Cameron’s laugh is bitter and full of hate. “Oh, please. You can’t preach morality when you brought your side piece to your girlfriend’s house for dinner.”
“Macy and I are friends.”
The whoosh of a message being sent sounds down the line before Cameron’s shouted words. “Stop lying, Grayson!” There’s no doubting her stability when she throws her hands in the air and screams. She’s manic. “Walking through glass isn’t a friend taking care of a friend.” She steps up to him, chest to chest, stomach to stomach. “You were never like that when we weretogether. You never looked at me the way you look at her. Even when someone pulled a hessian bag over my head, you didn’t show one tenth of the worry you displayed when she cut her foot.” She rolls her eyes during her last four words.
“That’s not true.”
“It is!” she screams in his face. “Because you love her more than you ever loved me. It’s obvious from your expression.”
I caution Grayson not to fall into her trap, that she’s only throwing out bait to keep their fight alight, but I still tear up when he fails to deny her accusation this time around.
Does that mean what I think it does? Does he love me? Surely not. He’s heeding my silent caution and following the rules that will keep this exchange safe.
There’s no way Grayson Rogers could love me. He’s Grayson, and I’m… me.
After apfftcracks out of the speakers, Cameron sneers, “Your silence is extremely telling.”
“Then tell me what you want me to say, Cameron. Tell me what you need to hear, and I’ll say it. That’s how it always worked for us, right? You say jump, and I ask how high.”
She doesn’t deny his assumption. She doesn’t even flinch at the callousness in his tone. Her body language announces that everything he spoke is true. They were never equal partners. She led. He followed.
“I want you to tell the truth. Admit that you love her.”
“And what will that give you, Cameron?”
She hits him where it hurts. “Closure. It will give me the closure I need to fully move on.”
Grayson’s breathy chuckle breaks my heart. It is full of pain. “Like you haven’t already done that? How long did it take you to change your appearance, Cam? A year? A month? A week?”
I seldom hate strangers, but I hate Cameron when a flare darts through her eyes. She knew he’d search for her, but she made it harder for him instead of easier.
That’s callous. It’s cruel. That isnotsomething a woman in love would do.
I gasp when the truth smacks into me. That’s why she’s accusing Grayson of never loving her, because it’s easier to blame than admit the truth.
“Stop skirting, Grayson. Just tell the damn truth.”
My eyes snap to the screen so fast that I grow dizzy when Grayson relents to the tension suffocating the air of oxygen by whispering in a soft, husky tone, “Yes. I love her.”
What?
There’s too much conviction in his tone, too much honesty on his face. If he’s lying, I need to hand in my badge immediately. That’s how convincing his reply is, and it has my blood pressure surging to an unmanageable level.
While wiping my cheeks like they’re strained with salty blobs, I check the connection to make sure it’s still running. Grayson and Cameron are so frozen that it is as if someone hit pause on a running tape. I want to rewind it, but all agents know they shouldn’t interrupt a live feed while it’s being recorded.
I stop searching for a better connection when Cameron sends a quick text, then dumps her phone on a stack of magazines she suddenly straightens. Once they’re stacked as tall as a tower, she rights the wonky cushions on her couch.
As she reconfigures her living room with mechanical precision, the anger on her face drains away before being replaced with something cold and distant.
I take a mental note to book her in for a psych workup. The shift is too sudden, too unhinged. This isn’t how someone with sound mental health operates.
When Cameron shifts her focus to the kitchen, Grayson stops profiling her and instead becomes a caring partner and friend. He fills the dishwasher before washing the handful of pots that won’t fit in it. They don’t talk. They don’t even look at each other. They just roll through the motions like this is the credits of their brief feature film.
Once the drying rack is empty, Grayson shifts on his feet to face Cameron. She’s quiet, too quiet, though I predict her simmering anger shifting to a boil when Grayson announces that he’s heading out.
She dips her chin, acknowledging that she heard him, but she doesn’t comfort him with her eyes or her words. She wants to break his heart with silence, as if it isn’t already in tatters.
Relief washes over me when Grayson doesn’t fall for her mind games. After a brief “Night,” he heads for the front door.
