Page 91 of You Found Me in the Dark
I nodded, climbing over Reed to stand. “I’ll go wake her.”
“Make it gentle,” Lena warned with a grin. “Or she might try to murder you.”
“She can try,” I muttered playfully as I padded down the hall, leaving the soft sound of cabinets opening and a skillet clinking in Cam’s hands behind me.
There was something comforting about the ordinary domesticity of it all—Reed still sprawled out on the couch, Lena curled in a chair, Cam already cooking like this was just another lazy morning instead of a small miracle. Like we’d all somehowsurvived the chaos and landed right here, in this sunlit house, with coffee brewing and people who felt like home.
And as I reached my bedroom door, fingers raised to knock, I realized… This was the beginning of something real. Something we could build on.
Something we might even call forever.
EPILOGUE
HARPER
Ididn’t even remember drinking as much as I did last night, but when whoever the fuck was outside of Wren’s room knocked, it felt like they were knocking directly on my skull.
I groaned loudly, “Whaaaat?”
The door opened to reveal an equally sleepy Wren. She gave a small smile and walked in, leaving the door open behind her. I sat up slowly, mirroring her smile.
She talked softly, definitely knowing I would be hungover. “Hey, Harp. How are you?”
“Ugh, my head is killing me and I thi—,” I looked down at my stomach and it growled in response. “Yeah, I am starving.”
She laughed. “Well, perfect timing.” She grabbed my hand, pulling me out of bed. “Cam’s cooking, and everyone else is in the living room. I bought more tea for you a while back, and there are all sorts of headache medicine in the last cabinet furthest from themicrowave.”
“You are a good friend, Wrennie,” I mumbled, stretching my aching body. “Bathroom first, then I’ll join y’all.”
She nodded and left the room first.
I walked across the hall to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I could hear the faint sound of laughter and smiled to myself. We really were like a family. It was so refreshing.
Right now, I was happy that I practically lived with the Callahans because I kept a basket of my shit under the sink. I washed my face with cold water to help me wake up a bit and brushed my teeth. I put on some mascara and a little bit of concealer under my eyes to hide my dark circles. My magenta type 4A curls were dry and tangled, so I threw them into a low bun, with a half-hearted promise of a wash day that I know will never come on time.
I walked into the kitchen before making my way to the living room. I needed ibuprofen or something to make my headache chill the fuck out. I was beyond cranky; at this point, I was a hurricane ready to destroy anything in my path. That was until I saw a shirtless Cam working over the stove. I stopped dead in my tracks and just stared.
As much as Cam and I didn’t get along, as far as I was concerned, he was every girl’s wet dream. The man was thirty-two, with the kind of body that said he either lived at the gym or had exceptional genes he didn’t appreciate nearly enough. Broad shoulders, strong arms, lean everywhere else. I’d never paid it much attention before but it was hard to ignore when I walked into the kitchen and he was standing there completely shirtless with his pajama pants hanging low on his hips.
His long auburn hair was slightly wavy, falling just past his shoulders. His skin was fair, smooth enough to make the scatter of freckles across his cheeks and nose stand out. Then there were his eyes. Blue, piercing, and usually unreadable. Cold, sometimes,but too intense to ignore. And his lips, full and expressive, capable of either a smirk or a scowl, depending on what kind of mood he was in and how close he was to winning an argument.
He always had this faint layer of stubble, the kind that suggested he could grow a beard if he ever stayed still long enough, but he never did. A massive tattoo sprawled across his chest, bold and black against his skin. I never got close enough to make out the details, but from what I glimpsed, it was intricate—like something meaningful, something that told a story. And damn, it looked good on him.
And despite his many personality flaws, which, to be clear, were extensive, there was something about him that lingered. Like a thought you couldn’t quite shake. Cam had this way of getting under my skin, of pulling reactions out of me I didn’t mean to give. Most days, I found him insufferable. Other days, I just reminded myself I didn’t have to like him to notice him.
I shook all the dirty thoughts of him holding me while pounding into me relentlessly out of my head. I needed to focus on the task at hand.
I opened the first cabinet, forgetting where Wren said the meds were. I huffed, causing the large man to face me.
“Hey, Harp,” Cam said.
I couldn’t get myself to reply. Just stared. Fuck, how hungover am I? Am I still wasted?
He set the spatula down slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world. Then he stepped in, close enough that the heat of him cut right through the oversized crewneck I was borrowing from Wren.
His hand came up—not rushed, not unsure—and brushed a knuckle down the side of my jaw. Barely there, but enough to make my breath catch.
“You keep looking at me like that,” he said, voice low and rough, meant only for me, “and one of these days I’m going to do something we both are going to regret.”
