Chapter 32
GRAYSON
Ipull into the parking lot outside Cameron’s apartment before switching off the ignition. It’s so quiet I can hear the engine ticking as it cools. The sun has already set, and the building’s lights sparkle in the puddle of an afternoon downpour.
Cameron sits beside me, quiet and with her hand clutching a designer purse. While she impatiently waits for me to jog around the hood of my car and open her door, I drink her in, searching for something familiar, for something that feels like the girl I once knew.
She is as beautiful as I remember—petite, with big striking eyes and the cutest nose—but when I look at her, all I see is a stranger.
It makes me wonder if my search all these years was for closure, not reunion.
I’m relieved she’s stopped acting like she doesn’t know who I am.
I needed that. I needed something to anchor me to a pursuit I’ve been apprehensive about since I shouted her name for the first time in years.
But more than anything, I needed to remember that she didn’t ask for this to happen to her.
She is an innocent in this sick and twisted game we call life.
I can’t forget that.
It’s just really fucking hard when the person you’re interacting with is nothing like you recall.
Cameron isn’t bubbly and full of life. She’s cold and withdrawn and, at times, snarky. She snapped at the waiter for taking too long to refill her coffee, and when I jokingly said she should consider switching to tea, she refused to speak to me for the rest of our lunch date.
Her iciness is most likely my fault. I’m not known for hiding how I feel, and I’ve felt uncomfortable many times today. She’s probably been walking on eggshells all day.
There was a moment earlier, while I was tinkering with her motor, when I almost threw in the towel before the referee had even announced the start of the match.
I didn’t want to force Cameron to interact with me, to dredge up memories she most likely wants to leave buried.
But I also couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal I’ve mentioned previously.
Macy is encouraging my reunion with Cameron—she gave me tips on how to woo her, for fuck’s sake—but it still feels wrong.
After making sure Cameron got to her appointment on time, we spent the day together.
We ate at a little café she said she liked, though she barely touched her food, before we browsed local boutiques.
Our day included snippets most people would rate as a successful first date.
It’s been good, I guess. But it feels forced.
Cameron carefully measures every word she speaks, as if she is reading from a script instead of her heart. Even the way she invites me in for a nightcap is weird. Anyone would swear she’s hosting a guest she can’t wait to see the back end of.
I still say yes, though.
Responsibilities are hard to forget, and I’ve been hoarding mine for years.
After opening her door and gathering the items I purchased for her today, we walk side by side down the corridor of Cameron’s apartment building.
I search for words to make this feel less like a blind date between two people who couldn’t be more opposite, and more like a reunion, but my mind comes up blank.
“So…” Fuck, Grayson. Not a good start. “How long have you lived here?”
Cameron’s shoulder notches toward her ear as she shoves a key into the lock of her apartment. “A few months. It’s quiet, and no one asks questions.”
I nod, not sure what to do with that tidbit of information.
Following her inside, I want to question her about her life, but I keep quiet to avoid being reminded of how badly my father fucked this up for me.
I doubt anything could stop me from confronting him if I were once again pummeled with anger. Macy is miles away, and she’s the only person who can make me act rationally when the walls are crumbling in on me.
Needing something to take the edge off, I dump numerous boutique bags under the entryway table before heading to the small bar in the corner of the living room. Halfway there, I ask Cameron if she’d like a drink.
She glances at me with a disgruntled look, hardens her features, and then waves her hand over her midsection. “Can’t.”
“Shit. Sorry, I forgot.” I set down the pricy whiskey, then enter the kitchen. Though larger than Macy’s, it’s as empty as hers used to be before I showed up. “Do you have tea?”
Cameron shakes her head, her movements sluggish. “I probably shouldn’t drink, anyway. I’ll be up all night.”
“Peeing.” I grimace when recalling how often the pipes in Macy’s bathroom interrupted my sleep last night. My sleep schedule was already minimal, but it became almost nonexistent since joining Macy’s investigation.
“Peeing?” Cameron looks confused.
Her daft expression is cute, and unlike Macy, she can pull it off.
Although Macy popped into my head for the hundredth time today, I’m not annoyed, but I still strive to keep the focus on Cameron.
“I’m guessing your bladder feels pretty squashed right now.
It will only get worse the further along you get.
” I move closer. When my lengthy strides double the worry lining her face, I arch over the island and prop my arms on the granite counter. “How far along are you?”
I’ve been dying to ask that question all day, and it feels good to have it finally off my chest.
“Oh…” Cameron glances at me, then looks away. “Five months.” My head is full of questions, but she answers the most important one. “The father isn’t in the picture.”
I pretend not to notice that the images in the frames on her mantel are the ones that come with the frames. “Do you have any other kids?”
She follows my gaze before shaking her head. “No. None. You?”
I hesitate.
What the fuck?
Why am I hesitating? I’ve not even had a close call—you need to have sex for that—so why am I acting like condom breakages are a regular occurrence for me?
“No. None,” I parrot, my tone as low as my brows.
Cameron moves around the island and switches on the coffee pot. “So Macy’s child isn’t…”
She leaves her question open for me to answer how I see fit. Or did jealousy silence her? I’m having a hard time reading her, so I am genuinely unsure.
“No.” I pfft as if the idea is preposterous, like Macy’s rounded stomach and glowing face weren’t the first images that popped into my head when she asked if I had kids. “We’re friends.” You don’t need a polygraph to register my lie. It is as evident as the moon in the sky.
Suddenly, it dawns on me. Cameron said Macy’s real name. Not her alias. Her real name.
Cameron halfheartedly smiles before proving she still knows how to read me. It is just a sluggish skill she’ll only use when necessary. “She dropped by yesterday. We talked.” I can’t tell if it is anger or hope that slips over her face like a mask when she adds, “She really cares about you.”
“As I do her,” I reply before I can stop myself.
Following an uncomfortable stretch of silence—our tenth for today—I move our conversation in the direction it needs to go. “Does your family know?”
“Know?”
I wish she’d quit the daft act. It’s cute but also irritating.
It’s an effort to keep my frustration out of my tone. “That you’re pregnant.”
They know she’s alive. Macy didn’t leave that part out. She put all her cards on the table, including how she begged Cameron to tell me the truth, and how Cameron denied every opportunity to make this a little easier for me.
After pouring a dash of milk into a mug, Cameron returns the carton to the fridge. Then she finally answers me. “No. I haven’t told anyone.” Shame blazes through her eyes. “It is embarrassing admitting you’re doing it by yourself, so I’d rather them not know.”
“Why?” I ask, shocked. Macy is going it alone, and she’s brave as fuck.
I realize the shame in Cameron’s eyes is more in disgust than anything when she says, “Because there’s meant to be someone to share it with. If we were meant to procreate without a partner, we wouldn’t need both parts of a man and woman to achieve that.”
“Procreate?” Please tell me she didn’t say that.
It makes me wonder if a cult staged her kidnapping, instead of the man I blocked earlier today after denying his fifth call in under an hour.
“If someone wants a child, and there’s a way to achieve that without procreation”—I give Macy’s air quotes a whirl during my last word—“then why shouldn’t they use it? ”
Even if Macy’s pregnancy wasn’t from a failed sting, I’d still support her—one hundred percent.
“Just because you want something doesn’t mean you can have it.
” Cameron’s pitch displays nothing but pure, unbridled snarkiness.
“You should know that better than anyone.” Before I can display my shock, much less act on it, she ends any chance of a fair debate.
“It’s late. I’m exhausted. You should probably head off. ”
When she adds to her claims of exhaustion by rubbing circular patterns on her barely there stomach, Macy’s suggestion that I take some of the burden off her uterus pops into my head.
I consider her idea for scarcely a second before I remove it from my head. Another forced interaction is the last thing we need. It would feel wrong. Unnatural. It would make it seem like I were playing a part in a poorly miscast movie, directed by a filmmaker no longer in the know.
Cameron heads for the door to open it for me. “Thanks for today. I know it was a little weird, but I’m glad we did it.”
“Yeah… me too,” I lie. When I lean in to kiss her cheek, she doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t lean in either. She seems disgusted at the idea of me touching her, shelving Macy’s suggestion further. “Goodnight, Cameron.”
She grimaces like I called her a slur before she slowly closes the door with her on one side and me on the other.
I stand frozen for a moment as the weight of the past twenty-four hours presses down on me, before I use her apparent tiredness as an excuse to put the unease swamping my veins to rest for the day.
The drive home is a blur. My head is a mess of confusion, and it doesn’t all revolve around Cameron. I keep recalling parts of my exchange with Macy and Crew this morning, and how the changeup with Cameron’s “abduction” will cast doubt on the cases we’ve yet to solve.
I barely know Crew, but I’m certain he’d never contemplate Kendall not being held against her will but rather hiding from him. I would have fought anyone who had insinuated the same to me about Cameron, even with that being precisely what she’s done the past seventeen years.
She’s been hiding… from me.
After entering the apartment, I toss my keys onto the entryway table, which still holds many FBI files. Although the apartment sits in darkness, I know Macy is home. I can feel it in my bones.
Even though it’s late and she had an early start, I’m drawn to her room like a moth to a flame. I can’t stop my steps, even with my head screaming at me to walk in the other direction.
Before I know it, I’m standing outside her bedroom door, knocking softly. I don’t mean to be a dick, but she is the only person on the planet capable of helping me compartmentalize everything. She will help me make sense of the chaos in my head.
I also need to see her and make sure she is okay. She missed Kendall’s sale because I forced her to take paid leave for a crime I know she didn’t commit. She’d never blame me, but I need to make sure she isn’t blaming herself either.
“Mace?” I knock again, harder this time. Still no answer.
I brace the hinges before opening her door.
Macy is asleep, curled on her side with one hand tucked under her cheek and another resting on her swollen stomach.
Her hair is spilled across the pillow, a dark halo against white sheets.
Even in her peaceful state, a hint of worry is etched between her brows.
“Are you the cause of that, little guy?” I murmur as my hand hovers an inch above the drastic movements of her stomach.
A kick big enough to force Macy’s stomach to brush my fingertips brings a smile to my face. It is the first genuine smile I’ve had since leaving his mother’s presence this morning.
Once the rapid movements of Macy’s stomach settle, I watch her for a few minutes. I’m eager to find out how she’s doing and get her perspective on Crew’s investigation, but I won’t wake her.
I’m an ass, but according to Agent Cartwright, that’s only to everyone not named Macy Machini.
When I brush a strand off Macy’s forehead and my fingers linger, she stirs but remains asleep.
I’m glad. It’s getting harder to ignore how things have never been normal between us. But expecting any truth after being swamped by lies is asking for heartbreak. It will be better for both of us to keep this conversation off the agenda for a little longer.
With my mind made up, I whisper, “Night, freckles,” before I leave her room and softly close her door behind me.