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Fault Lines

Page 93

by Samantha Dies

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“So, you were with her. Your mistress.”

“She was going through something. She needed me.”

“And I didn’t?”

Cam’s hands bunched into fists. “You didn’t even expect us to go out last night. Not until I said I wanted to.”

“But you did say you wanted to. You asked me to make reservations. And I waited there for you like an idiot while you were out comforting your whore!” The word burst out, ugly and raw, but I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried. I regretted it instantly, but god, it fit the moment.

Cam flinched, not from the word, but from what was inside it. “Don’t be petty, Livi.”

I could barely breathe. “Do you love her?” The question was a live wire. “Is that what you’re not telling me? You’ve fallen in love with her, and you’re leaving me?”

His voice was sharp, his answer fast: “Of course not!” He threw his arms up, exasperated. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this, you’re too emotional.”

“Because what you’re doing is emotional!”

“It’s not! I don’t love her, I never will. How many times do I have to say it? How many ways do I have to show you you’re the only one for me?”

I shook my head, bitter. “You have a funny way of showing it.” I got up and marched for the kitchen, hands trembling.

“Where are you going?” he called after me.

“To make my coffee,” I shot back, not turning around. “You clearly don’t want to talk about this anymore, right? So just leave me alone and let me think whatever I want.”

I heard him follow me. I felt him, looming, while I frothed milk and poured espresso and pretended he didn’t exist. If he wanted to shut me out, fine—I could play that game, too.

I finished my coffee in a few burning gulps, ignoring the sting on my tongue. I needed the caffeine jolt. More than that, I needed space; I was already late for work, no matter how many distractions Cam piled up in the kitchen.

I tried to brush past him, but he kept dogging my steps as I made my way upstairs and tugged clothes from shelves in the closet.

“Where are you going?” The tension in his voice was brittle.

“Out.”

“Out where?”

I swapped pajamas for a sweater and jeans, not even bothering to hide from him. “I don’t guess it concerns you, does it?”

“Livi.” His tone cut through the air, sharp enough to be a warning.

“Cameron,” I answered flatly.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Of course it concerns me. Are you going back to that bookstore? The one where he works?”

“Who? Nate?” I acted bored, flicking a glance his way as I pulled on flats. “Why does it matter?”

“It matters. I don’t like how much time you spend in that bookstore. I’m beginning to think you’re there for a reason other than just… books.”

I stilled, meeting his eyes. “And how would you know how much time I’m spending there, Cam? Are you still tracking me? Wasn’t that just for my protection?”

“It is. I just… think about you at work, and I look at the app. Just curiosity, nothing else. But you’re there almost every day during my work hours.”

“And?”

I yanked a brush through my hair and tied it up, feeling careless.