Page 119 of Fault Lines
“It should have never happened in the first place,” I snapped, sharper than I meant to, but I couldn’t help myself. “Men go through crises all the time. And yes, some of them cheat—and apparently some ask for permission to cheat. But a lot of them just buy flashy cars or a stupid boat. They calm themselves with things, or hobbies. Why couldn’t you have bought a Ferrari, Cam? Why did it have to be the one thing that would absolutely destroy me?”
His face fell. I hated myself a little for saying it like that, but it was the truth. He could apologize for the rest of his life and it wouldn’t change that there was a real, irreversible consequence now.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Livi.”
He started to cry, shoulders shaking, and it broke me. I couldn’t stop myself—I went to him, even though I told myself not to. It was instinct, the way I wrapped my arms around him. The sound of his sobs wrecked me. Even hurting, I didn’t want to see him in pain.
He hugged me back, tighter than ever, and cried on my shoulder. I held him, my chest heaving, and the heaviness of it all pressed on me until I sobbed too. This was it—the end of us. I wished it wasn’t true, but wishing didn’t change anything. There was no fixing this.
“Tell me you don’t love him,” he begged me, voice raw. “Tell me you still love me.”
“I do still love you, Cam,” I whispered. “I always will. I know that can’t ever change.”
“Do you love him?” He pulled back enough to look at me, eyes rimmed red and swollen. “Are you going to marry him after you get away from me?”
I shook my head. “That isn’t even on my radar right now. I honestly don’t know if marriage ever will be again. I’m too afraid of this happening to me again.” I brushed my hand along his stubble. He hadn’t been sleeping right, hadn’t taken care of himself in days, and that made it all harder.
“I care about him,” I admitted. “But it’s nothing like what I feel for you. I’m your heart? Well, you’re mine, too.”
“Then don’t do this,” he pleaded, desperate. “Don’t give up on us. We can get through this.”
I considered it, just for a moment, but nothing changed in my chest.
“Maybe a couple months ago we could have. Maybe if you’d decided to stop before breaking the rules. And especially before there was a baby. That changes everything. You should be there for your child. I want you to be—I want that baby to have thebestfather, and I know it will. I just can’t stand by and watch it happen. We didn’t build that together. Even a surrogacy or adoption would’ve been something we did together. But this is too much for me. And I’m sorry, Cam. I wish I could be stronger.” I reached up and wiped away the tear that rolled down his face. “But I’m not. I just can’t be. I love you, baby, but this is the end for us.”
It took everything I had to pull away from him, finish packing my suitcase, and walk out the door of the home I once loved, leaving my broken husband behind.
Chapter Thirty-One
I shrieked, laughter tumbling out of me, as I wriggled under Nate’s grip. He wasn’t letting up. His hands found every ticklish inch of my sides, my stomach, that awful spot under my ribs—the one he’d discovered weeks back and exploited ever since. And he knew it would make me shriek.
“Nate! Stop! I can’t breathe!” I squealed, gasping, even as I snorted and howled at the ceiling. Finally, mercifully, he backed off, though his arm stayed locked around my waist. He tugged me into the curve of his chest while we sank deeper into his unmade bed. I burrowed against him, the steady sound of his heartbeat and his warmth helping me catch my breath.
“I told you there’d be consequences if you tried to escape the bed,” he said, nose pressed into my hair.
I grinned into his chest, stretching. “I only wanted coffee. I need it if I’m going to survive today, you know. You kept me up almost all night.”
He gave a low chuckle. “Is that a complaint?”
I shook my head, letting myself savor the soreness lingering in my thighs. He’d woken me up three separate times in the night, and it showed—in the aches, and the delicious exhaustion, and the soft glow of satisfaction winding through my muscles. “Of course not. Last night was… perfect.”
“Good.” He gave a gentle slap to my backside, just a playful tap. “Go on. Get your coffee. You’re going to need it, I think you’re right.”
I made a face at him, but untangled myself and peered at him over my shoulder. “You want some?”
“Sure, I’ll take a cup. But you’re flying solo at the bookstore today. I’ve got a ton of work to catch up on. No skipping the shift and hiding in my office.”
“Oh.” My voice fell a little. I always felt a stab of guilt when he spent his days at the shop, putting his own job on the backburner just to help out. He’d started working from his apartment more often lately, probably because, intentionally or not, I’d more or less become a roommate. The lines were blurring; I hadn’t moved in, not exactly, but it was happening right under my nose.
It hadn’t started out that way. I’d just started spending more and more nights here, especially after things at Rachel’s got… awkward. Walking in on her and Jackson on the couch had been traumatizing enough that I’d practically sprinted straight to Nate’s. Rachel and Jackson never minded, but I could feel the shift—they deserved their own space.
Somehow, though, I still hadn’t found my own place. I’d looked at apartments, but anything in the ballpark of affordable was one disaster after another. Nate was “helpfully” sending me listings, steering me toward the super-nice places, the ones with rents that made me physically ill. I had a suspicion he was doing it on purpose—a gentle nudge to get me to make things official and move in with him.
He’d asked directly twice, and I’d gently refused him both times. It was tempting, God, so tempting. Still, I knew I needed to be on my own for a while. I didn’t want to leapfrog from living with one man to another, not without proving to myself I was capable of being alone. Not this time.
But Nate was sneaky. He kept buying me toiletries, little by little, until a whole shelf in the bathroom belonged to me. On top of that, every time I stayed for a weekend, a little more of my clothing ended up in his closet. It made me smile, even when I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening.
I drifted into the kitchen and went straight for the drip pot, ignoring Nate’s fancy coffee contraption on the counter. He’d bought that for me, of course; he didn’t even drink the stuff unless I was around. Cam still had my old coffee maker, but Nate insisted I didn’t need to go back for it. He’d rather buy a new one than have me step foot in Cam’s place. I knew the truth, though: the less time I spent around Cam, the happier Nate was.
