Chapter Forty-Three
I didn’t plan to stay at Cam’s place for more than a night, two at most. It was supposed to be a layover between disasters, a safe spot to regroup while I figured out how to keep breathing.
But the longer I lingered, the harder it became to leave.
I told myself I was giving my head injury time to heal, or that I didn’t want to inflict myself on Rachel’s already-overcrowded guest room, but the real reason was simpler and much dumber: I liked it here.
I liked the way Cam made breakfast, the way he folded my laundry even when it was just socks, the way he kept the radio on in every room so the house never got too quiet.
I liked being wanted, even in this unfinished, liminal way.
Rachel texted every morning with status updates on the outside world (Nate’s out of rehab, Jackson got promoted, you’re a trending hashtag for three hours last night, congrats!), but she never pushed me to move back in.
Maybe she sensed that I wasn’t ready to face her brand of tough love, or maybe she just knew me better than I knew myself.
I was grateful for her patience, even if I ignored most of her suggestions (let’s get blackout drunk and break into your ex’s office!).
Cam worked from home more often now, some hybrid schedule that let him video-conference in from the den while he wore gym shorts and a shirt with the logo just out of frame.
He was good at it—charming, focused, able to flatten any conflict with a joke or a well-timed silence.
I watched him sometimes from the kitchen, and he always looked like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, even when the call ended and the house returned to just us.
We didn’t talk about what happened at Nate’s place, or the funeral, or what we were to each other now.
There was a mutual agreement—never stated, just practiced—that we’d keep everything light, domestic, and time-limited.
It was like living in an Air B arms crossed over his chest. “Can I ask you something, and you promise not to make it weird?”
I sat up, pulling the comforter to my chin like armor. “That’s a big promise.”
He smiled, then let it fade. “Did you ever send in your divorce papers?”
I blinked. “I… what?”
He shrugged, as if embarrassed to ask. “It’s just, my lawyer keeps emailing me for the final version. I told him you probably had other things on your mind, but—” he trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.
I stared at the wall, trying to remember. The memory flickered, a stuttered reel of hospital rooms and Nate’s apartment. “I think I left them at Nate’s place,” I admitted. “In a drawer, or maybe under the bed. I never got around to mailing them.”
Cam nodded, a little too quickly. “No worries. I can get you another set. If you want. Or I can come with you, if you want to dig through the wreckage for the originals since Nate’s at a halfway house.”
I shook my head. “No rush.”
He looked at me, really looked, and I knew he’d been waiting to hear me say that. “Okay,” he said. “No rush.”
He lingered a second longer, then crossed the room and knelt by the bed. His hand brushed my cheek, a feather-light touch that could have been accidental if not for the way he lingered.
“Goodnight, Livi,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes and let him go, letting the comforter swallow me whole.
That night, I dreamed of nothing. When I woke, the sun was already up, Cam’s side of the bed empty, the whole house filled with the smell of coffee and possibility.
For the first time in months, I wasn’t afraid of what came next.
∞∞∞
I was pouring my second cup of coffee when my phone rang—a number I didn’t recognize, the prefix local but the rest a cipher.
I nearly let it go to voicemail, but something in me—the same part that rubbernecks at car crashes and re-reads old texts—picked up, pressing the screen with a jittery thumb.
“Hello?”
There was a pause. I could hear the sound of traffic, or maybe just the wind through a half-open window, and then a voice, shaky but clear.
“Livi?”
It had been weeks since I’d heard Nate’s voice, but my body remembered instantly: the coil of tension in my stomach, the rush of anger and worry and something sour I’d never learned to name.
I almost hung up. Almost. But I didn’t.
“Nate.”
He exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath since the moment he dialed. “Please don’t hang up,” he said. “I just— I needed to say something. Can I do that?”
My mouth was dry. I poured the coffee, just to have something to do with my hands. “I’m listening.”
He took another breath, steadier this time. “I’m sorry. For everything. What I did to you, the things I said after. And before. I— I don’t have any excuse, and I’m not calling to ask for forgiveness. But I need you to know I’m sorry. I really am.”
I leaned against the counter, staring at the snow slowly melting outside the window. “Thank you,” I said, and meant it. The wound on my head had healed, mostly, but the scar would probably stay. I ran my fingers over it, not sure what else to say.
“I wasn’t at the funeral,” Nate continued, and I could hear him trying to hold it together. “I wanted to be. I just… I was in rehab. Still am, I guess. Outpatient though.”
The words settled, heavy and strange. For so long, I’d wanted Nate to get help, but I’d stopped believing he ever would.
“I’m glad,” I said, and felt the surprise of it in my own voice. “That you’re… working on it.”
He laughed, a sound edged with shame. “Yeah, well. Better late than never, right?”
There was a pause, the silence filled with everything we’d never said out loud. Then, softer: “They make us talk about stuff. Our families. How we fuck up our lives and blame everyone else. It’s hard. Sometimes I want to run away, but… I guess that’s the point.”
I wanted to tell him he wasn’t alone, that everyone wanted to run sometimes, but it didn’t seem right. Instead, I let him talk.
“I know you’re with Cam,” he said, almost a question. “Or at least, you’re not with me.”
It hurt, but not the way I expected. “I’m not sure what I am,” I said. “But I’m here. I’m okay.”
“Cam’s a good guy,” Nate said, surprising me. “I used to think he was an asshole, but… anyone who would do what he did for you? I get it now. I get why you went back. Even after everything.”
I felt a pang, the old loyalty and resentment locked in an endless loop. “He’s changed,” I said. “Or maybe I have.”
Nate went quiet, then: “I’m not going to call again. I just wanted you to know that I’m letting go. I need to work on myself, and I can’t do that if I’m chasing ghosts.”
I thought about how many times I’d tried to “fix” people, to fix Nate, and how much easier it was to hear him say this than to keep fighting.
“I wish you well,” I said, and I meant that, too. “I don’t regret meeting you, Nate. I can’t. You got me through the darkest time in my life. I know it all went wrong but…I think I needed you. And I’m grateful.”
He didn’t reply right away, but I heard him take another deep, shaking breath. “Take care, Livi. You deserve better. You always did.”
The line went dead.