Page 93 of Fault Lines
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“So, you were with her. Your mistress.”
“She was going through something. She needed me.”
“And I didn’t?”
Cam’s hands bunched into fists. “You didn’t even expect us to go out last night. Not until I said I wanted to.”
“But you did say you wanted to. You asked me to make reservations. And I waited there for you like an idiot while you were out comforting your whore!” The word burst out, ugly and raw, but I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried. I regretted it instantly, but god, it fit the moment.
Cam flinched, not from the word, but from what was inside it. “Don’t be petty, Livi.”
I could barely breathe. “Do you love her?” The question was a live wire. “Is that what you’re not telling me? You’ve fallen in love with her, and you’re leaving me?”
His voice was sharp, his answer fast: “Of course not!” He threw his arms up, exasperated. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this, you’re too emotional.”
“Because what you’re doing is emotional!”
“It’s not! I don’t love her, I never will. How many times do I have to say it? How many ways do I have to show you you’re the only one for me?”
I shook my head, bitter. “You have a funny way of showing it.” I got up and marched for the kitchen, hands trembling.
“Where are you going?” he called after me.
“To make my coffee,” I shot back, not turning around. “You clearly don’t want to talk about this anymore, right? So just leave me alone and let me think whatever I want.”
I heard him follow me. I felt him, looming, while I frothed milk and poured espresso and pretended he didn’t exist. If he wanted to shut me out, fine—I could play that game, too.
I finished my coffee in a few burning gulps, ignoring the sting on my tongue. I needed the caffeine jolt. More than that, I needed space; I was already late for work, no matter how many distractions Cam piled up in the kitchen.
I tried to brush past him, but he kept dogging my steps as I made my way upstairs and tugged clothes from shelves in the closet.
“Where are you going?” The tension in his voice was brittle.
“Out.”
“Out where?”
I swapped pajamas for a sweater and jeans, not even bothering to hide from him. “I don’t guess it concerns you, does it?”
“Livi.” His tone cut through the air, sharp enough to be a warning.
“Cameron,” I answered flatly.
He didn’t miss a beat. “Of course it concerns me. Are you going back to that bookstore? The one where he works?”
“Who? Nate?” I acted bored, flicking a glance his way as I pulled on flats. “Why does it matter?”
“It matters. I don’t like how much time you spend in that bookstore. I’m beginning to think you’re there for a reason other than just… books.”
I stilled, meeting his eyes. “And how would you know how much time I’m spending there, Cam? Are you still tracking me? Wasn’t that just for my protection?”
“It is. I just… think about you at work, and I look at the app. Just curiosity, nothing else. But you’re there almost every day during my work hours.”
“And?”
I yanked a brush through my hair and tied it up, feeling careless.
