"What you did hurt me like hell," I snapped, yanking my arm free. "And I won’t let myself go through that again. Besides—" I hesitated, then forced the next words out, "—aren’t you still with Jennifer?"

His jaw clenched. "I don’t love her. It was just s*x. No passion. No meaning. I don’t care about her, Sam. I want you, not her."

I scoffed. "So you cheated on me for s*x? Wow, Cameron, real f*****g smooth."

"That’s not what I—"

"Save it. I don’t care."

"Please, Samantha." He stepped closer again, desperation lacing his voice. Then, to my absolute horror, he dropped to his knees in front of me, gripping my hands in his. "One more chance. Just one. I swear I won’t screw this up."

If I were an i***t, I might’ve fallen for it. His teary eyes, the raw emotion in his voice—it was too damn convincing. Too damn tempting. But I wasn’t an i***t.

This was a trap. A well-crafted, emotional ambush.

Jennifer had to be behind this. It was all too good to be true.

Then another thought hit me, sending a cold shiver down my spine. The baby. If Cameron was serious, if this wasn’t just some sick game, then maybe... just maybe, I could tell him. Maybe he’d step up. Maybe I wouldn’t have to do this alone.

But then Jennifer would find out. And that girl was capable of anything.

I couldn’t risk it.

"I’m seeing someone else," I blurted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Cameron’s grip on me loosened instantly. He blinked, as if he hadn’t heard me right. "What?"

I bit my lip, nodding. "Yeah."

His expression darkened, his posture stiffening as he rose to his feet. "Who?"

My heart pounded. Do I say Tom? Do I break our unspoken deal to keep things quiet?

"It’s best if you don’t know," I muttered.

"Who?" he demanded, his voice louder, sharper. The room felt smaller, like the walls were closing in on me.

Before I could answer, the door suddenly swung open.

"Cameron! You have to go downstairs. Trouble—eight o’clock!" a voice called.

He didn’t hesitate. He was gone in seconds, storming down the hall. I followed close behind, the noise from downstairs growing louder with each step. Liz and Wes stood at the base of the stairs, both looking frantic.

"What’s going on?" I asked breathlessly, my palm on my belly.

Liz crossed her arms, raising a brow. "Your husband’s here."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

Wes pointed toward the crowd. "There."

I shoved past the bodies, heart hammering as I caught sight of the chaos.

"Fight me, loser!"

Two guys were at it in the center of the living room, fists flying. One of them was already beaten and bloody, but he still stood, fists raised. And the other...

"Tom!" I yelled before I could stop myself.

His head snapped toward me, his lip split, his right eye swollen. He looked furious. Not just at his opponent—but at me.

Shit.

Cameron turned to face me too, his expression unreadable. The crowd fell into hushed whispers, eyes flicking between me and Tom like we were the next main event. Then, as if deciding he didn’t give a damn about the scene unfolding around him, Tom turned back to the fight and delivered one last brutal punch, knocking the other guy to the ground. Blood splattered across the floor.

A sickening silence followed.

"Quit it, Tom!" Cameron shouted, stepping forward.

Tom barely spared him a glance before scoffing. "f**k off."

Someone—a massive guy—yanked Tom away, holding him back as he thrashed against their grip. "Get off me! I need to kill him!"

The party buzzed back to life, people already moving on, laughing, drinking, forgetting the almost-homicide that had just occurred in the middle of the room, as if nothing had happened. I don't really go to parties that much, so maybe fights like this is somewhat of a recurring event. Even so, I find it quite alarming.

The air outside was thick with tension as we finally left the party.

Tom led me away from the noise, his grip firm on my wrist. We stopped near his bike, away from the streetlights. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, his voice low but dangerous.

I swallowed. "I—"

"You what, Sam?" His hands curled into fists, knuckles bruised and bloody. "You just stood there while that asshole looked at you like he owned you or something?"

"What the hell are you talking about!?" I snapped back.

He scoffed. "Oh c'mon. I saw you locking eyes with him back there!"

I didn't say anything. I could smell the alcohol lingering all over him. He was obviously drunk , and the last thing I wanna do is argue with a drunken thug.

A beat of silence passed before he sighed, shaking his head. "Get on the bike. We’re leaving."