Page 48 of Finally Found You

No, the bigger question is: What am I supposed to fix? Everything is a clusterfuck now. My relationship with my daughter teeters on the edge of a precipice, the bond still delicate and new. She’s pushed away the one person who has cared for her all her life—because of me. And then there are the issues that existed before Kenzy entered my world.

Starting with my mother.

“Promise me you won’t ever see Camilla again,” she demands, and the sound of her plea is slowly constricting the flow of life to my heart.

Even as it feels like my soul is being torn apart, I’ll do what she requests. The pain of this decision rips through me, but I am determined. My child has to come before anyone else. “I promise,” I mumble, each syllable laden with heartache.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Camilla

It’s around midnight when I arrive in Denver. Fatigue and sadness weigh me down like an anchor. The train ushering me from terminal B toward the main terminal is nearly deserted, the silence wrapping around me like a cloak. My heart is heavy as I ascend the escalator and step into the waiting area.

Just like everything else in the airport, the area is almost empty except for a scattered few people. I’m surprised when my gaze lands on a man holding a sign that reads, “Camilla Balsamo.”

A strange and unnerving sensation washes over me as I realize there’s someone waiting for me. No one knew I would be here. Well, probably Lysander, since the bodyguard followed me all the way to the airport and didn’t leave until I boarded the plane.

Did he send someone?

I’m tempted just to ignore him. However, as I try to slip past him, he falls in step beside me. He’s more than six feet tall, broad shoulders and hard to ignore. “I’m Jason Spearman,” he says. “I heard my cousin fucked up. Ly can be… it’s hard to explain him, but he always means well.”

I glance at him sidelong, taking him in. So I was right, Lysander sent him. I’m not surprised. Lysander always seems to have a solution for everything, even when it’s unwanted. I don’t understand why he’d arrange for someone to pick me up at the airport. It’s entirely unnecessary. This would be a good time to text him and demand he never contact me again.

Though in a way, it would also be childish. I’m not pinning the blame for the earlier incident with Kenzy on him. It takes two to tango, and we were really about to dance all the way to… God, what would’ve happened if I had given in to the longing that’s been building for the past few weeks?

Don’t think of that. What is important is that you take care of yourself and cut contact with him. Cold turkey.

“Umm, nice meeting you,” I reply, guarded as I proceed toward baggage claim.

“I’m here to take you to your house,” he asserts, his tone firm.

Without glancing his way, I pull out my phone so I can order an Uber. They’ll probably arrive right as I get my luggage—my bags are always the last ones. It’s just my fucking luck. But as I speedwalk, my fingers fumble on the screen, making it difficult to input my request. I decide it would be wiser to wait until I reach the luggage claim before summoning a car.

“That’s not necessary, but I appreciate it,” I dismiss, my words tinged with a hint of ice while attempting to maintain a polite distance between us.

His lips dance with amusement. “It kind of is, since I’m the only person who has a way to enter your house,” he announces, causing me to halt in my tracks.

“What do you mean?” I ask, confusion knitting my brow as I fish out my keychain from my purse and dangle it in front of him. “Clearly, I have a set.”

He smirks, as if he’s holding a secret. “Earlier, we had to replace the window—and the door. I made sure to change the lock for something more secure.”

I frown, a mix of gratitude and irritation bubbling within me. “Why would you do that?”

“Lysander asked us to help him with that,” he replies, his shrug nonchalant, as if to say, “Obviously, I did.”

“I appreciate you doing so, but you can just give me the keys, and you can be on your way,” I insist, desperate for some semblance of control.

He chuckles. “Of course, but there’s no longer a key. I still have to drive to your place so you can get in.”

I scratch my brow, my mind racing to devise a solution that doesn’t involve a Spearman. It’s been a monumental effort to keep the tears at bay. All I want is to get home and let the floodgates open. If this man insists on following me and offering help, I won’t be able to do it. Or I’ll lose my shit in front of him, literally.

“You know what? It’s totally fine,” I say, fabricating an escape plan. “I’m heading to my friend’s house.”

“How about your house?” he asks with concern.

“As much as I appreciate your help, I have to go,” I say, snapping my wrist as if the house doesn’t matter.

“Are you always this stubborn?” he challenges gently.

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