Mom makes a ton of chicken noodle soup and I bring it over in a thermos. He has a high fever. When I'm not at practice, I go over to his house - his uncle's medicine makes him tired, so Tom is asleep most of the time. And I don't want Sam to be sick alone.

The third time I walk through the front door, a warm thermostat in my hands again, Sam is screaming. And I freeze.

"Tom," I say in a hoarse voice, but Tom is asleep on the couch. I set the thermostat down and walk to Sam's bedroom, and my muscles are all tingly and cold.

I swing open the door. "Sam," I say, my voice catching in my throat. "Sam, it's okay. Wake up."

He's curled up on his side, drenched in sweat, kicking away at the blankets. His face is flushed and there are tears on his cheeks, and his light hair is messy against the pale pillows.

"Wake up, Sam," I say, trying to stay calm even though I'm panicked. "You're okay."

He cries out again in his sleep, and I sit on the chair beside his bed, chewing on my fingernails. What haunts Sam Hughes?

"You're okay," I keep saying. "Sam. Sam? It's me, Cameron."

He thrashes under the thin sheets. "Please!" he screams, his voice cracking and desperate.

"Wake up, Sam. You're okay. It's just me, Cameron. This is a bad dream. You're okay."

His eyes open but he's still crying, and his shoulders are shaking with sobs. "Cameron."

I sigh with jittery relief. "You're okay, you're okay, you just had a bad dream. You're okay, Sam."

"I had a bad dream."

"I know."

I rub my face. I don't know why my hands are trembling. "I brought you chicken noodle soup again, Sam."

He doesn't answer, and when I look back up, his eyes are closed, and his chest is rising and falling unsteadily under the blankets. In the bathroom, I run a cloth under cold water and press it against his forehead. His mouth twitches and he shifts in the bed fitfully, but he doesn't wake up.

When I was younger, my mom used to do that. Press a cold cloth to my forehead. Or maybe it was my dad.

I sit back down on the chair and chew my fingernails, and don't move in case the nightmares come back. What haunts Sam Hughes?

~

That was the worst night. After that things get better, and his temperature slowly begins to drop. I read War and Peace out loud, even though I can't read as well as him and I stumble over the hard words. Sometimes he falls asleep as I'm reading to him.

I bring my homework and do it in his room. He tries to help but I won't let him. After a couple days, he can eat food besides broth again without throwing up. I bring Mom's old laptop and we watch old movies. We rewatch our favorites. I don't like to leave him.

After almost a week, his temperature is officially back to normal and he feels fine. I kiss him so hard.

"You scared me," I say.

"I'm okay, Cam."

"Do you always have bad dreams?"

"Sometimes," he says, but his eyes pool with sadness, and I hug him really tight and breathe into his soft sweatshirt and I don't let go for a very long time.

~

It's a Friday night when Veronica takes Hailey out to the movies for some sister bonding. And Sam is back at astrology club, or whatever. So that leaves Mom and I are alone at the house, watching an NHL game. I know I don't have a life, okay?

During intermission as a car commercial starts playing, Mom sighs deeply and turns to me. She's curled up on the couch with her face in her shoulder. "I'm worried about you, Cameron."

Jesus. "Mom, I'm going to get a snack."

"Cameron, are you doing okay? You've been so quiet the past couple weeks."

"I'm always quiet."

Mom pulls her hair up in a ponytail and bites her lip. "Do you want to... see someone?"

"See... like a therapist? Mom, no!"

"You want to talk to Father John?"

"You want me to talk to a priest?"

"Will you go to church on Sunday with us, at least?"

I lean my head against the itchy fabric of the sofa, wishing the game would pop back up on the screen right about now. "I think I'm busy then, Mom."

"I'm worried about you."

"I've heard."

"You can talk to me about... things."

"Okay, Mom."

She gives up talking. The game comes back on.

~

Dear Cameron,

My name is Riley (even though I'm a boy, my mom gave me the worst name so sometimes I go by Ri or Rye except no one really calls me that) and I am gay and I like to play hockey and soccer. It makes me happy that you're such a good hockey player. And that you have a boyfriend, that is cool. I hope you are drafted to the Flames because that's my hometown, good luck Cameron I am rooting for you.

Riley Peterson

That night, I don't sleep at all.

What haunts Cameron Beckett?

A/N question: what do you think sam was dreaming about? sam&cam are such complex characters I just alkjfjkslkjf

p.s. I have another chapter already written (!!!) should I update tonight or hang onto it for tomorrow? I don't like hanging onto things lol i want you guys to read it