I am an agent. I have a job to do. But I swear, in that bathroom, there were just two people with insane chemistry. And for the first time in a long time, it is more than enough.
26
MACY
With my heart in tatters, I stare at the lip of my bedroom door, waiting for Grayson’s shadow to disappear from beneath it. Only when his footsteps fade down the hallway do I answer the screaming demands of my lungs. I exhale a slow and shaky breath while fighting like hell not to curse my stupidity.
My heart is pounding. Not in fear. Well, not the kind of fear I’m used to. This is different. Unique. It is raw and edgy and makes me wonder if I even know who I am anymore.
I pushed Grayson away.
Me.
I never thought I’d see the day.
Although I hate that my morals forced me to send that message to Grayson, it was the right thing to do in this situation. He needs to remember his priorities, and I don’t want him to misconstrue the trajectory of his moral compass because of a burden that isn’t his to bear.
I am pregnant, but I amnotvulnerable. Some of the strongest women I know are single mothers, and I plan to emulate them when I take the next giant step into motherhood.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, with my phone in hand, I stare at Cameron’s unmistakable expression. As I look at her through the eyes of a woman instead of an agent, an uncomfortable knot coils tightly in my stomach. She’s scared; I don’t doubt that, but her eyes are full of secrets—secrets I’m confident Grayson doesn’t want to acknowledge.
That’s why he’s still here, helping me, isn’t it? He doesn’t want to face the truth any more than he wants to acknowledge that Cameron deliberately forgot him.
While drinking in glossy black locks hanging halfway down Cameron’s back, I picture Grayson doing the same. Is he staring at her picture-perfect face, searching for answers? Or is he looking for something to fill the void that’s been eating at him for seventeen years?
When I stood across from him in the bathroom, relishing the tingles his briefest touch ignited, I wanted so badly to fill that void. I’ve wanted him for so long. But not like this. I refuse to be the consolation prize or the woman a man turns to solely because the one he truly wants refuses to admit he exists.
I deserve more than that, and so does Grayson.
He’s been waiting for this day for seventeen years. Every case and every sleepless night he’s had has been for Cameron. And now that he’s finally found her, she won’t even look him in the eye.
Fighting not to curl into myself, I fist the duvet. I want to scream and cry, and I really want to march to Cameron’s apartment and demand answers. I won’t, though, because I know what’s really eating at me. It isn’t Cameron’s lies or Grayson’s heartbreak. It is the fear that I’m nothing more than a set of open arms. I am the rebound—the safe choice.
I have liked Grayson for a long time, but my feelings grew significantly this past week. I thought it was mutual, but now I’m worried it was all a lie.
Excessive hormones must have me mistaking scenes like the one we just shared in the bathroom. Despite my brain telling me I’m making things up, I can’t stop recalling how good it felt having his hands on me, and the way his eyes lingered for a second too long on the tiny bow of my panties. It felt right even when it should have felt wrong.
I want to be the person Grayson can lean on, even if it were just for a night, but who in their right mind would volunteer to be a stand-in girlfriend? No one with any self-respect.
I want to be chosen, to be more than a crutch when times get tough.
I want to be enough.
After exhaling to loosen the tightness in my chest, I change into a two-piece cotton pajama set and then slip beneath the sheets. I stare up at the ceiling fan, hopeful its familiarity will quell the storm brewing inside me. The apartment is quiet, yet my mind is racing. My thoughts collide and tangle until I can’t tell where one ends and another begins.
Cameron is alive. She is here, in this city, pretending not to know Grayson or the years of dedication he’s put in to bring her home.
How could anyone pretend not to remember the boy who took on five assailants by himself to try to save you? How could you forget the boy who ran seven miles to find your last known location, using nothing to guard his steps but his intuition? I don’t understand Cameron’s objectives. If someone had moved heaven and earth to bring me home, I’d fall at their feet and thank them until my voice gave out.
Cameron’s reaction wasn’t close to that. She ran. She hid, and she continues to hide. Not solely from Grayson, but from anyone who has ever wondered what happened to her. Her parents must be beside themselves. And her sister—God, she must be distraught…
My thoughts trail off when I struggle to remember the last time Cameron’s sister was mentioned in her file. Grayson left nothing off the timeline of events since her disappearance. He even documents Blake’s yearly calls to the bureau, seeking updates on her case. But I can’t recall seeing any of Cameron’s immediate family members’ names in the past five years of updates.
Her parents may have found the heartache too much to bear year in and year out, but a sibling’s bond surpasses a parent–child bond. They’re on the same wavelength and have the same thoughts. Her sister must still be searching for her. She wouldn’t have given up, surely.
What once seemed like a minor detail in her file now feels crucial. It isn’t the final piece, but it could be the piece that brings the picture into perspective.
No longer tired, I slip out of bed, careful not to make a sound. The apartment is still quiet, with the only light coming from the living room. That isn’t unusual. Grayson works better under the eye strain of a muted television. The constant dance of visually erotic commercials between news segments stimulates the brain and keeps it active.
