Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“Thanks again. G’night.”
I watch her climb the stairs, wanting to follow her, hug her, tuck her in, and tell her it will all be okay. But I don’t. She doesn’t need me to fuss over her, not when she’s doing a great job on her own and I’ve already given her the support she needs tonight. If I pile more onto her, especially when she’s in such an exhausted state, I risk overwhelming her completely and making tonight seem like an even bigger deal than it is. And it’s already a breaking point in a long-term friendship, which Grace seems to recognize.
So instead of going upstairs with Grace, I do the other thing I want to do and stomp down the hall toward Cameron’s room to find out what the hell is so important that he couldn’t go get his daughter. I took care of her, but the look of disappointment on her face when she realized it was me and not him who’d come will stick with me for the rest of my life. She needed him, and he prides himself on doing everything for her, so where the fuck was he?
I knock on the door and wait, but there’s no answer.
Is he asleep?
Surely not. I told him I got Grace, but there’s no way he’d go to bed knowing Grace is upset. And if he did? Well, then he can wake the fuck up.
I’m mad… at Hannah, at Cameron, and at the world who’d be so cruel to such a sweet little girl.
“In here,” he says a moment later, and I turn, realizing the sound came from behind me. Cameron’s in his office.
When I go into the dimly lit room, he’s sitting at his desk, the glow of the computer brighter than the lamp in the corner or the overhead chandelier.
“Are you working?” I demand, incredulous that he’d do that instead of going to get Grace.
He stands up, cold eyes pinning me in place. “Of course I am. It’s the only thing that’d have any chance of keeping me here and not racing over to Hannah’s to demand some fucking answers about what’s going on.”
Oh, okay. He’s not just working and got caught up, and he didn’t prioritize that over Grace. He’s pissed and looking for any potential outlet. That’s understandable, because I’m feeling the same way.
“Well, I’m not sure I’ll be any help in calming you down because I offered to beat Hannah up for Grace.”
He stares at me for a long beat and then rolls his eyes like I exasperate him, which I probably do. “Of course you did.” His eyes narrow into little slits as he adds, “You didn’t actually do it, did you?”
“Maybe,” I deadpan. “Just a little.”
Because that long stare gave me a chance to realize something else—Cameron is drunk. Not falling down, sloppily so, but definitely a bit hazy-eyed. That must be why he couldn’t go get Grace, and if I know Cameron, he’s been chastising himself ever since he got that text. He holds himself to a high standard, and for him, an evening of recklessness when he thought Grace was in good hands will most assuredly fail to meet that standard.
My anger fades quickly. I don’t need to be mad at him. He’s already mad enough at himself.
He walks to the other side of the room, flopping onto the leather couch there, with his legs spread wide and arm stretched out on the back. His other hand scrubs over his face. “What happened?” His voice is tight, like he’s readying himself for nearly anything.
I clod over to the couch, slip my boots off, and sit down too, but suddenly realize that without my anger coursing through me, being in my nightgown around Cameron makes me feel nakedly vulnerable. It’s perfectly respectable, or else I wouldn’t have gone to get Grace in it, but Hannah’s dad isn’t Cameron, with his blue eyes locked onto me like his X-ray vision can blast right through the printed waffle-knit material to see that I’m not wearing a bra or panties underneath it.
I wrap my arms around myself and curl my legs beneath me, tucking the fabric over my knees in an attempt to hide my body. Cameron doesn’t miss a thing and must think my awkward position is because I’m cold, because at the touch of a button on the remote beside him, the electric fireplace roars to life.
I lick my lips, trying to figure out how to tell him what Grace told me in a way that won’t have him running out the door to hunt Hannah and Liam down, or picking up the phone to send Cole to do the dirty work.
“There’s a boy,” I start.
His teeth make a grinding sound and his eyes go stone cold.
And that’s pretty much how he remains the entire time I report what Grace told me.