Pieces of Camden (Hole-Hearted #1) Read online

  “He wants to drive the black kart.” My dad winks at Camden, who looks up at my dad in awe.

  My heart swells with love and pride for my dad. No one remembers Camden or what he wants. That’s my job. It makes me happy to know that my parents love him as much as I do. Now, he knows it, too.

  “Can Yan have the blue kart?” Camden asks the attendant, shuffling his feet.

  “Sure, bud,” the attendant agrees.

  “I’ll buckle you in,” Camden informs me. “Then, I’ll get in mine.”

  My dad leaves us to get in his own kart. His watchful eyes track us as we make our way to my kart. Camden helps me in, and when I’m sitting down, he fastens my belt and tugs on it twice to make sure it’ll stay safely in place.

  “Be careful, Yan.” His voice is serious while his eyes mirror the fear I had earlier.

  “I’m fine, Cam.”

  “You’re important.” He looks away from me after he utters those words, but our eyes meet before he speaks again, “Just be careful.”

  Surprised, my mouth opens, but no words come out. Before I have time to fully process what he said, my dad’s excited voice booms in the arena, and my focus returns to my kart. I gently push the gas pedal and lurch forward with a giggle escaping my throat.

  “Hit the pedal softer!” Camden shouts at me, his voice encouraging me to try again.

  I do. After a couple of more false starts, I finally feel comfortable in my kart and push my foot down a bit harder, driving by Camden where I hear his laughter dancing in the air.

  Halfway through my second lap, Camden flies by me, his obvious joy stays with me long after he rounds the corner and I no longer see him. I hit the accelerator harder, urging my kart forward, so I can see him and my dad battle out the last two laps.

  My mom cheers us on from the sideline, and I imagine her alternating between her phone and a camera to take pictures of us.

  On the final lap, my dad’s laugh mixes with Camden’s, their karts neck and neck. My dad leads, but Camden’s gaining, and I shout my encouragement at them. They battle for first position as they round out the last three turns, and a few feet before they cross the finish line, my dad’s kart visibly slows down, allowing Camden to take the win.

  After parking, Camden jumps out of his kart and throws himself into my dad’s arms while my dad praises him for winning. Once I park and get out of my kart, I see Camden’s embarrassed shuffle, but my dad ignores it and tussles Camden’s curly dark hair, teasing him about cheating.

  “Don’t be a sour loser, Santiago,” my mom chastises, putting an arm around Camden when we reach her. “I saw it, and Cam won.”

  My dad leans in and presses a soft kiss on my mom’s lips.

  Then, he puts his arm around Camden’s shoulders. “Next time, I’ll beat you. You just gotta tell me your secret about driving into the turns.”

  “I don’t have a secret,” Camden answers, his smile never wavering.

  “Fine, keep your secret to yourself,” my dad jokes, making Camden’s expression grow somber.

  “Honest, Santiago, I don’t have a secret.”

  My dad brings Camden closer to him and barks out a loud laugh. “Guess you’re just naturally good at racing then.”

  The drive to Camden’s house is short. Too short.

  Knowing what awaits us makes me feel like a terrible friend for not warning Camden in advance. But I promised my mom I wouldn’t, and I didn’t want to go back on my word. My dad continues to rave about Camden’s racing skills, so I look at the window and tune him out.

  I only look at Camden when he takes my hand in his and squeezes. His brows crease together, and I smile at him, squeezing his hand back in reassurance. It’s our way of letting the other know we’re okay, but he continues to look at me to make sure I’m not lying, so I lean my head on his shoulder until the intensity leaves him.

  “Yan?” Camden says my name under his breath when we arrive at his house where a little over a dozen cars line his driveway.

  My mom looks back at us from the front seat and smiles. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”

  Camden doesn’t move from his seat. When my parents close their doors, I tell him about his surprise party.

  “My parents remembered?” His brows furrow together again.

  Before I have time to reply, a heartbreakingly beautiful smile spreads across his face, and I don’t have the heart to confess the truth.

  Music thunders loudly from speakers when we step out of my parents’ car, and Camden walks quickly to his front door, passing my parents in the process. I follow him, clutching his present to my chest. He pauses before opening the door, and although no one bothers to shout, Surprise, the smile never leaves his face. He walks through his large house, passing his parents’ friends who clap his back as he walks by them, looking for his parents.

  I follow closely, just in case he needs me.

  When he reaches his dad, he interrupts with a quiet, “Sir?”

  Herb, his dad, takes a long drink from his whiskey. “The man of the hour!” he calls out, lifting his glass before taking another drink with his friends, and turns his back to his son.

  But, again, Camden’s smile never leaves his face.

  He walks to his mom, who we find sitting at their outdoor bar, and she puts on a show of hugging him and kissing him when she sees him. Maureen’s words are slurred, and her eyes are bloodshot, but either Camden doesn’t realize it, or he’s grown too accustomed to it to see it.

  When he turns around, his body crashes into mine, and we both giggle as we try to gain our balance.

  “They remembered, Yan,” he repeats.

  My heart breaks for my best friend.

  “Let’s go swimming,” he says.

  While Camden runs to his bedroom to change, I put my present for him on the living room couch where only three other presents await him. I leave the room, careful not to disrupt any of their expensive furniture, and when I find my mom, I put my arms around her waist. Looking up at her, I thank her for making Camden’s birthday special.

  “I didn’t do anything,” she says, playing down her role, as she swats me on the butt. She then hands me a bag with my bathing suit and a towel.

  After I finish changing, I go outside to find my mom putting sunblock on Camden, and I wait for my turn.

  “Hey, Cam!” one of Camden’s friends, Sean, shouts from the pool. He tosses him a football.

  “You mind if I play with the guys?” Camden asks me.

  And my mom chuckles.

  “No,” I reply, curiously eyeing my mom.

  “You two are too much,” she says, smiling at us with an amused lift of her lips.

  After my mom finishes torturing me with the cold spray sunblock on my back, I walk into the pool and stay by the shallow end with my friend Marissa. She and I welcome the cool water surrounding us. After a short underwater acrobatic competition that neither of us wins, we take turns talking to each other underwater.

  “Did you ask if I like Hawaiian pizza?” Marissa asks and I pull a face, making us both burst into laughter. “Try again.”

  Underwater, I slowly shout, “I want to pet a starfish!”

  When we come up for air, my attention is drawn to the end of the pool where the guys were playing football. A small circle surrounds the deep part of the pool with kids and adults shouting, and it only takes me a couple of seconds, two short breaths, to realize that Camden is the cause of all the commotion.

  My dad jumps into the pool, fully clothed, along with another adult. He grabs Camden by the waist while the other adult does the same to the boy Camden was punching. Rage fuels him forward though, drowning out my dad and whatever he’s telling Camden. He fights against my dad to hit his bleeding friend.

  Unfazed, my dad swims with Camden tucked in his arm to the steps I’m sitting on, and I tightly brace my arms around myself as they get closer to me. When they are within an arm’s length of me, I reach out to touch Camden and get his attenti
on, but my mom joins me on the steps and pulls me close to her.

  Camden’s eyes, crazed and wild, finally start to clear when he sees me. Shame washes over him, and his body goes limp in my dad’s arms as he looks down to my knees.

  “He said you were ugly,” he whispers. He stares at me, a sickening look washing over his face.

  Panic blazes within me, burning me from the inside. I shrug out of my mom’s arms and go to him.

  “He said you were ugly,” he repeats, his eyes meeting mine. “He called you fat.”

  The other boy—I think his name is Danny—walks up the steps with his dad beside him and glares at us before muttering, “Freak,” under his breath and going inside.

  At that moment, I’m glad Camden busted Danny’s lip open. I’m glad he’s bleeding and in pain. Not because he said I was ugly, but because he was ugly to Camden.

  My mom hands my dad a towel and another to me. She then wraps the last towel in her hands around Camden’s shoulder, guiding him out of the pool in the process.

  “What that boy said about Yanelys was mean, Camden, but you can’t go hitting your friends because of it,” my mom says.

  Her lips pull into a thin line while Camden looks at her through fear-filled eyes.

  “Ah, Carmen.” My dad puts his arm around my mom and kisses her forehead. “How many boys have I gotten into fights with for the same reason?”

  My mom’s lips twitch in response, and Camden’s shoulders release the tension they were holding.

  “Still,” she says through a smile. “There are better ways to handle things.”

  “Yeah, Cam.” My dad’s face grows serious, making Camden look at his feet as guilt takes over the expression on his face again.

  I open my mouth to defend him, but my dad interrupts with a quiet chuckle.

  “Next time, just call him a shit. That’ll teach him not to disrespect girls,” he teases, sending my mom a sly smile.

  My mom playfully slaps my dad on the chest and then leans into him as she erupts in laughter. “Not helping, Santiago.”

  As my parents continue to talk to Camden and me, the partygoers start to go back to their groups and talk among themselves.

  Maureen walks out of the kitchen through the open glass doors, slurring the words to the “Happy Birthday” song and carrying the cake my mom ordered in her arms.

  My heart thunders in my ears. I look from my parents to Camden’s mom. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and she’s swaying on her feet. I see her fall before she actually trips, a premonition of how this day could get worse. Camden’s face contorts, but he inches his body in front of mine when his father roars out in anger, but Herb doesn’t see me. I don’t think he even sees his wife or the mess on the floor.

  All he sees is Camden, his personal punching bag. Although Camden’s terrified of his dad, he puts his body in front of mine, shielding me from his living nightmare.

  “I knew it!” his dad bellows, grabbing Camden by the shoulders and pulling him away from me. “We wasted a day on you!” His face turns red, and it’d be almost comical if the fury behind it wasn’t so frightening. “A waste is what you are,” Herb spits into Camden’s face.

  Camden stares beyond his dad, beyond us.

  “Herb,” my dad interrupts but puts his hands up when Herb turns on him. “Let’s just go inside,” he speaks calmly, as if he were pacifying a child rather than an adult.

  My eyes lock with my dad’s and silently pray he doesn’t let Herb have any more drinks. While my mom kneels down in front of Maureen, helping her pick up the ruined cake, I tug on Camden’s arm, wanting to go to his room, but he won’t budge.

  He’s stuck, unable to move. I’m not really sure he’s even breathing, so I move closer to him until our bodies are touching. I tug on his hand harder until he looks at me. His eyes move from my face to our joined hands and then back to my face.

  “I’d never hurt you. You know that, right?” he asks.

  I nod my head, confused as to why he’d even bring that up.

  “What you saw”—his voice grows small—“that wasn’t me. That was my dad.”

  His eyes peer into me, searching. Squeezing the hand I’m still holding, I give him my best smile.

  “That wasn’t your dad either,” I reassure him.

  A long breath whooshes out his mouth and into my face, sending the tendrils of my hair flying.

  “I’d never be scared of you. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

  Dread tugs at us while my blood pumps loud and hot.

  “I wouldn’t,” he promises, sucking in a calming breath.

  FIVE

  YANELYS

  ELEVEN YEARS OLD

  When I hear grown-ups talk about abuse, they always refer to the abused as victims, but Camden isn’t a victim. He’s a fighter.

  Every day, he fights. To be here. To stand and not flee. To be remembered.

  Every day, he fights. And, every day, he wins.

  But one day…I’m afraid, one day, he won’t win.

  My eyes close tightly at the thought, and I force air into my lungs, making my chest hurt worse.

  On light feet, I walk to the kitchen for a glass of water, but I stop when I hear my parents arguing in hushed tones. They rarely ever fight—at least, not that I’ve heard—but here they are, fighting over Camden.

  “The way he looks at her,” my mom pleads for understanding, “it’s not right, Santiago. They’re too young.” She sighs, her voice wobbling. “He’s too intense.”

  “Carmencita,” my dad starts. I imagine him wrapping her into his arms. “Love has no age.”

  “You’re an old romantic,” she scoffs and they both laugh. “But you know what I mean. You saw him today. The way he hit that boy.” There’s a long pause before my mom speaks again, “He lost control. He wouldn’t have stopped if you hadn’t interfered.”

  “He’s a good boy,” my dad says.

  In silent agreement, I nod my head.

  “He is. I know that.” She pauses again. “But something’s wrong with him.”

  My dad curses loudly, and I hear him pace the floor. I lean my body closer to the wall, molding myself against it, as I try to swallow my own emotions.

  “His parents are what’s wrong!” he shouts and I startle. “Drunks! Where were they—”

  “I know,” she interrupts him, her voice sounding sad. “I know, but what can we do?”

  “If they ever touch him…” My dad pauses and pounds his fist against our kitchen counter, making me jump.

  My parents stop talking after that. On light feet, I tiptoe back to my room, so they don’t hear me and feel like they need to tuck me in again. Ever since the fight, my parents have been checking on me to make sure I’m okay.

  I am okay. Of course I am.

  It was just one fight. One little fight.

  Where Camden completely lost it. He blanked out, his eyes losing their focus by the time my dad brought him to the steps where I waited.

  It was crazy. But it was also Camden.

  After crawling into bed, I hug a pillow longer than my body and bury my head into it when I hear Camden coming through my window. Once I feel my bed give a little at the weight of his body sitting on it, I peer up at him and try to smile.

  “I’d never hurt you,” he says, reading my watery smile wrong.

  “I know.” I sit up, putting my pillow on my lap.

  He sighs. “I’m tired, Yan.” With a frown, his gaze falls to my bed, and he brushes his hands over my sheets, his finger following the pattern stitched on my comforter.

  “Come lie down then.” I take his cold hands into mine and try to warm them on my lap.

  “No, you don’t get it.” His voice cracks as he looks away from me, not wanting to make eye contact. “I’m really tired.”

  I push the pillow on my lap to the side and get off the bed without saying a word. Camden’s eyes follow me as I make my way to the other side of my room. Trying to make as little noise as possible, I go to my d
resser where I put Camden’s present after I had taken it back from his house, knowing no one would open it if I’d left it there. I hand the box wrapped in Star Wars paper to him. My heart drums loudly in my chest as he flips it from side to side.

  “Just open it,” I say, my heart stammering with impatience.

  A ghost of a smile appears on his face before he tears into it.

  Suddenly shy, I stand in front of him, my feet shuffling, as I look at anything but Camden. He opens the cardboard box holding his presents and pulls out a picture of the two of us enclosed in a frame that says, Yan + Cam = 4-ever.

  Behind long eyelashes, I peek up at him when he carefully puts it on my bed with a smile on his face, and then he reaches in for the fake plane tickets I made us.

  “Warderick Wells?” he asks, reading the destination on the plane tickets.

  “I looked it up,” I state, my eyes glinting to his. “It’s a park in Exuma, which means it’s far away from everyone, but the best part is the Visitor Center. It’s on an island all by itself, and only the park ranger is allowed to live there. On the beach there’s a skeleton of a huge whale that I guess washed ashore and a trail that leads to Boo Boo Hill, which is supposedly haunted.”

  “By the whale?”

  “No.” I roll my eyes but giggle.

  “You wanna move to Warderick Wells then?”

  “Yep,” I answer, nodding my head. “There are other islands close by, like Hog Cay, which I kinda hope means they have wild pigs.”

  Camden’s laughter bounces off the walls, so I cover his mouth with my hand and shush him.

  “What would you do with wild pigs?” He wants to know.

  “Visit them,” I explain, excited that he hasn’t told me my present is dumb. “Maybe we can even have picnics with them.”

  “Ham sandwiches?” He laughs at his own joke.

  “No,” I let out a horrified whisper. “Don’t say bacon either!”

  “It sounds like a horrible picnic.” His lips twist into a beautiful smile while his eyes gleam at me.

  “Whatever.”

  Camden reaches over, takes the picture of us in his hand, and his fingers trail over our faces. Over and over, he outlines us and the inscription on the frame.