“Please… just let me know if he’s okay,” I whisper.
She doesn’t respond. Just shuts the door in my face.
I make it all the way back to my car before the sobs break free.
My whole body shakes as I grip the steering wheel. I don’t even put on music for the drive home.
When I get there, I avoid Lucas and Tyler.
I slip past them, head straight to my room, and collapse into bed.
Gizmo curls into my side, and I cry until I fall asleep.
50
Waiting and Worries
It’s been a long time since Camille left for her brunch. She said she would only be there a couple hours. Now the afternoon is almost over, the sun casting long shadows through the living room window, and my phone is still painfully quiet.
I tell myself to relax. She’s probably just catching up with friends. She deserves that—normalcy, time away, space. I like that she has a life outside of this house.
But still. No texts. No calls. Not even a damn emoji. It’s not like her.
My gut tells me something is wrong. I check my phone again like an idiot. Nothing.
Tyler and I are working out, Tyler is throwing weights around like it’s going to answer all the world’s problems.
He looks up at me as I sit down on the bench seat next to him, worry etched across my face.
“Nothing?” he asks, wiping sweat off his brow.
I shake my head. “Nah. It’s really not like her.”
Just as I’m about to say more, the front door slams. Hard.
A blur of Camille rushes past the hallway, her face down, shoulders stiff, clutching her handbag like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.
“Camille?” I call after her, but she doesn’t stop.
Bedroom door slams shut.
I glance at Tyler. His brow furrows.
“What the hell?”
I’m halfway down the hall before I pause. Her breathing is uneven—ragged. Crying. Fuck. I rest my forehead against her door, fist clenched, torn between giving her what she clearly wants—space—and what I want—to be there. Ten minutes. I’ll give her ten minutes before I check on her.
The minutes crawl by. I check the time twice. Ten exactly. I open the door slowly, careful not to startle her.
She’s curled on the bed, body turned to the door, clutching Gizmo tight to her chest.
Her face is stained with dried tears, her breathing soft and uneven, but she’s asleep.
I move quietly across the room and pull the blanket up over her shoulders.
She stirs but doesn’t wake.
I kneel, press a gentle kiss to her cheek.
