Page 105 of Fault Lines
“I don’t even know how to start,” he whispered. “But please, try to see it from a positive perspective. Hurting you is the last thing I want to do.”
My heart dropped like a stone. I couldn’t take more bad news; I was already running on fumes.
His phone rang again and he grimaced in annoyance, this time glancing briefly at the screen.
“I should answer this,” he said. “If she’s calling over and over, it must be urgent.”
Her. The word snapped through me. I wanted to ask if it was Lacey but he was already out of his chair, phone pressed to his ear, disappearing fast.
What was he about to say? Before, he’d acted like it was nothing, but now he was saying it might hurt me. I wondered if he was lying to me about the office. If he wasn’t in love with someone else, why all the secrecy? My mind spun.
Cam was back sooner than I expected, but he didn’t sit down. He looked pale and sick, almost shaky.
“We have to leave,” he said quietly. “I need to get back to the city.”
“What happened?” I pushed.
He just tossed down some bills and headed for the door, forcing me to scramble after him.
I chased him down the sidewalk, trying to match his long strides.
“Cam, slow down. Seriously, what’s going on? Is it work?”
He didn’t answer. His face was so colorless, so drawn, I thought he might faint. He moved like a ghost, almost walking straight into traffic, and I caught his arm in time to pull him back.
We reached the B&B, and I handled the checkout while Cam packed. He still wasn’t speaking, even as we tossed everything into the trunk.
Mrs. Cooper was devastated, thinking she’d done something wrong—her eyes were wide and wet, but I reassured her, promising the stay had been perfect and I’d leave a glowing review. Personal emergency, I said. But the emergency was written all over Cam’s face.
The drive home felt endless, heavy with dread. Cam was silent the entire way, not just quiet, but locked away somewhere I couldn’t reach. It made the anxiety inside me start to simmer. By the time we pulled into the driveway, I could barely breathe.
He didn’t even put the car in park. “I’ll unload later,” he muttered, the first words he’d spoken since lunch.
“Did something happen at work?” I unbuckled, searching his face. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No. We’ll talk when I get back,” he said, almost desperate.
“Please, Cam. Just tell me something.”
But he was already halfway gone. “We’ll talk later,” he repeated, sharper this time. “I have to go.”
I wanted to fight it, but he looked so close to tears, and I couldn’t push. Not now. I’d waited this long. I could wait a little longer, right?
He sped off without a backward glance, leaving me in the driveway, stunned and empty.
Inside, I headed straight for the kitchen. If I was waiting for answers, I needed a little help. I found my wine, filled a glass deep, and drank it in greedy gulps that burned on the way down. I slumped onto the sofa, barely seeing the TV as it flickered in the background.
It was hours before Cam came home again. He looked utterly wrecked; eyes rimmed with red, shoulders slumped. It reminded me, uncomfortably, of the night we lost the last pregnancy.
I lurched to my feet, nearly kicking over the empty bottle at my side.
“Cam,” I blurted. “What happened? Are you okay?”
He wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Everything’s fine. I’m just tired. I want to sleep.”
“No.” My voice sharpened before I could stop it. “No, you are not doing this again. I’ve been here, worrying about you, and now you’re just going to shut down on me? I need to know what’s going on.” My hands were shaking, fists balled at my sides.
He collapsed onto the sofa, head in his hands. I stared at his back, refusing to budge.
