Chapter Twenty-Five
Camille
Skin Deep was too quiet, and I hated it. Trenton had been out for weeks. The void that had settled between us was now suffocating the one place usually bustling enough to drown out even my deepest anxieties. The laughter that always followed playful jabs between our little work family, the late-night kisses as I closed out the system, the loud but loving way he always shouted for me when he needed something—he’d taken it all with him when he left. Now, it was just me, Hazel, Sylvie, and Beck, a handful of clients drifting in and out, Hazel’s questionable playlist playing over the shop speakers and the endlessly ringing phone.
I glanced at the clock. An hour to go, but the day had already drained me. Handling the chaos caused by Trenton canceling every session he’d had on the books, I was stretched so thin I could feel myself starting to snap. The phone rang again, shrill and persistent, and I clenched my jaw before picking up the receiver off its cradle.
“Skin Deep,” I answered, forcing myself to sound polite.
The man on the other end immediately launched into a rant about his twice-canceled appointment, how he’d booked his first one six months ago, how unprofessional it was that Trenton hadn’t even bothered to call himself. I apologized, tried my best to smooth things over, and then hung up as quickly as I could without angering him more. The phone rang again almost immediately.
“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, letting it go to voicemail this time.
Hazel emerged from the back, peeling off her gloves after giving her station another round of sanitizing—probably her second or third time of the day. She climbed onto the stool behind the counter, her expression a blend of weariness and quiet concern. “Did Montgomery end up booking?”
I shook my head.
She threw her used gloves in the trash, frustrated. “Without Trent’s clients, this place isn’t going to keep this place afloat much longer. Have you heard back from Bishop? We have to get in at least one temporary big-name replacement.”
I frowned. “I know, and not yet.”
“How are his rescheduled clients taking getting cancelled again?”
I laughed dryly, motioning to the blinking light signaling there were numerous voicemails. “Not bad, considering I’ve only wanted to throw the phone through the window a dozen times.”
She didn’t laugh. Instead, her expression softened, her voice gentle. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you… the memorial for the baby was beautiful. I know it must have been so hard, but you poured so much love into it. Everyone could feel that.” Her eyes shifted toward me, careful, like she wasn’t sure if her words would bring comfort or reopen wounds. “The way you spoke during the eulogy—the way you captured so much love for someone you never even had the chance to meet—it was incredible. It was raw and honest but still somehow full of hope. It meant so much to everyone.”
“Not everyone,” I grumbled.
“Yes, everyone ,” Sylvie said, gripping the corner of the hall.
Behind her, Beck stood with the same somber expression he’d worn since I’d returned to work. Trenton and I weren’t the only ones mourning—we’d all lost the baby. The grief stretched through the shop, settling into the spaces where joy used to be.
Hazel placed her hand over mine, her impossibly long thumb and fingernails fanning out past each side of my wrist like delicate, manicured talons. “It meant more to Trent than anyone. Even if he didn’t show it. It’s just his version of being strong, especially for you. But… I’m glad Raegan was there.” She hesitated, her expression falling. “How’s Trent doing?”
My stomach dropped, the way it always inquired about his misery. I couldn’t lie to her, not when Hazel had been there for me at every turn—the highs, the lows, the suffering that had broken Trenton and me in ways we didn’t know how to fix.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “He’s… not himself. And I don’t know how to bring him back.”
Hazel leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter. “It’s not on you to fix him. You know that, right?”
I blinked hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. “But it is. I’m his wife. If I don’t fight for him, who will?”
“You can only do so much,” she said softly. “The rest is on him.”
Her words were meant to comfort me, but they fell short, instead making the ache in my chest worse. “What if it changes him forever? When Mackenzie died, he dropped out of college. He was never the same,” I whispered. “How do I watch him slip further and further away until the day comes when I have to accept he’s no longer the man I married?”
She snorted. “Trent was a fucking heathen before Mackenzie died. After, he was softer. He appreciated life and the people he loved more. Maybe after he goes through this… transformation, or whatever it is, he’ll come out better on the other side. I’m not saying you have to be an emotional punching bag, but it might be worth it to be patient while he works through it. I always think about caterpillars—how they have to break down completely during their transformation before they emerge bigger, stronger, more beautiful. He’s falling apart right now, Cami, and I know it’s hard to watch, but it doesn’t mean he’ll stay that way.”
“That’s the thing,” I said, wiping the tear that had escaped down my cheek. “I’m not just watching.”
Beck pulled a tissue from the box on my desk and handed it to me, stepping back behind Sylvie.
Hazel didn’t answer right away, and when she did, her tone was careful. “You know him better than anyone. He won’t give up. But it’s going to take time. You just have to decide if you want to stick around long enough for him to get his shit together.”
Her honesty stung, but I appreciated it more than empty reassurances. Before I could say anything else, the phone rang again, breaking the moment. I picked it up, expecting another irate customer, but instead, Thomas’s voice filled my ear.
“Hey, Camille.”
Hearing him was like a tether I hadn’t known I needed. “Thomas?”
“You sound like you’ve had a day,” he said, his tone gentle but knowing.
“You could say that,” I replied, glancing at my co-workers, who left me to find something to do in the back. “Trent’s still… struggling.”
Thomas sighed on the other end of the line. “I hate that for both of you. I’ve been thinking—maybe you two need a break. Get out of there for a bit. Clear your heads.”
I rubbed my temple as a dull ache began to form behind my eyes. “Whatever this is will still be here when we get back, and with him taking off so much work, getting deeper in debt is the last thing we need.”
“It’s not running,” Thomas insisted. “It’s stepping back so you can both breathe. What you need is to reconnect, to each other and to nature, away from all the reminders in Eakins. There’s a place I go when I need to reset—a little rental in the desert. Beautiful views, quiet trails, and a sense of peace you can’t find anywhere else. Gorges, stargazing, a chance to feel like two people in love again.”
The thought of leaving everything behind, even for a little while, felt like both a blessing and an escape I didn’t deserve. “He said every time he looks at me, it hurts him. Maybe he should just go with you.”
He hesitated, clearly working to steady his voice, though I could tell from the way he breathed that he was angry. Even after all these years, long after our relationship had ended, Thomas still slipped into that protective role—sometimes welcome, sometimes not.
“Absolutely not. Separating is the worst thing you two could do right now.”
I waited a beat. “I don’t know if he’ll go for it.”
“So don’t ask him,” Thomas said. “Just say yes, and I’ll handle the rest. I’ll book the rental, the airfare, everything. We’ll meet you out there. It’ll be fun.”
“Fun,” I repeated, spiraling the phone cord around my finger. “Okay,” I conceded. “Book it.”
Once I hung up the phone, I closed my eyes. “Hazel?” I called.
“It’s fine,” she said, rounding the corner. “Don’t worry about me, I’ve got it.”
“I’ll think of someone to call in to help, I’ll—” I began, but she held up her gloved hand.
“Who do you think ran this place before you showed up? I trained you, remember? Thomas is right. This is your chance to turn things around. Take it.”
I locked up the shop as the last light faded from the sky, the worry that Trenton might flat refuse Thomas’s gift settling heavily on my shoulders. If Trenton was his old self, it wouldn’t cross my mind, but these days, I had no idea how he’d react to even the most benign mention of his brothers.
When I got home, I found Trenton in the kitchen, scrubbing the counters with a level of focus that would’ve been impressive if it hadn’t been so obviously fueled the storms raging inside him.
“Man,” I said. “I hate it when I get home so late all the neighbors’ lights are off.”
“Not sure why you’re late if there’s no clients.”
“We have clients.”
“Did Bishop come back?” he asked, for some reason unhappy about that possibility.
“No. I’ve been on the phone most of the night. I’m hoping for at least one bigger name to draw in more business. You’re cleaning?” I asked, setting my bag down on the table.
He glanced up, his jaw tightening. “Yeah, I guess I’m not completely useless.”
I stood there for a moment, unsure how to approach him. “You’re not useless,” I said. “Thank you. The kitchen needed a good deep clean.”
The skin around his eyes softened, and the furious circles he’d been making with the sponge slowed. “You’re welcome.” He paused, trying to think of something to say. It was hard to watch, remembering when things between us used to be so easy. He was my best friend, and now he felt more like someone I used to know.
I glanced around, trying to keep my tone casual. “It looks great. You shouldn’t have done all this; you’ve just set a new bar.”
He didn’t look at me, continuing to scrub. “Keeps me busy, I guess.”
I walked over and stepped behind him, hesitating before placing my hands on his shoulders. His muscles were tight, and I kneaded my thumbs into them gently, trying to help him relax a little more before dropping the bomb. “You’ve been at this all day?”
“Pretty much.”
“Why don’t you take a break? Come sit on the couch with me,” I said, keeping my tone light. “We can see if that Love in Full Bloom movie is on, or whatever it’s called—you know, the one where the no-nonsense city event planner is sent to a small town to revamp its struggling annual flower festival and clashes with the grumpy but ridiculously handsome local botanist who thinks she’s ruining everything… because Hallmark.” I reached out to him. “C’mon,” I begged. “Don’t you want to see sparks fly and petals fall?” I wiggled my fingers, coaxing him over. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to watch a predictable romance where the biggest conflict is whether the town’s flower budget can handle imported peonies.”
He stilled, his hands dropping to the edge of the counter as he tilted his head slightly toward me. “Camille,” he said, his voice heavy, “you have something to tell me. Just spit it out.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, but I could hear the guilt in my own voice.
He turned, stepping out of my reach, his eyes meeting mine for the first time since I walked in. “You’re buttering me up for something,” he said. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”
I swallowed, my hands falling to my sides as the space between us felt wider than it had a moment before. Not even before we fell in love did he treat me with that level of indifference. “I just want to spend time with you.”
His jaw tightened, the muscles flitting beneath his skin as though his old self was locked in a silent battle with the person he’d become. I knew he loved me, but now, any feeling of tenderness toward me seemed to unearth a deeper pain he wasn’t ready to face. And instead of letting himself feel it, he pushed it back, fighting it off like it was something dangerous, something that could undo him entirely. Vulnerability had become his enemy, and even though I stood on the other side of it, trying to reach him, he couldn’t see past the walls he’d built to protect himself.
“Fine. I talked to Thomas today,” I blurted out. His eyes flashed up to mine, and I immediately regretted it.
“Oh, did you?” he said, his tone sharp.
“He suggested we take a break. Go to the desert for a few days. Get away from everything. A hike under the stars sounds amazing, don’t you think? Can we? Please? It’s already booked, and—”
He threw the sponge into the sink with a loud thud, his expression darkening. “So, you’re sharing our problems with him now?”
“It’s not like that,” I said quickly. “He called the shop. He’s trying to help.”
“Help?” Trenton barked a laugh, but it was absent of humor. “Thomas of all fucking people. Are you serious, Cami?”
“He’s your brother,” I said, frustration creeping into my tone. “And he cares about you.”
“That’s not what this is about,” he snapped, stepping closer. “It’s about you talking to him and not me. You used to love him, Camille. And now you’re running to him when things get hard with us? And that’s after I come back into my house to see he’s protected my wife from the same dudes who knocked me the fuck out? Do you know how that feels?”
My mouth fell open. Not once had he ever spoken about my past with Thomas as if it were a threat. “It wasn’t just him; it was Travis, too,” I said, glad I inherently knew I couldn’t mention Liis being equally capable, because realizing his sister-in-law also had a hand in subduing my assailants would’ve sent him into a spiral. “And how are you upset that I’m not coming to you about any of this? I can’t! You’ve made that crystal clear! And, baby…” I said, taking a moment to control my volume and tone, “I’m not running to him,” I pleaded. “I’m trying to save us.”
“By telling him about how broken I am?” he shot back, his voice cracking. “By letting him see what I can’t even show you?”
“That’s not fair,” I said, my anger threatening to bubble to the surface again. “I’m doing everything I can to hold us together, but you won’t let me in. You won’t let anyone in!”
He stared at me, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. For a moment, I thought he might say something, but instead, he turned away, lacing his soggy fingers on the top of his head.
The silence stretched between us, thick and unbearable. I waited, hoping he’d let go of his anger and break, but he didn’t.
“I tried. You can’t say I didn’t,” I said. “But you act like you hate me! Am I just supposed to live like this?”
“Hate you?” he seethed, flipping around.
“You said you can’t stand to look at me!”
He pointed at me. “That is not what I said. Not even fucking close!”
Tears began to stream down my cheeks. “This is it, isn’t it? This is what we are now.” I shook my head. “I can’t do it. I won’t.” I began to sob. “I miss my husband! You were my best friend, but he’s gone. I’m doing everything I can to keep our marriage together, and it’s like trying to hold on to water,” I cried. After wiping tears from eyes, I saw Trenton staring at me, unfazed. “Okay. I’m at the end of my rope. Just… go. It’s time.”
He blinked. “You want me to leave,” he said, more of a statement than a question.
“That’s what you want, right? So, go. Pack up what’s yours and just fucking leave!”
He stomped toward me, his footsteps heavy enough to make the floor tremble beneath us. Before I could say a word, he bent down, grabbed me as if I weighed nothing, and threw me over his shoulder. My breath hitched in shock, my tears forgotten for a moment as he stormed out the front door, slamming it behind him. He didn’t stop until we were standing in the dark driveway. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath.
“Okay,” he said, his voice strained and raw, “now what?”
I froze, trying to process what had just happened. He hadn’t carried me outside to hurt me—there was no anger in his grip, no malice in the way he held me. It was something else. Somewhere beneath that angry, cold exterior, my husband was trapped, silenced but trying to break through, sending me coded messages with every glance and touch, begging me to show him the way back to me.
Slowly, he lowered me back to my feet, his hands lingering at my sides. I wiped at my face with the back of my hand, mascara smearing across my skin. My throat was tight, and for once, I didn’t know what to say.
“I packed up what’s mine and left. So, now what?” he begged, his eyes glossing over.
I swallowed hard, steadying my voice as I spoke. “We’re dusting off our luggage. We’re getting on a fucking plane. And we’re not coming back until we figure this out.”
His expression crumbled, the cracks in his resolve giving way as he dropped to his knees in front of me. His arms wrapped tightly around my hips, and he buried his face where our baby once grew as a sob tore from his chest, raw and unrestrained.
I placed a trembling hand on the top of his head as he cried into me, my eyes lifting to stare down our dark, quiet street, praying to God there was a light at the end of this tunnel.