I grip the counter, grounding myself in its solid edge, trying to steady my breathing. If this is more than pretend—and lately, it feels like it might be—then the risk isn’t just mine.
It’s hers.
And I don’t know how to protect her from hoping for something that might not last.
Chapter thirty-three
Cam
I pull into the library parking lot, the sun’s low and the “Closed” sign hangs crooked in the window. I know she’s still inside. Kate doesn’t leave until everything’s alphabetized, cataloged, and triple-checked.
I killed an entire day telling myself to give her space. I sent her one text this morning—How’s Evie feeling?—and when it sat unread for hours, I tried to let it go.
Tried being the keyword.
Through the glass, I can see her at the front desk. Hair pulled back, cardigan sleeves pushed to her elbows, lips pressed tight in concentration. The lights inside cast her in warm tones, andI swear she looks more beautiful when she’s concentrating than most people do happy.
I rap my knuckles against the door.
She startles, looking up, and her whole body goes stiff when she sees me.
For a second, I think she might ignore me. Then I see her lips move as she mutters something under her breath, grabs her keys, and stalks toward the entrance.
When she opens the door, her voice is clipped. “We’re closed.”
“I noticed,” I say. “Didn’t seem to stop you from being here.”
“Some of us have work to do.”
“Some of us have been worried,” I counter. “How’s Evie?”
“She’s fine.”
“That’s it?”
“She’s fine, Cam. Kids heal fast, you said it yourself.”
She steps inside, and I follow. She locks the door behind me. “That’s it? She’s just fine?”
Her eyes flash. “I don’t owe you a report every time something happens in my life.”
“No, but you don’t get to shut me out, either. You didn’t even read my text.”
“I didn’t shut you out,” she snaps. “I just didn’t text back.”
“That’s shutting me out.”
“It’s called breathing,” she fires back, voice rising. “You swoop in, you help, and then suddenly you’re just…everywhere. And it’s—” she breaks off, shaking her head. “It’s too much.”
I take a step closer, keeping my tone low. “Too much, or too real?”
Her throat works. “It’s becoming too complicated.”
“Not to me.”
“Well, it is to me, Cam!” Her voice cracks, frustration bleeding into the words. “You don’t get it—I’ve been doing this by myself and I’ve been just fine. No one to lean on, no one to trust. Every decision, every mistake—it’s all been mine. And if I let myself need you, really need you, what happens when you decide you’re done?”
Her voice trembles on that last word, and something inside me twists.
