Chapter Twenty-Two
Trenton
Lachlan’s voice crackled through the phone like it had been dragged through gravel. “Lost ’em,” he muttered. “Had ’em dead to rights, but they ducked off the highway at the last second, and I couldn’t get across without causing a pile-up.” He let out a sharp, frustrated sigh. “But it’s her lot, Trent. I’m bloody sure of it.”
“Who the fuck are they?” I asked, frustrated. A slow burn started in my gut, hotter with each word. We’d been waiting since she left the facility, preparing, worrying, barely sleeping. Now that Cami was pregnant, the stakes felt higher than before.
Lachlan continued, already plotting his next move. “We’ve got a plan. I’ll swap vehicles for now, just in case they’ve clocked me. Something low-key.”
“ Who? If you have an idea, tell me,” I said.
“I can’t, mate.”
“What do you mean you can’t?”
“They’re under investigation. That’s all I can tell ya.”
“What happened to us all being informed so we know what to expect?” I said, feeling my frustration bleed through my words. Lachlan had been helping from the beginning, so I didn’t want him to feel I didn’t appreciate everything he’d done, but the sudden secrecy made me uneasy.
“You know everything you need to know.”
“You’re not law enforcement. Why do you know?”
Lachlan sighed. “You’ve trusted me this far. Don’t chuck it in on me now.”
“I’m not,” I said, cringing at how whiny it sounded. “But this is making me nervous, man. And I’m already freaking out here.”
“Just trust me, yeah? I’ll make sure you’re ready for anything. Can you give me that?”
“Okay. Okay, Lach, I just… I have to keep her safe. Did you check with the parents? What did they have to say?”
“Did that, yeah.” Lachlan paused, his words coming slower. “They haven’t heard from her.”
“How is that possible? She was just kidnapped by some cult? This is nuts!” I rubbed a hand over my face.
“Yeah, it looks that way, but I reckon Madison and whatever info she’s got are being played by someone else, and…” he paused. “Look, don’t ask any questions, but this has bugger-all to do with you. The people she’s with? You lot are just pawns in some intimidation or revenge game aimed at someone else.”
I blinked. He’d just created a million questions and expected me not to ask any. My patience was coming to an end, but my pregnant, stressed-out wife was just a few feet away. “I gotta go, man. I can’t… I just gotta go.”
“I understand. But you’re sorted, Trent. I’ve made sure of it.”
The call ended and I pocketed my phone. Camille was in the kitchen, moving like she was made of glass. She looked at me but didn’t really see me, her face pale and drawn.
“You all right?” I asked, leaning against the counter, watching her carefully.
She forced a smile. “I’m fine,” she said, turning to head for the bathroom.
A minute later, the sound of running water broke the silence. Camille had been quieter lately, like she’d rewound herself to before the pregnancy—closed off, carrying something heavier than the rest of us. Watching her struggle without knowing why? That was a special kind of hell. It twisted my guts into knots so tight I could feel it in my chest. If I asked, she wouldn’t tell me. If I pushed, it only made things worse. So, there I was—self-appointed protector of everything that mattered—feeling like I was guarding a fortress I wasn’t even allowed inside of.
“You can tell me, you know,” I said, standing in the doorway.
Camille was washing her face, her mascara streaked around her eyes and down her cheeks. She paused, staring in the mirror. “I can’t.”
“You’re the second person who’s told me that today.”
“Who else?” she asked, turning to me.
“Lachlan. He knows who was outside the shop tonight, but he can’t tell me. Says they’re being investigated. But somehow, he knows. It’s all weird to me, and I feel like I’m fighting a room full of people blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back.”
Camille rinsed her face, dried it, and then reached in the shower to turn on the water. She took off her top and then held it against her chest, facing me but not making eye contact. “Babe…”
After a few moments of silence, I sucked in a breath. “You know who it is, don’t you?”
Her eyes flashed to mine, already filling with tears. “Yes, but it was on accident. I wasn’t supposed to know, and it’s dangerous to know.”
I pushed off the door jamb. “How the fuck do you know? How is it everyone can know but me?”
“Because it’s not our secret to tell,” she said, her tone begging. “Trent, I don’t want to keep this from you. I don’t even want to know, but I do and I don’t have a choice.”
I pointed to my chest. “I’m your husband.”
“I know,” she said, walking over to hug me. “And I’m your wife. It’s not because I don’t trust you. It’s because it’s dangerous for you, for someone you love, and I was hoping”—she leaned back to meet my gaze—”that you’d understand. That you know me and know if I’m keeping something from you, it’s for a very good reason, something that you’d agree with, too.”
“Is it Dad?” I asked. “Someone he pissed off before he retired?”
Camille turned from me. “No. Please don’t ask any more questions.”
“Is it Travis?”
Camille pushed her pants over her hips and stepped into the shower, closing her eyes as the water streamed over her hair and face.
Travis.
Law enforcement.
A group of people with a vendetta.
The fire.
It had to be the fire.
Lachlan ran in security circles before he was Travis’s boss, so it made sense that he knew. But why Camille? I thought about when she’d been around them, visiting Abby. My memory flashed back to the day she said Abby and Liis had been weird. The day that Thomas and Liis visited, she wasn’t herself for days. Thomas and Liis walked over to hear what Lachlan had to say at Dad’s. It was all of them. They were all in on it somehow, Camille had figured it out, and they’d made her promise not to tell me. To protect someone? Who? Someone who would suffer if the group used Madison’s stalking intel to hurt Camille or me. Travis or Thomas—or both of them.
My brain flipped Olympic-level somersaults, trying to make sense of the information I had, but I couldn’t quite get to the finish line. What I did know is Camille’s expression told me she hated keeping me in the dark, and whatever it was, she was right. I did believe she’d only keep that promise to protect me.
I opened the shower door. “Babe?”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, keeping her head down, water dripping from her nose and chin. “I hate this. Please don’t ask.”
“Okay,” I said simply.
Her head popped up and she looked at me with so much hope in her eyes, I had to give her what she wanted.
“Okay?” she asked.
“I trust you.”
The corners of her mouth turned up so slightly anyone else would’ve missed it. “I love you so much. Thank you.”
“I love you, too,” I said, closing the door.
In the following days, Travis made it a point to check in on Dad so Camille could ride to work with me. Either he or Thomas would wait for her at the shop at night or for lunch and make occasional drives-by to patrol.
Despite my reassurances, it was obvious whatever secret Camille was hiding was gnawing at her, fraying the edges of my already stressed and stretched-to-the-limit wife. She’d started experiencing bouts of morning sickness—a bittersweet reminder that this was real, a baby was growing inside her. She said it was a good sign, but it didn’t dampen the overwhelming helplessness I felt.
Each time Travis and Thomas showed up, I had to convince myself that their protection was necessary, and their efforts came from love. It took every ounce of strength I had not to let my fear and anger spill over. I felt my heart hardening toward them, an ugly knot twisting tighter, growing rigid with every passing day.
I tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t deny that it was souring into hate. My jaw clenched as I forced back the accusations I’d buried deep, trying to keep the peace, to spare Camille from even more stress. But it was getting harder, damn near impossible, not to look at them and feel a flash of blame burning in my gut. They’d been part of the mess Camille had become tangled in, even before Madison had reentered my life, and now resentment was snowballing into something so dark I didn’t know how to claw free.
The guilt Camille carried for keeping me in the shadows, the sinister backstory behind Madison’s dangerous new crew—it all led back to one or both of my brothers. They’d opened the door, and now it felt like a very real threat was sitting in our living room, feet up, making itself comfortable.
I’d considered calling Raegan more than once. If Camille had ever needed her best friend, it was right now. Raegan knew my wife almost better than I did. She was the one person who could make Camille laugh when I couldn’t, but every time I picked up my phone, that Raegan was bordering the very pregnant stage stopped me. Even desperate for her help, I couldn’t shake the feeling that just one visit could put a target on her back—if there wasn’t one already. The last thing Camille would want is her best friend—or her best friend’s baby—caught in the fallout.
“Hey,” Hazel said, nodding toward the back. “Cami’s been back there for a while. She’s been to the restroom a lot, and she looks a little sweaty. You should check on her.”
I hurried to the restroom, knocking gently on the door. “Honey? Everything okay in there?”
“I’m fine,” she said from behind the thick door.
I waited a few moments, and then the door swept open. Hazel was right. Camille was pale and flushed at the same time, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead.
“Cami, you’re not fine. Talk to me.”
Her eyes immediately glossed over. “I’m cramping.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? You shouldn’t even be on your feet. C’mere,” I said, guiding her quickly to the break room, insisting she lay on the loveseat.
She settled in, holding back tears. “I thought it would go away.”
Hazel rounded the corner. “Thomas is here.”
My oldest brother appeared, rushing over to kneel next to her. “Is she sick?”
“I got it,” I managed, subduing pure rage.
Thomas looked up at me. “Did you call the doctor? Does she need an ambulance?”
“No!” Camille said. “Don’t call a fucking ambulance. I just need to rest.”
“Is it the baby?” Thomas asked, brushing back her bangs.
She pushed his hand away. “I don’t know. I’ve been cramping since about ten this morning.”
Thomas stood, gesturing to Camille. “Why isn’t she at home resting?” he demanded.
“I didn’t know!” I yelled. “I’m surprised you don’t!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Thomas said, frowning in confusion. “How would I know?”
“Trent,” Camille warned.
I paced a few times, and then took a breath, counted, whatever I could think of to keep my anger from bursting out of me like a fucking alien. “Just… go. I’m taking care of it.”
Thomas took a step toward me. “What’s up with you? You look like you’re about to fight someone.”
I glowered at him. “Get the fuck away from me, Tommy. I don’t wanna upset my wife.”
He paused. “Me? I’m just trying to help, I’m…”
I grabbed his shirt and pushed him backward, all the way into the hall and up against the wall. He grabbed my wrists, his expression half shock, half anger.
“Trent!” Camille called.
“Hazel! Keep her on that fucking couch!” I yelled. “You,” I said to Thomas. “I don’t know who those people are, but you do, Travis does, Lach does… maybe even Abby and Liis, too. Camille does,” I seethed. “And she’s getting sick over keeping it from me, the guilt, the worry. She’s fucking pregnant, Tommy! What did you do?”
His expression softened and his shoulders relaxed.
“I asked you a question, damn it!” I said, banging him against the wall again. “Or is it Travis? Why are these people after us?”
“I can’t tell you.”
I let him go with a shove, walking down the hall toward the lobby.
“It’s for your own good,” he said, following me.
I flipped around, pointing at him. “Fuck you, Tommy. Fuck you!” I screamed. “Half the goddamn family knows!”
“Only because they’re directly involved. We didn’t mean for Camille to know. This has nothing to do with either of you.”
“Well, now it does!” I screamed, my entire body shaking.
Thomas held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry this is happening to you… to Camille. I’d never want to intentionally…”
I waved him away, disgusted. “I don’t fuckin’ care what you want.”
Hazel walked in, eyes wide. “Guys?”
“What?” Thomas and I said in unison, turning toward her.
“There’s blood. She needs to go to the emergency room. Now.”
“I’ll start the car,” Thomas said, rushing out.
I ran to the breakroom, and when I didn’t see Camille on the couch, I hurried to the restroom. She was sitting on the toilet, the panties around her ankles soaked in crimson.
“No,” she sobbed.
I stood her up, helped her with her pants, and then lifted her in my arms, trying my best not to jostle her too much while jogging to the lobby. As I used my shoulder to push open the door, I kissed her forehead. “It’s going to be okay, baby doll.”
I barely had time to get Camille outside before Thomas swung open the back door of his car. We climbed in, and I pulled her onto my lap, cradling her close as Thomas jumped behind the wheel. The engine roared to life, the tires squealing as we sped out of the parking lot, slicing through the streets with a precision that only Thomas could manage.
Camille’s face was pale, beads of sweat trickling down her temples, mingling with the tears that slipped silently from the corners of her eyes. I held her tighter, feeling her trembling against me, my heart pounding with desperation I couldn’t put into words. Guilt thudded in my chest, relentless and sharp. I fought to swallow the lump in my throat and leaned down, my voice breaking as I whispered, “I’m not going to let anything happen to either of you. I promise.”
She turned her head away, a pained look crossing her face. “Don’t,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. “Don’t promise me that.”
The ache in her words cut through me, but I couldn’t stop myself. I brushed back her damp bangs, my fingers lingering against her clammy skin. She wouldn’t look at me, her gaze fixed on the leather that upholstered the passenger seat, her hands clenching the fabric of my shirt as if hanging on to the last shred of control she had.
I looked up, catching Thomas’s eyes in the rearview mirror, his expression as hard as stone, his knuckles white on the wheel.
“Hurry,” I said.
“Six minutes,” Thomas replied. He pressed down on the gas, weaving through traffic, pushing the car to its limit. The city streaked by, and all I could do was hold her close, feeling her heartbeat against mine, hoping, praying that those six minutes would be enough.
After what seemed like an eternity of clenching my teeth and silent pleas, Thomas finally skidded into the ambulance bay, leaping out and sprinting through the ER doors. Less than a minute later, they flew open again, a squad of nurses bursting out with a stretcher. Seeing them felt like relief for half a heartbeat before the dread crept in. Once the stretcher passed the threshold of the Emergency Room, what happened next was out of my control—even beyond Camille’s.
“Trent?” she called for me, reaching out.
“Right here,” I said, bringing her hand to my mouth, pressing my lips firmly against it.
I kept pace as they wheeled her through the automatic doors, the cold hospital air wrapping around us. As we turned a corner, Camille’s fingers weakly clutched mine, and I squeezed back. It was the only thing I could do. She looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes, and a flicker of something passed between us—fear, trust, the thousands of words we’d never said.
The end of the stretcher knocked against a second set of double doors, and once Camille was parked, the nurses pushed me aside, scattered to their stations, and got to work. As she and the baby were connected to monitors, the beeps of machines rose around us, an orchestra of urgency that matched the thudding in my chest.
From the corner I waited, watching them check her vital signs, start her oxygen, and somehow buzz around her seamlessly, completing tasks without getting in each other’s way.
“What’s your name, sweetie?” one of the nurses asked.
“Camille Maddox... Cami.”
“Hi, Cami, I’m Jeanine. We’re going to get you feeling better soon, okay?”
“Hi.” A man in light blue scrubs and a white coat stepped into view, blocking my line of sight to my wife. He looked younger than me, definitely not enough time between a legal beer and earning that coat. “I’m Greg, I’m the Physician’s Assistant on staff this afternoon. You’re dad?”
I blinked, unprepared for the label. “Uh, yeah.”
“I’m going to need to get a quick history from you. Does your wife have any allergies we should know about?”
I shook my head. “Not that I know of.”
“Cami,” he called. “Are you allergic to any medications?”
“No,” she groaned.
He turned to me, questions spilling out so quickly they began to blur together.
With the IV in place, monitors humming, and tests sent off to the lab, Camille and I were finally alone for the first time in what felt like hours. I held her hand as her eyelids drooped, exhaustion slowly pulling her under. A single tear slipped from the outside corner of her eye, and I reached to wipe it away before it trickled down to her ear.
“Do you hear that?” I whispered, leaning close.
Her breath stilled as she listened. “The fetal monitor?”
“Yep,” I said with a grin. “He’s a fighter.”
“She,” she said, turning to me with tired, bloodshot eyes.
I let out a nervous chuckle. “Doesn’t matter to me. Boy, girl, whatever. I just want you both to be okay.”
“Me too,” she whispered.
I lifted her hand to my mouth, pressing a kiss to her cool skin. “Rest, my love.”
Her eyes drifted shut, and I waited until her breathing fell into a steady rhythm. When I was sure she was asleep, I stepped out into the hall, glancing around for Thomas. Not seeing any familiar faces, I pulled my phone from my pocket, heading toward the lobby. Before I could even dial, I spotted him across the room.
“Is she okay?” he asked, closing the distance between us, his steps quick.
“They both are, for now.”
Thomas let out a long sigh, relief softening his face. “Thank God.”
My jaw clenched as the anger resurfaced. “Yeah,” I said, my voice low and bitter. “And no fucking thanks to you.”
“Trent,” he began. “I never thought this… I never wanted to…”
“Save it. Make the calls. I’m going back to my wife.”
Thomas nodded, and I turned, pulling out my phone as I headed toward the double doors to call Hazel with an update. Her voice came through and then she listened quietly—no jokes, no attempts at humor. For the first time, I felt understood by someone more than my own family. There was a strange, hollow ache to it—a reminder of the distance that had crept up between me and my brothers, slipping in so quietly that I hadn’t noticed until now.
As important as Hazel was to me, I’d always been able to lean on my brothers, to confide in them, sometimes without even saying a word, but now, talking to Hazel felt easier. That hurt in a way I hadn’t expected, a quiet loss I couldn’t quite put into words.
The minutes stretched thin after I hung up, each one feeling heavier than the last as I paced in the small room, hands stuffed into my pockets, eyes darting to the machines beside Camille’s bed every few seconds.
Finally, the door creaked open, and a woman in a white coat walked in, flashing a warm smile. “You’ve got quite the fan club in the lobby,” she said with a small grin.
Camille’s eyelids fluttered, blinking against the harsh light as she looked around, taking in her surroundings like she was only just realizing where she was—and why.
“Hi Camille,” she said. “I’m Dr. Levi.”
Camille’s fingers tightened around mine as she looked at the doctor, the question already in her eyes. “The baby…”
Dr. Levi placed a reassuring hand on Camille’s foot over the blanket. “Baby is okay,” she said gently. “I know this was terrifying, but we have some good news. I’ve looked through all the results, and from what I’m seeing, this is what we call a ‘threatened miscarriage.’ That term can sound frightening, but it simply means there was unexplained bleeding. No miscarriage has occurred, and it’s actually more common than most people realize. Many pregnancies continue on without any further issues.”
Camille didn’t seem satisfied. “Does this mean it could happen again?”
Dr. Levi offered a thoughtful nod. “Not necessarily. In fact, most cases like this go on to be completely healthy pregnancies. But just to be safe, I’m recommending more rest and less stress. Avoid heavy lifting or any strenuous activity. Listen to your body. If you notice any cramping or further bleeding, come back in right away, and we’ll make sure everything’s progressing smoothly.”
Camille’s shoulders relaxed, her grip on my hand softening. Dr. Levi’s words managed to break through the fear we’d been trying so hard to push aside, giving me a sliver of hope I’d desperately needed—that I wouldn’t be walking out of that room grieving the loss of our child along with the trust I’d once had in my brothers.