Page 24 of Fault Lines
I nodded, staring at the tabletop. “I’ve been thinking about it for months. Even before he asked for this. He’s been drifting away so long, it’s like I’m just waiting on the verdict. What if he finds someone else? Someone who can give him what he needs?”
She slipped her hand over mine. “I don’t see Cam ever letting you go, Livi. He needs you as much as you need him. But still, I’m glad you’re preparing. Just in case.”
My phone dinged, another message from Cam.
Are you on your way back?
The pattern was so predictable I almost laughed: his texts came urgent and desperate, but whenever I reached for him, hours could pass without a reply.
“He’ll figure out where you are,” Rachel said.
“I know. But today, I need the distance.”
I bit into the sushi, let the salt and cool rice settle my stomach. The city outside glowed warm and unblinking through the window. I felt almost human again.
“I get it. Do you want to go out tonight?” Rachel asked, voice bright with possibility.
I shook my head. “Not really. I think I just want to catch up on some sleep.”
Chapter Eight
The jolt was abrupt, cold air biting across my bare arms and legs as I shuddered awake. My consciousness came up through fog, sluggish and cranky.
“Wha–”
“Shh.” Cam’s voice rumbled low by my ear, warm and close. “I’m taking you home.”
The hallway swam by as he carried me, everything tilting. Rachel stood at the door, hair mussed, pajama t-shirt hanging off one shoulder. She looked sorry, sheepish almost.
“Cam, no.” My voice was slow, thick with sleep. “I wanted to spend the night here.”
He didn’t hesitate. “No. You’re coming home.”
My head was clearing, a little. Awareness crept in, stiff and petulant.
“Put me down, Cam.”
“She’ll text you tomorrow,” he shot over my head toward Rachel, reaching—with barely an effort—for my overnight bag on the floor. The way he moved, all strength and practiced ease, was both irritating and impressive.
“Stop it, Cam. I don’t want to go home.”
“Too bad.”
I caught Rachel’s tiny, apologetic wave as she closed the door behind us. The night pressed close, the doorman’s stare following us out, but Cam didn’t slow or look back. I wasdeposited into the passenger seat, fingers numb from the chill. He buckled my seatbelt, tight and careful, then circled around to crank the heat before steering us away into the night.
We rode in silence. My arms were drawn in tight, the thin tank top and shorts no match for my mood or the weather. I glared out the window, stony and injured. He’d come to get me, like I couldn’t be trusted alone. After everything he’d done. After what he’d decided for us. The arrangement was supposed to be mutual, but I still felt like I’d been railroaded.
The car slid into the driveway. I got out before it stopped rocking, slamming the door with a little more force than was strictly necessary. I stalked ahead, bag hanging from my fist, and realized my key was buried somewhere in its depths. So I waited, foot tapping, the cold nipping at my legs.
He caught up, unlocked the door, and I brushed past him. Stairs, then bedroom. I didn’t even pause.
“Livi, stop!”
I didn’t.
He was right behind, shutting the door with a level of intent that made it bang in the frame. “We need to talk.”
I didn’t turn around. “I don’t feel like talking.” I dragged the covers back and burrowed, desperate to be done with this night. “I just want to sleep without being interrupted again.”
