by Kate Stacy
“Alexander.”
“Chief. What can I do for you?” I ask bluntly.
I almost apologize for my curt response, but Chief has never been one for niceties.
Regardless, I remind myself to check my temper. It’s not his fault he has to be the bearer of bad news. He’s not the problem. Chief is a man who has my utmost respect. But deep down, I know there can’t be a good reason for this unexpected call.
I hear a heavy sigh on the line before he speaks again.
“I’m calling about Elena.” He pauses, drawing another weighted breath. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”
Of course he does.
Elena is the epitome of bad news.
Grateful he can’t see how hard I roll my eyes, I jump in before he can continue.
“I’m not bailing her out, Chief.” I chastise myself for another curt response, and reign myself in. “I mean no disrespect, sir. I know she’s the mother of my child, but I—”
His sharp voice cuts me off.
“Ryan. She’s dead, son.”
My throat goes dry and I swallow, searching for moisture that isn’t there.
“What happened?”
He gives me the straight facts.
“Overdose. Neighbor called it in, reporting a foul smell coming from her apartment. DOA.”
“Ah...um...okay. Thanks for letting me know, Chief.”
I’m at a loss for words. Lost in some strange sort of daze, I’m unable to process how I’m feeling. I end up choking back a bark of ill-timed laughter.
And that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it?
I don’t feel a single thing.
Chief is still talking, but I haven’t heard a word. With every bit of focus I can muster, I zone in on his words toward the end.
“...here if you need anything at all.”
“Thanks, Chief.” I decide that’s the appropriate response. “I better go. Hannah and Adam should be home soon.”
There’s no need to explain further. He understands completely.
This news has disastrous potential. While I’m apparently numb to it, the same won’t likely be said for Hannah or Adam. There’s no way to know how they’re going to react.
“Remember what I said, Alexander.”
“I will.”
I end the call there, sinking to the couch.
I should be feeling something, right?
Closing my eyes, I search the recesses of my mind for some type of emotion, but there’s none to be found. Not a single one. I’m comfortably numb.
Calm acceptance.
That’s the best way I can describe my current state.
Maybe it’ll change later. Maybe I’ll feel something when the news really sinks in.
For now, I’ll take it. I’ll use it wisely to figure out how I’m going to break the news to my daughter that her mother is gone. How to tell my best friend that he’ll never see his little sister again.
I rough my hair and scrub my hand down my face.
Fuck.
THIRTY-ONE
Camille
Crossing the parking lot with Macy at my side, I attempt to hold back another yawn.
I’m exhausted. Between the two tiny humans wreaking havoc on my body and my late night sexscapades with my sexy as sin baby daddy, I’m running on fumes.
I tell Macy as much when she teases me for the umpteenth time for my consistent yawning.
“Ugh, please. Spare me.” Her eyes roll hard. “If these are your only complaints, consider yourself lucky. You’re living your best life.”
I laugh because, well...she’s not wrong.
And I’m not complaining. Not at all.
If every night were like last night, I’d happily go without sleep.
Still, I’m more than ready to head home and take a nap after spending hours shopping with Madalyn, Presley, and Macy.
Surprisingly, I’ve had a lot of fun today with the girls. It would have been a perfect, stress-free outing if not for the constant, overwhelming sensation of being watched. None of us have noticed anything out of the ordinary, it’s just a feeling I can’t seem to shake. Even now, as we make our way to my car after parting ways with my sisters, I swear I can feel someone’s eyes on me.
Slowing my pace, I look behind me for the source of my discomfort. People are milling around the shopping center, but no one seems to be paying any attention to me.
Shake it off, Cami. You’re being paranoid.
We’re not even in Blackwood. Shopping there is dull since there isn’t much variety, so we drove a couple towns over to hit up the bigger stores. No one knows me here. It’s not like Chad followed me out of town to watch me shop with the girls.
Shaking my head, I chuckle—because that would be absurd—and turn to pay attention to where I’m going.
The world around me fades from existence as my gaze locks with laser precision on the tall form of a man standing beside a beat-up white truck.
I haven’t seen him in years, but it’s him. I know it's him.
He’s standing motionless less than twenty feet away.
Staring directly at me.
His face is a mask of calm, but there’s something sinister swirling in his dark eyes.
A shiver rolls through my body. Goosebumps raise all over my flesh.
I open my mouth to get Macy’s attention, but I crash into her back before I can get her name out.
“What—”
I cut her off quickly. “Chad,” I say his name in a rush. “He’s right over...”
I spin around, frantically searching, but he’s gone.
“He was right there! I swear I saw him!” Tears blur my vision, a lump forming in my throat. “He was...he was standing right there by that truck, Macy. God! I didn’t imagine him there. I know I didn’t!”
I swat away my tears with frustration.
Maybe I’m going crazy.
“You’re not,” Macy says.
“What?” I ask, not realizing I spoke out loud.
“You’re not crazy, Cami. Look.” She points to my car. “That’s why I stopped walking.”
“He was really here,” I whisper.
“He was,” she confirms.
We’re both frozen in place, eyes locked on the windshield of my car.
And the small manilla envelope.
And the blood red rose.
“Okay,” Macy says, breaking me out of my trance. Wrapping an arm around my back, she nudges me toward the car. “Let’s grab it and get in. Just in case he’s still lurking somewhere around here. You can call Ryan in the car.”
Nodding, I follow her lead.
She steers me toward the passenger side, rounding the front of the car once I’m seated. She snatches the rose and envelope off the windshield, shuts herself in the car with me and hits the locks.
“You want me to look first?”
“It’s different,” I say, looking at the envelope in her hands like it’s going to grow teeth and bite. “It’s always a small white envelope. Why is it different?”
My voice is quiet, small.
“I don’t know, hon,” she says tenderly, as if speaking to a frightened child. “There’s only one way to find out.”
She holds it out to me, and I flinch. Actually fucking flinch.
Suck it the fuck up, Camille. You’re stronger than this. Remember your mantra.
Mind over matter.
Straightening my shoulders, I take it from her and immediately flip it over to open the clasp. Slowly—because there’s more weight to it than I expected—I tip the envelope. The contents come spilling out into my lap in a mess of glossy images.
All thoughts of staying strong flee at the sight of the pictures.
Tons of pictures.
Every single one of me.
At the salon. At my brother’s bar. In my car with Hannah.
I flip through them, growing more di
sturbed with each visual of the way he’s been watching me.
“Oh my God!” I gasp, dropping the stack like it’s on fire.
Me in the house.
Inside the fucking house.
“H-how did he get these?” My voice cracks on the question.
Wide-eyed, I look to Macy, but I know she doesn’t have the answer. She picks up the stack of pictures, flipping through them where I left off. I turn away, unable to look at them anymore. Tears cloud my vision. A heavy lump settles in the bottom of my stomach. I struggle to choke back the bile climbing up my throat.
I don’t understand why he’s doing this to me.
He broke up with me. Said he didn’t want me.
He and I happened years ago, why would he show up now? Until recently, I never even told anyone what happened. What the hell does he want from me? I’m still not my sister. I’m never going to be my sister. I just don’t fucking understand.
Macy pulls me from my thoughts with a hesitant whisper of my name.
“Look.”
I don’t want to look. I don’t want to see any more proof of his sick fascination with me, but I do it anyway.
And I shatter.
I lose any semblance of bravery and strength right there in the passenger seat of my car.
I break.
Emotion floods in a rush of fat, ugly tears.
Punching the dash, a harsh, agonizing cry bubbles up from my throat. Not bothering to stop the strangled sound from escaping, I wail, my scream rivaling that of a banshee.
There, printed clearly in full color, are photographs of me and Ryan in bed together.
Completely and utterly naked. Wrapped up in each other. Captured in our most intimate moments.
I’ve never felt more violated in my entire fucking life.
That says enough in itself, considering this sick piece of shit has physically violated me in ways I still can’t remember.
How in the hell did he get these pictures?
What feels like hours later, but has probably only been minutes, my harsh sobs ease to a slow stream of tears. A car honking makes me lift my head to look around and I notice we’re not even in the parking lot anymore. Shit. I hadn’t even realized Macy started driving.
She shoots me a glance, barely taking her eyes off the road.
“Sorry, Cam. I had to get you away from there.” I nod my understanding. She presses my phone into my hand. “Call Ryan.”
Another nod.
With shaking hands, I tap the screen to pull up his contact.
Tapping the “call” icon, I move the phone to my ear and wait.
It rings once. Twice. Three times.
He picks up just before it goes to voicemail, his voice sounding breathless and rushed.
“Now’s not really a good time, Camille. Can I call you back?” he asks without a greeting.
“I really need to talk to you.”
My voice is raspy, strained from crying, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Can it wait? Is everything okay? The babies? You’re not in labor or anything?”
His questions are rapid-fire, not giving me a chance to respond until he gets them all out.
“No, the babies are fine, but—”
“Then it’s going to have to wait. I can’t deal with anything else at the moment, Camille. I need to take care of my family right now. We’ll talk later when you get back.”
Before I can respond, the line goes dead.
My head jerks back, brows drawing down as I stare at the blank screen. My mouth gapes open, but I snap it shut, stunned to silence.
What the actual fuck just happened?
My reaction grabs Macy’s attention, but I can only shake my head.
For a single second, I don’t know whether to be upset or angry.
But no, fuck that. I’m pissed. Seething.
“Head toward Holden’s, please.”
If Ryan thinks I’m coming back to his house today, he’s sadly fuckin’ mistaken.
“What the hell just happened, Camille?”
I snort. “Ryan just showed me how he really feels.”
She shoots me a questioning look.
“He wouldn’t let me get a word in. Told me he can’t deal with me right now. That he needs to take care of his family.”
“He said that? Those exact words?”
I hear the disbelief in her voice, and I get it. Before today, I wouldn’t have believed me either. I would have never thought he would say something like that to me. But I didn’t hear him wrong. I didn’t misunderstand. Hell, he didn’t even ask about me, only the babies.
This was my worry from the beginning—him wanting me for all the wrong reasons.
Everything he’s said to me has been a huge load of shit.
The realization is enough to gut me, so I lower my gaze to my lap and pick at my fingers. I take slow, steady breaths, silently reminding myself to hold onto my anger. If I’m mad, it won’t hurt so damn bad.
But it does hurt. Like hell.
I thought I was part of his family.
I guess I was wrong.
It’s probably better that I figured it out now rather than later.
All the promises to take care of me and keep me safe? The reassurances that he was all in with me? What the hell happened to those? Ryan’s obviously dealing with something—deep down, I know that—but it doesn’t matter. With a few ill-spoken words, he destroyed every bit of trust I've placed in him over the last few months. I can’t rely on him now.
For that reason, I repeat my request to go to my brother’s house.
I know I can always count on him.
THIRTY-TWO
Ryan
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
Shaking his head, Adam stands up without another word and leaves the room. I watch his retreating back until he’s out of sight, then drop my head in my hands. I just finished giving him a recap of my earlier phone call with Camille and that’s all he had to say.
Thing is...he’s right and I fucking know it.
Today has been a disaster of epic proportions.
My entire focus has been on trying to comfort and console my daughter and best friend. Completely wrapped up in them, I didn’t hear, or maybe just didn’t process, the stress in Camille’s voice when she called. Replaying the short conversation in my head—I don’t know how I missed it. Something was wrong, I’m certain of it. She tried to fucking tell me, and I barely let her speak.
I know I fucked up. Insinuating that she’s not family? Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with me? My words were harsh, and I didn’t even realize it at the time. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, but she couldn’t have taken it any other way.
So yeah, I’m a fucking idiot.
But right now, that’s not the problem.
Camille hasn’t come home, and due to my own stupidity, I don’t know what was wrong with her earlier. I’m worried. I haven’t been able to reach her for a couple hours now.
Trying her number again, I mutter a curse when the call goes directly to voicemail.
Dropping my phone to the table with a loud thud, I pace back and forth across the room, tugging at the ends of my hair.
It’s not even ringing now. Is she ignoring my calls, or did she turn off her phone? Did something happen to her?
I can’t stop my mind from running through worst-case scenarios.
I’m going to go out of my goddamn mind.
Blowing out a heavy breath, I try to convince myself to stop thinking the worst. Not very effective, but damn it, I try.
How long has it been since I called her? Fuck it, I’m trying again anyway.
Before I can make it across the room, my phone starts to ring. In a rush to answer, I don’t bother paying attention to the screen.
“Camille? Are you okay, baby?” The words rush out in a single breath.
“She’s okay.” The deep voice on
the other end of the call definitely isn’t the voice I hoped to hear. “Upset, scared, and something else I’m not qualified to identify...but physically, she’s fine. I just left her brother’s house. They called me to collect some new evidence.”
“Should have known that’s where she went,” I mutter to myself. Morris doesn’t respond, but I can hear his silent judgment. Then it clicks. “Wait. What evidence? Talk to me, Morris.”
His heavy sigh tells me almost everything I need to know.
It’s bad. And he doesn’t want to have to tell me.
“Shane, come on man. That’s my girl and my babies.”
He curses under his breath. My use of his first name just took this to an even more personal level.
“Another rose and envelope. But...this one…” he trails off, and it sets me on edge.
“Whatever it is, I can take it.”
“Pictures. It was pictures. No note.”
“Pictures of what?” The hard edge in my voice tells him not to fuck with me.
“Camille. In a bunch of different locations. Mostly alone. Couple of her in the car with Hannah.” He pauses, muttering a quick stream of curses. “He has pictures of her inside your house. Pictures of the two of you in bed together that no one else should ever see.” When I don’t respond, he says one more thing. “You might wanna check your house for cameras.”
Gripping my phone tightly in my fist, I manage to thank him for the information and end the call.
“Adam! I need you, bro!” I holler loud enough to ensure my voice carries across the house. It doesn’t take long for him to pop his head around the corner into the living room.
“What’s up?”
“Big favor, man. Need you to take Hannah over to my mom’s. She’s gonna stay there for a couple of days.”
He arches a brow, and I quickly explain what Morris told me. Anger rolls over him in waves as his eyes dart around the living room, searching. I leave him and I make my way to my daughter’s room. Without details, I explain that I need her to stay with her grandma for a couple of days. She doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t argue. My girl’s so damn smart. I swear she can sense I’m in police-dad mode. She knows well enough to listen and not put up a fight.