Chapter Eight
Trenton
Torture. Pure, unadulterated torture.
Watching Camille curl herself tightly into a ball, silent as she suffered excruciating pain once a month while I stood around like a useless piece of furniture was absolute agony, and still it was nothing compared to what she was feeling. If it was a person hurting her, I could swing and fix it. This… this I couldn’t scare away.
“Thank you,” she said quietly from our bed.
Lights off, blinds closed—just the faint glow of a heating pad cord snaking out from under the comforter, like a beige lifeline. Hazel, Beck and Sylvie would take turns covering the front desk at Skin Deep, while Camille lay there, trying to will the pain into submission.
“Water, tea, pills, heating pad… Want me to draw you a bath?” I offered.
She winced, then tried to move away from the pain.
I kissed her on the temple. “I’m so sorry, baby doll. God, I wish I could stay home and take care of you.”
“No, you’re already late,” she said, barely able to say the words.
I kneeled by the bed, gently placing my palm on her hair. “You’re so damn tough. I’d have crumpled like a piece of paper by now.”
She gave me a tired, faint grin. “Pretty sure that’s exactly what I look like right now.”
“No, you look beautiful. I’d be begging for that good emergency room liquid happy.”
“You’re tougher than you think, Mr. Maddox.”
“I used to believe that,” I muttered. “But you hurting? That’s the one thing I can’t handle.”
She jutted out her lip and touched my face, her eyes still closed, breathing through the pain.
“I’ll call and check in, Mrs. Maddox.”
“My favorite thing to be called.”
My eyebrows pulled together. Even in that state, she made sure I knew how much she loved me. “I don’t wanna leave.”
She peeked one eye open, trying to hide the agony just long enough to smile. “Go, baby. I’ll be fine.”
Fuck, I hate leaving her.
I pressed my lips against her forehead, letting them linger on her skin for a moment before I stood, patting my pockets. “Keys, phone, wallet.” I looked down at my wife, everything in me screaming to stay. “You sure? It doesn’t feel right, leaving you here like this.”
“I know,” she said. “But I’m always okay, and you have to go, babe.”
“I’m calling you in an hour,” I grumbled, forcing myself to walk out the door.
As I drove to work, the many conversations we had with the doctor ran through my head. There was no lasting cure for endometriosis except a hysterectomy, and it felt like we’d tried everything else short of sacrificing a fucking goat. Ablation, hormones, even laparoscopy for excising lesions and once to remove scar tissue. She went almost a year without pain and we were hopeful, but then it came back. When the gynecologist finally recommended a partial hysterectomy, Camille refused. The same endometriosis that was causing her pain was probably the reason we’d had a hard time conceiving. I’d begged her to have the surgery so many times, but every month she lay in the fetal position, determined to suffer in exchange for the small chance we might have a baby someday.
I’d once made the mistake of telling her kids weren’t worth her going through that every month, hoping that if she was holding out for my dreams of a family, she’d agree to the procedure. Not one of my finer moments. I thought it’d help if she knew I wasn’t putting baby dreams over her health, but all it did was throw her into a deep depression for six weeks.
I finally got her to smile again when I pointed out baby Vans at the mall. She wanted me to hold on to hope with her, and even if it made me feel like a selfish bastard, I’d do anything for my wife.
I picked up my phone and dialed.
“Kostas,” Lachlan answered, his voice muffled by his truck’s speakers. Clearly, he was on the move, too.
“I don’t know if we’re gonna make it tonight, bro. Cami’s not feeling great. She’s home,” I said, gripping the wheel.
“No worries, mate,” he replied. “Just let us know, and if not, I’ll grab the phone from you later this arvo.”
“Speak English , Vegemite.”
“Afternoon, seppo.”
“What the fuck did you just call me?”
He groaned. “I’ll retrieve my wife’s cell phone from you this afternoon, ” he said in an overly annunciated American accent.
“Why didn’t you just say that to begin with? Your language is diabolical.”
“Says the man whose country calls carrying a ball football and kicking a ball soccer,” he shot back. “There are Canadians, Mexicans, but you… you’re the Americans, like you’re not all on the same continent. And why the fuck can’t you use the metric system like everyone else?”
“Because ’MERICA!” I growled in my best southern drawl.
He laughed. “Fair point, colonizer.”
We both got quiet.
“Too far,” I said finally.
“Stuffed that one up, didn’t I? Just taking the piss.”
I made a face like he’d just tried to hand me a non-alcoholic beer. “Don’t explain that one to me. I don’t think I wanna know. And you’re forgiven. I’ll let you know how she’s feeling in a few hours. Oh, and… I told her about Maddie.”
“I know,” he said simply.
“Quit being weird,” I said, making a face at the phone even though I knew he couldn’t see it.
After a click… silence. Because Lachlan, even while being weird, knew exactly when to hang up.
There was something about him saying he knew that piqued my attention. He also didn’t ask how Camille was, what sickness she had, or even seem surprised. Most people would’ve asked if it was contagious and just cancel.
Must be an Australian thing.
My phone buzzed and a text message notification popped up on my truck’s display. It was Maddie. I chewed on my lip as I pulled into Skin Deep’s parking lot, hoping it would only take a day or two of ignoring her for her to give up.
“Ew, leave,” Hazel said as I walked in the door.
“Cami’s home today.”
Hazel’s expression immediately went from playful disgust to sympathetic. “Poor thing. I wish she’d listen to you about the surgery.”
“I know. But I promised I wouldn’t bring it up again. And you can’t, either.”
She threw her hands up. “I know, I know,” she said, then shifted gears like a pro, palms flat on the counter. “All right, we’re tag-teaming the front today. We’ve done it plenty of times. We can do this. Not as good as Cami, but we can do this,” she said, mostly to herself, nodding.
“I have a client coming in ten, going to set up.”
“Already done,” Hazel said with a smug grin, tucking a piece of dark hair behind her ear.
I stopped and leaned back from the hall.
Hazel smiled. “I got you, boo boo.”
I finally let my shoulders relax. “You’re the best.”
The day cruised along about as smoothly as it could without Camille running the show. After the first hour, I called to check in. After the second hour, she basically told me to stop checking in. She was in the tub, feeling better. And me? I was trying not to feel like a stage-five clinger.
“Wait a sec,” I said, looking at the computer monitor. “What the fuck?”
“What?” Hazel asked, waving goodbye to her latest client.
I pointed at the screen. “Did you do this?”
Hazel looked at me, then the monitor, and shook her head. “Uh, no. You’ve got dinner plans tonight, remember? I’m not gonna slap a client onto the end of your day.”
“Beck! Sylvie!” I called.
They stepped around the corner, wide-eyed and clearly trying to piece together what the commotion was about.
“Did you book this?” I asked.
Both leaned in, eyes locking onto the name on the monitor before shaking their heads.
“Not me, bro,” Beck replied. “I’m not tryna get fired.”
“When have I ever not asked first?” Sylvie shot back.
“CAL!” I yelled, my voice echoing through the shop. “God dammit!”
“It’ll take you fifteen minutes, ya fuckin’ baby!” Calvin yelled from the back.
Hazel crossed her arms, confused. “I hate you for making me say this, but he’s right about both: it’s a quick one, and you’re being such a pussy right now. It’s like your balls just saw a shadow and declared six more weeks of winter.”
“It’s Maddie!” I pointed all my fingers at the screen. “Her cheese has fallen off her fuckin’ cracker. I just told her to leave me alone, and she makes an appointment. Today. Like she knew Cami wouldn’t be here. Cami would’ve shut this shit down in two seconds.”
Hazel raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you were all sunshine and rainbows when Maddie was here. What happened? And more importantly, why haven’t I gotten the tea?”
“Wait a sec,” Beck interjected. “Who’s Maddie again?”
I sighed, irritated.
“Trenton was a passenger in really bad accident, and Maddie’s older sister was killed.”
I winced. “Don’t make it sound like I was driving, damn.”
“W-w-wait,” Sylvie said, pushing past her brother. “Maddie’s older sister was in the car with you and Cami? And you were dating her, too?”
“No,” I groaned, rubbing my face.
Hazel shook her head. “When Trenton was in college, he was in a different car accident, with his then-girlfriend, Mackenzie, which is Maddie’s older sister. Mackenzie was driving. She didn’t survive.”
“Wasn’t Cami driving when y’all got in your wreck?” Beck asked.
“Yeah,” I said flatly.
Beck scoffed. “You gotta quick riding with women, bro.”
I blinked slowly. “Tell me about it.”
“I’m telling Cami you said that.” Hazel said it casually, filing her nails.
I ran my hand over my buzz cut, hoping for a calm that never came. “Hazel, I’m not playing with you. If you repeat any of this to Cami, I’ll never speak to you again.
“Fine, God ,” she said, eyes widening for a moment. “So, what’s the deal with Maddie?”
I laid it out for them—how Maddie had gone full-on Single White Female . By the time I finished, they all looked like they’d just watched a horror movie in 4D.
Hazel shook her head. “Dude, there’s no way that’s a coincidence that she schedules something when Cami’s out. And something small to fly under the radar? That’s creepy as hell. I’m calling her to cancel.”
“Bless you,” I muttered.
Hazel held the phone to her ear, twirling the cord like she was about to order a pizza instead of pissing off a pint-sized pledge princess who likely had an allergy to holy water. “Maddie? Hey, girl, hey! It’s Hazel from Skin Deep. I saw you’d scheduled a five o’clock with Trent Maddox? Yes. Oh. Oooh, that sounds so cute, you’re going to love it! But, yeah, Trent can’t do it. Oh, I know, but… no, there won’t be any rescheduling. Trent can’t do it at all. No, Cal just wasn’t aware that you’d been fired as a client. What do you mean what do I mean? You’re benched, blocked, banned, getting the ol’ flusharoo.” She waited patiently while Madison vomited a string of high-pitched protests. “Okay, but biscuit… that’s not gonna fly with me. You’ve been told. You’re not allowed here, so don’t call again, m’kay? Bye, now.”
She hung up, then laced her fingers together, her black nails fanning out. “The dishes are done.”
Beck and Sylvie both covered their mouths, ducking at the same time. They were right. It was a massacre.
I shook my head, grinning. “I wanna be you when I grow up.”
Hazel gave me a knowing smile. “Get in line, baby. Everybody does.” She pointed down the hall. “You’ve got a client in five. Follow in my footsteps, young Padawan, and get shit done.”
I made a face. “We make Spaceballs references around here.”
She rolled her eyes and waved me away as I jogged down the hall. My phone buzzed once. Then again. After that, it felt like I was holding one of Camille's favorite battery-operated bedtime toys. I felt my jaws tense before glancing down. Madison’s name flooded my screen, her text messages stacking one on top of the other like they were building a digital Tower of Babel.
As I set up for my one o’clock, my phone buzzed several more times. I checked it, hoping it was Camille, but when I saw that afuckingain it was Madison, I made the executive decision to block her number. She ignored boundaries like they were Terms of Service, and I needed to focus. Plus, turning off notifications wasn’t an option—wifey texts are priority. Always.
Finally at the end of an excruciatingly slow day, I grabbed my keys and paused at the front desk.
“Beck and Sylvie left half an hour ago. Go ahead, I’ll lock up,” Hazel said.
“You’ve been nice to me all day. I’m just saying… it’s suspicious.”
“Hey, dick face,” she called as I headed for the door.
My dumb ass answered to it. “Yeah?”
“Don’t get kicked out again for trying to suck your own cock during dinner.”
My face screwed into disgust. “Where do you come up with this shit?”
“You’re not suspicious anymore, and I got you to make that face. It’s a win-win.” She grinned, dangling Becca’s phone like it was a hostage exchange. “Aren’t you supposed to take this tonight?”
“Oh! Yeah,” I said, jogging over to get it. I side-eyed her. “You’re being nice again.”
“Go fuck yourself,” she deadpanned.
“But no oral at the dinner table, right? I just wanna make sure I know the rules.”
“I hate you. Oh, and I charged it. Who doesn’t need their phone for over twenty-four hours?”
I stared at the lock screen, noticing the photo of Cassidy perched on Lachlan’s shoulder, grinning like they’d just found a dozen Sephora gift cards under a year’s supply of protein powder. “Yeah, I dunno,” I muttered, opening the door.
“Bye!” she yelled, annoyed. “ God .”
“Bye, you tiny, angry, beautiful, talented princess, you.” I glanced back just long enough to see the small, satisfied grin spread across her face as she logged off.
Small victories.
I called Camille on the way home, but she didn’t answer. Just as I was leaving a voicemail, she called back.
“Sorry, I was drying my hair. I’m running a little behind. Raegan called, she’s coming back into town tonight. What’s up? Did you have a good day?”
“Are we going tonight? And wait, Ray’ll be in town?”
“She is! Surprise visit! And yes, this month is going to be an easier one, it seems.”
“Oh, God, baby, I’m so glad. On both counts.”
She breathed a laugh into the phone. “You’re so sweet. Don’t hurry home, but hurry home. I always miss you like crazy when I miss work.”
“On my way, wifey.”
She laughed. Camille had always found that word silly as hell, but it was the easiest way to get a smile out of her on tough days. I floored it toward home, because life is too short not to rush toward the people who make your heart do parkour.
I walked through the door, across the living room and bedroom, smiling the moment I saw her. There she was—standing at the bathroom sink, curling her hair casually as if she wasn’t a fucking goddess. She looked a little tired, but still had that sparkle in her eye. The one that confidently said, Y eah, I’ve spent the day writhing in pain, but I’m still hotter than all your exes combined .
“Hiya, baby,” she said with a wink.
I stood in the doorway, unable to do anything but stare.
“What?” she said with a small giggle, already knowing the answer.
I crumbled to the floor. Naturally, she erupted into this glorious, evil cackle that echoed off the bathroom tiles.
“You are ridiculous! ” she wheezed between fits of laughter. If sunshine and serotonin had a sound, it’d be that laugh.
I put my hand over my heart. “I… can’t handle it.” I sat up. “How in the fuck did I get you to marry me?!”
She gave me that little tucked-chin smile, the one I only get when I’m being an absolute idiot, but just charming enough that she lets it slide.
“Sweet, sweet man of mine,” she said, shaking her head, probably questioning her decision not to leave me at the altar. “How was your day?”
I pushed myself off the floor and pulled off my shirt. “Lonely. But we held it down, somehow, without you.” I slid behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to the poppy tattoos blooming across her shoulder. “You feeling better, boo thang?”
She pulled in a deep breath, exhaling like she just purged an entire day’s worth of nonsense. “Yes. Thank God. I really didn’t want to miss dinner.”
“So…” I started, dragging the word out like a kid asking for Roblox money.
“Oh God,” she groaned, already bracing for chaos. “What? Did Cal mess up my fucking computer again?”
“Nah. But, Madison called while Cal was up front. Tried to schedule something with me at the end of the day. Cal didn’t know, but Hazel called her and canceled. Told her she wasn’t allowed at the shop.”
Camille frowned. “Not to be an alarmist, but she’s getting creepy.”
“She’s been creepy. She was hitting Send like her phone was a fucking slot machine.” I kissed her shoulder again. “Didn’t want to turn off the ringer in case you called, so I blocked her.”
“I’m sure she took that well.”
“I don’t know and I don’t care.” My voice sounded as tired as I felt about the whole situation.
“Honestly, I should send Hazel flowers. That girl deserves a medal.”
“Hazel doesn’t want flowers. She wants our eternal respect and possibly a lifetime supply of tequila.”
Camille laughed, turning into my arms to kiss me on the cheek. “Well, she’s earned it. And you do care, Trent. I know you do.”
“Well, I mean, yeah, she’s Kenzie’s little sister, and that screwed me up for a long time. I feel bad for her, but… boundaries. Damn.”
“You did the right thing.”
I winced. “Did I?”
“You did.”
And just like that, my heart did its usual somersault, because being married to that woman? It’s like winning the lottery every single day—but with more poppies and fewer lawsuits.
“Thanks, baby.” I kicked off my boots and unbuttoned my jeans, pushing them over my hips and letting them fall to the floor.
Camille looked down. “When is dinner again?”
I laughed, turning to open the glass door. “God, I wish. You didn’t marry a two pump chump.”
“No, I sure didn’t,” she said, slapping my bare ass before I could get into the shower.
We rode together in the truck hand and hand, chatting about the day and a couple of the tats I did that were particularly interesting and complicated. It was always good with her, though. She understood everything I said without further explanation. I intertwined my fingers with hers while we talked, feeling especially grateful that I’d been lucky enough to have married my favorite person. Most people couldn’t live and work together and still have a million things to say.
When we arrived at Biasetti’s, the sidewalk was already cluttered with hungry people, hovering like buzzards circling a carcass. Lachlan and Becca were among them, happily loitering hand in hand, with Becca staring up at him with adoration in her eyes—a mystery, since Lachlan was unironically wearing a fedora.
“Oh, they look busy,” Camille said as I parallel parked with the precision of a man who only occasionally grazes a curb.
I hopped out, jogged around to her side, and opened the door—because, yes, chivalry isn’t dead, it just drives a truck now. I took her hand, guiding her across the street while I threw a ‘stop right there, whiskey dick’ glare at a car creeping toward us. Not today, Prius. Not on my watch.
Becca was all sunshine and smiles, launching herself at Camille like a golden retriever that just found its favorite tennis ball. They hugged it out, pure serotonin in human form.
Meanwhile, I locked in a handshake with Lachlan. Firm. Manly. Just two dudes being... masculine. Alpha. I was still salty he’d called me the tiniest Maddox.
“How long’s the wait?” I asked, bracing for the usual twenty minutes if we’re lucky nonsense.
Lachlan smirked. “We should be next. I made a booking, mate. Reservations,” he clarified in his fake American accent.
Of course he did. The man was smoother than buttered silk. Fucking Aussies, man.
“Who’s your dialect coach? Because fire him,” I teased.
Becca grinned up at him. “He’s organized like that. A little anal-retentive if you will.”
Camille, bless her soul, lost it. A full-on cackle burst out of her, the kind of laugh where she tried to cover her mouth with both hands but still failed miserably. Hearing her laugh like that? It hit me harder than a warm blanket on a snow day. I’d heard it twice in one day, and damn, it felt good. This was what she needed. What we needed.
Five minutes later, Lachlan’s reservation skills had us seated at a prime table, something only the country club folk would know to ask for and what it meant when you were seen there. Drinks arrived with the efficiency of an Olympic relay team, and I was halfway through my frosty pint, living the dream, when Becca’s story about Cassidy’s earring reveal screeched to a halt.
Her eyes widened, locking onto something over my shoulder, like she’d just spotted the ghost of Christmas Past.
I turned, jumping at the sight of Madison, mascara streaks down her cheeks, her hands twitching, scrambling for a place to rest.
I turned to Camille, cringing. “I knew I should’ve brought my cross.”
“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out, her words tripping over each other. “Can I talk to you outside for a second, Trent? It’s important.”
I felt like I glitched for a moment before my mind rebooted. “Oh my fuck . Maddie, what the hell are you doing here?”
Yeah, I said it. Out loud. In Biasetti’s. A classy little joint where the Eakins upper crust types come to enjoy over-priced food while surrounded by people they want to believe aren’t doing better than them— not telenovelas in real-time.
Conversations fizzled. Forks froze mid-stab.
Camille gently squeezed my thigh. “Trent,” she warned.
I tossed my napkin to the center of the table. “How did you even know I was here?” I asked Madison, trying to resist the urge to yell. “Do you realize how crazy this looks?”
Madison wrung her hands together like she was trying to twist the awkwardness into a balloon animal. “Please believe me. I’m sorry, but you didn’t respond to my texts. I couldn’t get through when I called, and then I realized you blocked me, and… you need to hear what I have to say, and it can’t wait, Trenton!”
Not the full name. I waited for her to tell me to sit in the corner and think about what I’d done.
“Nothing you have to say to me is more important than my dinner with my wife and friends. Go home! Lach? Call her dad or something, Jesus Christ!”
Somewhere, a fork clinked against a plate. I could feel the entire restaurant tuning in, because apparently, this was Dinner and a Show: The Trenton Shitstorm Special.
“I’m pregnant!” Madison wailed.
I blinked. Twice. A third time. Brain buffering. “Okay? Tell your boyfriend! ” I begged, hands flying up like I was trying to ward off a swarm of bees.
“It’s not his , Trenton,” she insisted, wide-eyed and trembling.
I sat there, stunned, mouth slightly open like a malfunctioning robot. Then I looked around. Every pair of eyes in Biasetti’s locked onto me, some horrified, others brimming with delicious schadenfreude, like they’d just been served a heaping slice of scandal pie.
Audible gasps came from different corners of the restaurant . One of them was from Camille. Shit.
“For fuck’s sake!” I shot to my feet, grabbing Madison by the arm and yanking her toward the door. Plates clinked, the whispering louder than a Taylor Swift concert.
I caught glimpses of stunned diners as we powered through—some scandalized, others shamelessly entertained, everyone living for the drama unfolding before them.
Out the door we went, into the cool night air, Madison stumbling along behind me like a chaotic kite I couldn’t reel in.
I didn’t stop until we were beyond ear shot of the crowd of people waiting for tables.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I snapped, my voice growing louder with each word, just shy of yelling. “Why would you show up here looking like that telling me you’re pregnant? Do you have any idea how this looks?”
Madison swallowed, waiting for something. It wasn’t until Camille arrived that I understood why.
“It’s not his, Trent. The baby is yours,” she said, her bottom lip trembling.
My entire body caught fire, and I took a step toward Madison.
Camille grabbed my arm, and I stopped.
“Maddie,” Camille said. “I know what you’re doing. You need to leave. Go to your parents and tell them you need help.” The only expression on her face was compassion.
For half a second Camille’s calm reaction settled the boiling anger within me, but then thoughts of my wife having to set people straight for the next year enraged me again. “She needs a fuckin’ mental institution. You really thought Camille would believe I’d cheat on her… especially with you? You’re out of your goddamn mind!”
“Everything okay?” Lachlan asked, standing on the other side of me.
I glared at Madison. “I already told Camille what happened after I followed you home. Lach was there. He saw the whole thing. So, this was your big plan? They’ve burned witches for less, Psycho Barbie!”
Madison didn’t take her eyes off Camille. “Lach was there once. Not all the times before.”
Lachlan snorted. “Bloody oath. This moll’s a schemer.”
My eyes narrowed as I looked at Lachlan. “ English , Dundee!”
Camille patted my arm, ready to translate. “He’s shocked at what a snake she is.”
I nodded once, then returned my attention to Madison. “How do you think this is going to go down, Maddie? Camille leaves me for cheating on her, I stay with you to raise the baby we don’t have?”
“Well, that’s… that’s what you promised would happen. How many times have you told me that’s what you wanted? It’s all you talk about!” Madison cried.
Camille exhaled as if the wind had been knocked out of her.
Of all the lies Madison could’ve told, she had to know that would hurt Camille the most. I stepped toward her. “Listen, you lying little bi—”
“Well, I came to surprise you, but looks like you already got one,” a voice said from just a few feet away.
She stepped to the left, out from behind Madison, her shoulder-length hair tucked behind one ear, her bangs falling slightly into her lashes. Her warm brown eyes bounced back and forth between me, her best friend, Madison, and Lachlan.
“Raegan?” Camille said, her voice broken.
That sad, small voice coming from my wife made my hand ball into a fist. I’d never punch a woman, but I wanted to punch something.
“What’s going on?” Raegan said, immediately sensing Camille was upset. Her face metamorphosed into anger, and that anger was immediately directed at me. “What’s going on?” she said, this time her voice deeper and insistent.
“Fuck it,” I huffed, pointing my entire hand at Madison. “This chick just announced to the restaurant that she’s pregnant with my kid, but that’s impossible, because we’ve never slept together!”
Raegan stood by Camille, hooking her arm around her middle. “Well, that settles it. Everyone knows Trenton would never do that, so…” she gave Madison a look that could curdle milk, scanning her from toes to hairline. “ Whoever you are, you, your cheap sandals, and split ends can get the fuck on.”
Madison folded her arms, digging in like a toddler mid candy aisle tantrum. “I’m not leaving until I talk to Trenton! I’ve been trying to get him alone to say this in private all day—he’s ignored me, blocked me. This was the only way!”
Raegan tilted her head with a grin that was half amusement, half I will enjoy burying you. “That’s adorable. You really thought pulling the pregnant-other-woman card was the move? You actually decided that when you couldn’t get Trent to cooperate in Operation Baby Trap, the Hail Mary was to announce your scarlet letter to half the damn town? That’s bold, Camilla Parker Bowles, but we’re not buying crazy here!”
Madison’s nostrils flared, but Raegan cut in before she could respond, her arm dropping from Camille as she took a step forward. “You don’t know me,” Raegan said, voice steady but dangerous. “I’m Cami’s best friend. We go way back. As in, before-Trent way back. You’ve got two choices: Walk away with what’s left of your dignity or stay and see what happens when I’m tired of talking.”
Madison opened her mouth to respond, but Raegan wasn’t finished. “I’m gonna give you one —just one—chance to turn around and walk away before I hit you so hard it’ll make your fake baby dizzy, you insane, conniving little cunt. ” She leaned in closer, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “And I don’t care if you’re barely legal. Anyone—and I mean anyone —who puts that look on Cami’s face,” She pointed at Camille, her glare locked on Madison. “I will happily rack up so many felony charges they’ll name a prison wing after me.”
Madison, for once, didn’t have a comeback. For the first time since her mascara-smeared arrival, she seemed unsure of her next move. She hadn’t planned to be ambushed by a friend who didn’t mind trading freedom for a little justice.
Raegan smirked, catching the hesitation like a shark smelling blood. “You’ve got five seconds, Lolita.” Her eyes targeted her prey like a heat-seeking missile, and it seemed like the whole street leaned in to see what would happen next.
Madison fidgeted, glancing at me with one last attempt. “We’re not done.”
“The No Contact Order I’m filing tomorrow says otherwise,” I said flatly. No point in dressing it up, Raegan had snagged the Biggest Bitch of the Night Award without breaking a sweat. We’d be shopping for medals for both her and Hazel that weekend. I envisioned matching gold-plated middle finger trophies.
Madison huffed, throwing one last glare our way, turning to hurry around the corner.
I turned to Camille, already in apology mode. “Baby, you know—”
“I know,” she said softly, wiping her nose.
I looked at Raegan, who was still buzzing with righteous fury. “Thank you.”
Raegan wasn’t ready to let me off the hook just yet. She crossed her arms, death glare still locked and loaded. “I need to hear you say it.”
Lachlan stepped in, looking genuinely alarmed. “There’s no way he would—”
Raegan shot him a glare sharp enough to slice through bone. “I wasn’t talking to you . ”
Lachlan was a one-man rugby team—massive, intimidating, and built like he could tackle a freight train, but he shrank back from Raegan’s wrath. When faced with that level of nuclear-grade, weaponized disdain? Even a human rhino knows when it's time to back the hell away from an angry woman.
I was on my own.
I raised my hands like I was facing down a SWAT team. “I didn’t touch her.” My voice was as earnest as I could make it. “I swear.”
Raegan’s shoulders finally relaxed, the fire dimming in her eyes. Camille let go of me and stepped into Raegan’s arms.
“Hi,” Raegan whispered, holding her friend tight. “You okay?”
“If wanting to crawl into a hole and die of humiliation is okay,” Camille grumbled into her shoulder. She righted herself, prompting Raegan to reach out and wipe the tears from under her eyes.
They began to chuckle, and then they hugged again.
Lachlan and I traded glances, both in disbelief. I threaded my fingers behind my head, and then a sigh slipped out, long and heavy, while my adrenaline begged me to unleash on the next poor soul who crossed my path.
Raegan had always had perfect timing, but damn. She’d shown up like a whiskey shot after a bar brawl—just what Camille needed, getting her to laugh seconds after that mess.
“Thanks, Ray,” I said, watching as Raegan hugged my wife again, gently cradling the back of Camille’s head.
Once they released a final time, Raegan shot me a wink. “Got room for one more at the table?”
“Oh, no way,” Camille said, shaking her head. “I can’t go back in there after that . ”
Raegan raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you can , and you will. You’re going to walk in there with your chin up, baby. Let them all know it’s settled and there’s no doubt in your mind.”
Lachlan grinned. “I like this one. Becca’s still holding the table. She’ll wanna hear this story.”
Camille dabbed at her nose with the inside of her wrist, her face a mix of embarrassment and reluctant determination. She glanced at the door like it was the gates of hell, then at me, giving a nod .
“Fix your face,” she said.
I let the tension around my eyes melt, and then grinned. “Better?”
“Better,” she confirmed, grabbing Raegan’s hand, too. “All right, let’s go.”Top of Form
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