Page 137 of Fault Lines
Laughter ripped through the tension. We finished our coffee in an ease I never expected, the world humming around us.
When we stood, Cam pulled me into a hug that shook with all the words we’d never say. He whispered, “I’ll always love you, Livi.”
His words struck me with both warmth and regret. “I want you to be happy, Cam. Really happy.”
He released me and walked out into the pale street, shoulders hunched but free—like he’d finally let go.
I lingered, sipping the last dregs of coffee, still hot even when cold. Then I stood and stepped into the bright winter morning, my heart pounding with fierce hope for whatever came next.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Rachel’s kitchen was always brightest in the late afternoon, like the sun made a point of visiting only after it had checked in with the rest of the world. I sat at the counter, hands wrapped around a mug of lemon tea, watching the slant of golden light as it crept across the countertop. The air smelled faintly of fabric softener and burnt toast, with an undercurrent of last night’s curry radiating from the fridge. Rachel padded in, barefoot, her hair still damp from the shower and a new, faint mark along her collarbone—a souvenir from fun times with Jackson, if I had to guess.
She pulled down her favorite mug from the shelf, the one that said “Mornings are for Quitters,” and filled it with coffee, two sugars and a slosh of half-and-half. Then she planted herself across from me, resting her elbows on the Formica, and waited. It was her version of a hug, more effective than anything physical.
“You look like shit, Livi,” she said, but she meant it like a compliment. “Talk.”
I swallowed a mouthful of tea, felt the scald all the way down. “I met with Cam.”
Rachel’s eyebrows went up, but she didn’t say anything, just sipped her coffee and kept her eyes locked on mine.
“At the coffee shop,” I clarified, even though it didn’t matter. “I needed to tell him in person. About the papers.”
She nodded once, slow, like I was describing a crime scene she’d already read about but wanted to make sure I got the details right.
“It was… civil.” I tried not to fidget. “He didn’t yell. He didn’t try to win me back. He just… took it.”
Rachel blew on her coffee, stared at the surface. “You wanted him to put up a fight.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. The word was small, tinny. “I thought it’d be easier if he was a bastard. But he was just… sad. I hate that it makes me feel sorry for him.”
“You don’t owe him your sympathy,” Rachel said. Her voice was rough but not unkind. “You owe him nothing. He cashed out his chips the day he started sleeping with other people I don’t care if you gave your permission—he knew you didn’t want it. Don’t you dare feel bad for that man.”
I wanted to argue, but I was tired, and she was right, and I’d spent so many years learning to apologize for my own feelings that it didn’t seem worth the effort anymore.
There was a silence, not the awkward kind, but the kind you get with old friends—thick, sturdy, and built to hold whatever might come next.
I took a deep breath, felt my shoulders tighten. “The thing is, seeing him like that…” I couldn’t finish the sentence, so I let it hang.
Rachel set down her mug. “You still love him.”
It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer.
She leaned forward, bracing her chin on her palm. “So what? Loving someone doesn’t mean you owe them another round on the merry-go-round. You can love him from a distance, send him a Christmas card, hell, even grieve him if you want. But you don’t have to fix him, Livi.”
The urge to cry was immediate, humiliating. I pinched the bridge of my nose and focused on the warmth radiating from the mug.
“I don’t want to fix him,” I said. “I just… I don’t know who I am if I’m not trying to. I’ve spent so long patching up other people’s leaks that I forgot how to swim on my own.”
Rachel’s smile was soft this time, almost maternal. “That’s a weird metaphor, but I get it.”
“I almost forgot the weirdest part,” I blurted, just to change the subject. “Cam’s not going to be a dad after all. The baby isn’t his.”
Rachel’s mouth fell open, her coffee halfway to her lips. “Wait—what?”
“Lacey got a paternity test. It’s some other guy, apparently one of her exes, I don’t even know if he knows Cam exists.” My hands shook a little as I set down my mug. “She told him at the coffee shop. He looked absolutely gutted, Rach. Like someone knocked the air out of him.”
Rachel just stared, then shook her head. “Karma has a mean way about her sometimes.”
