Chapter Fourteen
Trenton
“Dad,” Camille said, sitting down after ensuring the kids were still distracted outside. She picked at her fingers. “About earlier…”
She was nervous, and everyone else at the table seemed to sense it, too.
“Now’s as good a time as any,” Dad said. He leaned back against his chair, his palms flat on the freshly wiped table.
“What now?” I asked, my eyes dancing from my dad to my wife.
“I overheard her conversation with Olive. She brought up several things, more than just what she overheard Abby say.” He looked to Camille. “You did good, sis. I don’t know that I could’ve done better, and it’s telling that Olive felt she could come to you about it and you’d be honest.”
“What else did you talk about?” I asked.
“She knows about Madison,” Camille said, her cheeks flushing. “It’s all over town. We should’ve been prepared for the kids to hear about it at school.”
“Oh, shit,” Travis said.
“Well, that’s just fucking perfect, ” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “So, does Olive think I’ve been cheating on you?”
Camille shook her head quickly. “No, no. She was more concerned that you sent away a girl she thought had a friendship with you that felt... kind of like hers.”
“What?” I said, a little louder than I’d meant to. “She thought… agh , I don’t know which is worse. What did you…?”
“I explained it,” Camille gently interjected. “I explained the differences. I assured her you two would always be friends. You have to remember how this looks through her eyes, but it made sense to her once I explained it.”
“Which brings us to the bigger issue,” Dad said. “Madison isn’t going to be in that place forever. She didn’t commit a crime. She’s there because her parents demanded it, I assume under some sort of financial threat. But she’s an adult, so she can leave when that agreement is fulfilled. What we know for sure is that she’ll be back in Eakins, and it’s anyone’s guess if she’ll have gotten her mind right. And don’t get me wrong, I feel for the girl, I do. But what’s more important to me is that this family is safe.”
“I’m handling it,” I said.
“How?” Travis asked.
I glanced at Camille and then back to my little brother. “She’s not an international assassin. She’s a sorority girl, maybe obsessive and confused, but it doesn’t require a family meeting. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“I disagree, son,” Dad said.
I sat back in my chair, flustered.
“Trent,” Camille said. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay,” I blurted out. “I said I’m handling it and I am. You don’t need to be worrying about the details. I just want you to go about your day like always and know you’re safe because there’s no one that will make sure of that more than me.”
“Who else you got on it?” Dad asked.
“Kostas,” I said, deflated.
“Lach?” Travis asked, confused.
“He has contacts. Did you know he’d invested in security firms before he got into gyms? Because I sure didn’t. But he knows his shit. He already has people watching the facility Maddie is in. They’re screening her calls, have an employee reporting to him, shit I would’ve never thought of.”
“Huh,” Travis said, shifting in his seat. “He’s never mentioned it.”
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Camille watching Travis, her eyes glimmering with unmistakable suspicion.
Growing up with a father like Camille’s, hypervigilance wasn’t an option—it was how she survived. She learned early how to pick up on the smallest changes in tone, expression, or body language, honing an almost instinctive ability to decide whether it was safer to retreat to her room or stay quiet enough to blend into the background. As an adult, that trauma response bled into everyday interactions. She didn’t always get it right—sometimes she’d think I was pissed when I was just wiped out—but most of the time, she knew something was off with me before I did. And it wasn’t just me. She could read anyone she’d spent time with more than once.
It was like finding out your spouse had a superpower, but instead of flying or laser vision, she had built in bullshit detection . And right now, Travis was on the receiving end of it, whether he knew it or not.
Abby took Dad’s empty mug and made her way to the counter, busying herself at the coffee pot.
“So, what’s your plan?” Dad asked, ready to poke holes in whatever I had to offer. It was out of love, but it didn’t make it less irritating.
“I told you, I’ve got it handled,” I shot back, barely keeping the edge from my voice. Frustration was creeping in, coiling tight in my chest. I wasn’t trying to be an ass; I just didn’t want to lay out all the ugly details in front of Camille. She didn’t need the stress.
Dad tapped the table with his index finger as he thought to himself, probably deciding how to word his next question. He’d been retired from the police department for years, but he could never quit being a detective. It had been hardwired into his DNA.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the kitchen, wrapping the room in a familiar warmth. Abby returned with Dad’s mug, steam curling up from the surface like it had something to say. She set it down in front of him, and he gave her a wink of gratitude before taking a careful sip.
Being in my childhood home always felt like slipping into my favorite hoodie: safe, familiar, and just snug enough to keep the outside world at bay. The smells, the thermostat cranked a little too high, the decor that hadn’t changed in years, and the ever-present weight of Mom’s memory—it all made the place feel like it was giving me a hug. A big, suffocating hug that somehow reminded me I could survive even the shittiest of life’s boxer briefs. It was a big reason why I visited nearly every day. But family meetings like the current one created a heaviness in the air that had no place in my sanctuary, and the longer the disruption, the angrier I became at the culprit—even if it was Dad.
Still, just sipping his coffee, he had a way of reminding me where I was and who was in charge, of the house, our family, and our safety, and that he hadn’t failed us yet.
“Trent, it’s an uncomfortable conversation. I’d want to shield your mother from it myself, but anyone out of the loop is the most vulnerable. Can we agree on that?”
I shifted in my chair. “I mean, yeah, to a point. But why worry Cami sick?”
Camille put her hand on my knee. “Since when did we start carrying heavy things alone?”
“Not in this family,” Dad said.
“Dad’s right,” Travis agreed, intertwining his fingers on top of the table. “They can’t keep Madison in there forever. Ignoring it won’t change that unless she responds to treatment and isn’t triggered when she gets back. We’ll have to deal with her at some point.”
“I’m not ignoring it,” I said through my teeth.
Dad held up his hand to Travis. “Let’s think of this logically. We should assume that being back in town, and tempted by proximity, no matter how intensive her treatment, Madison will relapse. Maybe not, but there’s a good possibility that even if she stays away, an accidental run in could send her over the edge.”
Part of me still wanted to see her as a harmless kid, confused and out of her depth. But knowing what she’d already done—how deep she was buried in her delusions—made it impossible to ignore the danger. The worst part? There was no predicting what she might do if she finally snapped.
“She’s getting help because she’s not well,” Camille said. “We need to be sensitive to that.”
“We’ll be sensitive when we know without a doubt she’s not a threat,” Dad said.
“You guys act like I can just go full Liam Neeson on this,” I said, waving a hand. “The law makes it real clear—there’s nothing I can do until she actually commits a crime . ”
“I don’t accept that,” Abby said. “We don’t have to be sitting ducks.”
Dad took another slow sip from his mug. “Then we’ll just have to be proactive.”
I exhaled, running a hand over the back of my neck. “Look, I know she’ll be back. And yeah, the idea of her being so close makes my skin crawl. I’m hoping the treatments she’s getting will help, and maybe her parents will keep a close eye, but I’m not holding my breath.”
Travis opened his mouth, probably to argue, but I shot him a look and raised my hand. “I’m not na?ve. I’ve already upgraded the house’s security. Cameras, sensors—the works. I’ve been mapping out different routes to and from home so we’re not predictable. And I’m planning on shadowing Camille—like old times at The Red, walking her to her car after every shift.”
Camille crossed her arms, an eyebrow arching just enough to tell me I was about to get a reality check. “Okay, just… wait a minute. I come here every morning and after work. You can’t do that every day.”
“I can, and it’ll start the moment Maddie is released,” I said.
Camille shook her head again. “Trent, we can’t afford—”
“I’m sorry,” Travis said, gently cutting her off. “We can do this if we do it together. You’re safe with Dad, Cami. I’ll reschedule my day so I can wait for you after work and follow you here.”
“You can’t take that much time off work, either,” Camille said. “And what about when you’re out of town at one of your conferences?”
“I don’t have one until after the first of the year,” Travis said.
“Convenient,” Camille said, that spark back in her eye.
“What’s going on?” My eyes bounced back and forth between them like I was watching a tennis match. I had no clue who was winning, but I was absolutely certain I was about to get hit in the face with the ball.
Travis looked confused. Camille definitely wasn’t.
“Nothing,” Camille said after a few moments. “Let’s just not throw the baby out with the bathwater.”
Abby’s expression softened, clearly amused. “That’s a vintage phrase. You’ve been hanging out with Dad too much.”
Dad guffawed, his belly bouncing as he raised his glasses to wipe his eyes.
Everyone around the table couldn’t help but smile. There it is. I felt at home again.
“Then it’s settled,” Dad said. “Extra security, small schedule changes to cover blind spots, and Cami’s safe.”
“What about you?” Camille asked.
Her concern surprised me. “Baby doll, I can handle myself.”
“I know,” she said, breathing out a nervous laugh. “But what if she catches you off guard? I’m just in the way; it’s you she’s after. She wouldn’t be the first woman to overpower a man using surprise.”
“She’s not wrong,” Travis said.
“We’ll all just have to be vigilant,” I said, reaching down and pulling Camille’s chair closer to me. I kissed her on the cheek. “Me included.”
“Trent, be sure to include motion-sensor lights around the perimeter of your yard in the security upgrades if you haven’t already.”
“I hadn’t, thanks,” I said, wondering what else I’d forgotten. “Anything else?”
“It’s not just about physical security,” Travis said. “We need to be aware of our surroundings. If you see anything suspicious, we have to communicate, even if it seems insignificant.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t want our entire universe to revolve around Madison Davis.”
“Like every other challenge, this is temporary,” Dad said.
“Is it? At what point can we relax?” I asked.
Dad and Travis traded glances.
“We’ll know,” Dad said. “She’ll fixate on someone else, or she’ll move, or she’ll get better.”
The thought of Madison lurking outside, watching, waiting, made my guts bubble like I’d just slammed down a bad burrito—both scenarios bound to end poorly. And honestly, it wasn’t just her unsettling fixation that messed with my head; it was the suspense of not knowing when she’d pop up again. Worse than my own paranoia was knowing Camille probably felt it, too. She didn’t have to say a word—the tight shoulders, the glances at the windows, and the way she clutched her coffee mug like it was a holy relic screamed it loud and clear. It pissed me off. Camille deserved to feel safe, not like a gazelle stuck in a National Geographic special. And the worst part? I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop the lioness circling. That hit harder than the burrito.
Abby shifted in her seat. “I agree with Dad. Being proactive is the best way to keep this from taking over your life. If we’ve got plans, preparations—Cami won’t have to keep looking over her shoulder. Trust me, I know what it’s like to feel that way, Trent.” She glanced at Dad and then gave me a nod. “We stick with the plan, and this will pass.”
For the first time in weeks, I felt like a pressure valve had finally released, and I could breathe again.
I exhaled. “Okay. We stick with the plan.”
As the conversation continued, we explored more ideas for security—additional locks, a neighborhood watch, and even the possibility of self-defense classes. With each suggestion, I felt my anxiety ease a bit, knowing they were just as invested in Camille’s safety as I was.
Dad’s voice broke through my thoughts. “The kids still outside? I don’t hear them.”
Camille shot up like someone hit the panic button, and I was right on her heels, with Travis and Abby trailing behind. The four of us huddled by the window, peeking through the glass. And there she was—Jessica, standing like a pint-sized bouncer between Olive, James, and a pack of neighborhood boys.
“She looks pissed,” Travis said, a grin creeping onto his face. “I’d better get out there.”
“Right behind you,” I said, following him out the front door and down the steps.
Before we could intervene, Jessica was already mid-rant. “Say that to my brother again, you little shit, and I’ll hit you so hard you’ll be Googling how to stop crying!”
“Oh! Whoa!” Travis said, trying not to smile as he jogged over. “What’s going on?”
“He,” Jessica said, pointing to a freckle-faced ginger kid, “called James a pussy!”
“Did not!” the kid spat.
Chaos erupted—everyone yelling over each other, with Olive standing between them, her arms extended to keep them separated.
“Ooookay!” Travis said, gently moving Olive and taking her place. “Okay. You,” he pointed to the boys, “get your asses home before my daughter hands them to you. And trust me, she’s not all talk. You,” he said, pointing to our kids, “get inside. Now.”
“But, Daddy!” Jessica protested.
“What’d I say?” Travis said, stern.
Jessica’s shoulders fell and she trudged into the house, followed by James and Olive.
Once inside, the twins were talking over each other to explain.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Travis said, holding up his hands. “One at a time. Olive? Tell me what happened.”
“They were, um, those boys were riding by on their bikes and said something about James playing with girls. Then they came back and kept calling him names, so Jess yelled at them. So, they threw down their bikes and acted like they wanted to fight. So, Jess told them… um…” she looked to Jessica.
“Tell him, I don’t care,” Jessica said, defiant.
“That she’d defend her brother,” Olive said, a pained smile fixed on her face.
“Oh, that,” I said, shaking my finger at Olive while looking at my brother. “That’s her lie face. Olive can’t lie for shit.”
“I don’t have a lie face!” Olive insisted, elbowing me in the ribs.
Travis narrowed his eyes. “I bet that’s exactly how she worded it.”
“Basically,” Olive said with a shit-eating grin.
I patted my niece on the back. “You did good, Jess, but you’ve gotta let him fight his own battles.”
“I tried!” James said. “She wouldn’t shut up long enough!”
Jessica bumped him with her bony hip, and he rubbed the spot but refused to let her know it hurt.
“Hey!” Travis said, separating them. “Didn’t you just threaten that kid’s face for that?”
“He’s my brother, I can . If anyone else does, God help ’em,” she said, unapologetic.
Travis was fighting for his life, visibly trying not to burst into laughter. I couldn’t blame him. I was sure we’d had that same conversation with Dad a hundred times growing up.
He finally fixed his face long enough to scold her, “You need to watch that mouth of yours. I’m tired of explaining to other parents why their kid knows a whole new vocabulary of inappropriate insults.”
“He’s the one who called James a pussy,” Jessica grumbled.
“Jessica Maddox!” Travis said, unable to speak without chuckling. He forced himself to look serious before he spoke again. “I’m glad you protect your brother. I am,” Travis said, his tone a mix of stern dad and exhausted referee. “But you’ve gotta figure out a way to send that message without, you know, without child services getting called.”
“You said to put the fear of God into them to avoid an altercash… an altercade… a fight! That’s what I did! They didn’t expect me to say all that and they stopped rushing us!” Jessica said.
He looked at me, and then Abby, who’d just joined us. “Help me out here, Pidge.”
Abby raised an eyebrow. “What does your dad call this? Payback?” She crouched down, bringing herself to the twins’ level. “We don’t use our fists to fight words. Now, if someone lays hands on you, that’s a different story.”
“That red-headed kid shoved James down,” Olive volunteered.
Abby and Travis traded glances.
“He did?” Abby asked.
The twins nodded their heads in unison, both pairs of eyes begging to be believed.
“Oh, then that little shit got what he deserved. Carry on,” Abby said, returning to the dining table.
“Pigeon!” Travis said, holding out his hands. He sighed, defeated. “Just… try to deescalate first from now on.”
“I did,” Jessica insisted as he walked away. She looked to me. “So, am I grounded or not?”
I ruffled her already messy hair. “Not this time, my little warrior princess. Go play.”
She smiled, and they raced up the stairs, stomping like a herd of buffalo wearing moon boots—each step a little louder than the last, as if they were on a mission to test the structural integrity of the entire house.
“I’ll go with them,” Olive said with a sigh. “You know how Jess is when she’s all amped up.”
“Good idea,” I said, watching her cross the room and ascend the stairs.
I rejoined the adults, and there was Travis, still looking like someone had just asked him to solve quantum physics with a crayon. His brow was furrowed, his mouth hanging open just enough to show he was deep in the land of What the hell just happened. Honestly, it was kind of fun watching him short-circuit.
“I had nothing,” he said. “How do I tell her not to act like me?”
Abby and Camille laughed; Dad just shook his head with a knowing grin.
“I’m so fucked,” Travis said, half bewildered, half amused.
“Yeah, you are,” I said, prompting everyone to burst out laughing for the second time.
Dad leaned back, resting his hands on his belly like a smug Buddha who just hit the jackpot at the karma casino. “Hmm.”
“Satisfying?” Travis asked, only slightly bitter.
“Hmm,” Dad repeated.