Chapter Twenty-Six
Trenton
Pouring an entire bottle of whiskey out into the sink while Camille watched felt a lot like putting a Band-Aid on a bullet hole—because, yeah, it’s technically effort, but let’s be real, unless that Band-Aid comes with a magic wand and a miracle, you’re still bleeding out. The liquid gold circled the drain, and I could practically hear my liver whispering, Finally, dumbass, you nearly killed me . The gurgling sound of wasted booze wasn’t the serenade I’d imagined for the start of my healing journey, but hey, sacrifices are sacrifices.
“Ready?” I asked, wiping my hands on one of the non-decorative dishtowels—the safe kind that wouldn’t get me murdered by my wife.
Camille nodded, her fingers nervously twisting the strap of her bag. Her hands seemed steady, but the faint pulse in her neck told a different story—or maybe it was my own heartbeat hammering away. Hard to tell when it felt like we were both teetering on a wobbly rope over the big, ugly pit of divorce.
She stopped abruptly. “Wait. Did you call Olive back?”
“I did. She let me have it, but we’re good now.”
Camille’s brows pulled together, those two little lines I both loved and feared forming between her brows. “Someone told her?”
“Ish. She was eavesdropping when Travis was updating Dad.”
She sighed. “The FBI’s got nothing on that kid. One of these days, she’s going to save you from yourself or die trying.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
She blinked, her mouth opening as she grew more offended on my behalf by the second. “I didn’t mean it like—”
“I know, baby doll,” I said. “I know. We used to joke before all this. Think we can get back there?”
“You haven’t called me that in nearly two months, so, yes,” she said, looking down at our luggage, then back to me, nodding her head. “Yes, we can.”
I patted my pockets and went through a mental list of things we absolutely couldn’t forget. “Chargers, deodorant, PJs, clothes to wear home, swim trunks, phones, cash, keys, IDs…”
“We’ve got it,” Camille said, opening the front door. “I made a list and checked everything off before packing. We’ve got everything.”
“Okay,” I said, following her out the door and then locking it behind me. I tapped a few buttons on my phone to queue up the security system and then watched as Dad waved to Camille from the street.
“Thanks for taking us to the airport,” I said, lifting our bags and putting them in the back.
“Not a problem, son.” Dad waved me away, moving with a careful, deliberate gait as he walked to the driver’s side and climbed in. “Happy to help,” he added as Camille slid into the middle of the bench seat, then waited for me to settle in beside her. “I’m just glad you two are taking a much-needed break,” he continued. “It’s important, you know.”
Dad paused before he pulled the gear shift into Drive, his hand resting on the cracked leather steering wheel. He turned slightly to face us both, his weathered face lined with the kind of wisdom that only came from living through storms he couldn’t see past at the time.
“You know,” he began, “marriage is everything. The good and especially the bad. What you learn by the time you’re my old age is that it’s the bad that makes the good so damn good. It’s about finding a way to put the pieces back together when life tries to shatter you, and realizing just how unbreakable you are once you’re whole again. You’ll get there. I have no doubt.”
I glanced at Camille, who was smiling at Dad with tears in her eyes.
“I know it’s been hard,” Dad continued. “Hell, harder than anyone should have to deal with. What you’ve lost, it’s more than most people could fathom. But pain’s funny, you see. It has a way of turning into distance if you’re not careful. You think keeping it inside protects the other person, but the walls you build always have a way of keeping the people you love on the outside.”
Camille put her hand on my thigh. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes gave her away. His words were taking root, planting hope where I thought there was nothing but rubble.
“Your mom and I went through our share of rough patches,” Dad went on, his hand gripping the gear shift. “There were times we thought about calling it quits. Too much hurt, too many words we couldn’t take back. But you know what saved us?”
Camille swallowed hard, her voice barely audible when she answered. “What?”
“We stopped trying to win,” Dad said simply. “When you’re hurting, you can forget whose side you’re on. Not yours, not theirs, but the marriage. You don’t do what’s good for you, you do what’s good for your future together. Who’s right, who’s wrong, who’s hurting worse. When that’s what you start fighting for, that’s when you lose. You both do.”
Camille leaned into me slightly, her shoulder brushing mine, and I instinctively reached for her hand. She let me take it, and I clung to the small gesture like a lifeline.
Dad must’ve noticed because he smiled faintly. “Good. That’s a start. You keep holding on, even when it feels impossible. Especially then.”
I couldn’t say anything past the lump in my throat, so I just nodded. Camille’s grip on my hand tightened, and I knew she felt it, too—the magnitude of what Dad was saying, the hope he was offering.
Eventually, Dad seemed to decide he’d said his piece, and the old truck groaned as it rolled away from the curb. The rest of the drive was quiet, but not in an awkward way. It was the kind of silence that felt complete, like every word that mattered had already found its place.
My mind wandered to Taylor and Falyn, hoping Dad had shared some of his wisdom with them when they were in town on their own marriage-savecation. He had a knack for cutting through the noise, untangling the knots we’d spent days—or even weeks—tightening ourselves. Ten minutes with him, and it was like the chaos settled, the clouds broke, and suddenly, the way through didn’t seem so impossible.
When we got to the airport, Dad climbed out of the truck and helped me pull the bags from the back with the same thoughtful care he’d shown when sharing his advice. He handed one to Camille and then turned to me, his hand gripping my shoulder before pulling me into a quick hug. It wasn’t one of those tight, emotional embraces, but the kind that said everything he didn’t need to put into words. A pat on the back, a slight squeeze, and then he stepped back, his eyes scanning mine for just a moment longer than usual, as if to make sure I was holding it together.
Then he turned to Camille, his face softening as he opened his arms. She didn’t hesitate to lean in, eager for him to wrap her in one of his famous hugs: warm, strong, and entirely Dad.
“Take care of each other,” he said.
Camille nodded against his shoulder, holding on tight until he let her go. “Thank you,” she whispered.
As we walked into the terminal, I glanced over at Camille. Her face was still soft, still vulnerable, but for the first time in what felt like forever, a spark of hope glimmered in her eyes. The tightness that had been lingering in the lines around them seemed to ease, replaced by a quiet confidence that reminded me of the girl I fell in love with. It probably wasn’t noticeable to anyone but me, but it was enough to make me believe our trip might actually change something.
The chaos of the airport swirled around us like a living thing—bright fluorescent lights reflecting off polished floors, the hum of announcements garbled over the PA system, and the smell of stale coffee mixed with something fried from a stand nearby. A toddler wailed as his parents wrestled with a car seat at security, and a group of college kids laughed loudly while in line for overpriced bagels. Camille’s hand brushed against mine, her touch centering me amidst the strange symphony of airport idiosyncrasies: the distant rumble of rolling suitcases, the tiny beeping of golf carts zipping by with passengers too frail or too injured to make the walk on their own. For a moment, her lips quirked in the faintest smile, and I wondered if she found it comforting or absurd—or maybe a little bit of both.
She tilted her head toward the gate signs and murmured, “It’s always so strange how everyone here is in the middle of something. Leaving, arriving, waiting. No one belongs to this place, but here we all are, occupying the same space, just a pitstop on our way to never see each other again.”
Her words lingered with me as we walked on, surrounded by people but somehow wrapped in our own bubble, navigating through the circus of tired, grumpy travelers and absurdly expensive pretzels.
Our flight to Albuquerque, New Mexico, was just the first leg, but once we reached our seats, it felt like a tiny speck of calm in a hurricane of uncertainty. As we buckled in, Camille leaned her head against my shoulder.
“I’m excited… and a little nervous. What about you?” she asked softly, her voice barely audible over the sound of engines revving.
“Yes. Both,” I said, fumbling for the right words. “It’s like… I dunno, kind of like the first time we kissed. Kind of. It’s hard to explain.”
The plane surged forward, then lifted off, carrying us above a patchwork of fields and scattered towns. When the time came to deplane in Albuquerque, we’d still have to meet Thomas and Liis at the car rental place to road trip it the rest of the way to Chinle, Arizona. From the quick Googling I’d done, Chinle wasn’t exactly a hotspot for nightlife or fine dining. It was more of a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of place—and that was exactly the point. Quiet desert landscapes, towering cliffs to scream our frustrations into, and maybe just enough wildlife and nature to remind me that life wasn’t just a series of crushing disappointments and traumatic home invasions.
“What do you think it’s gonna be like?” I asked, breaking the silence.
Camille tilted her head, her dark hair catching the sunlight streaming through the window. “I don’t know. Peaceful, I hope. A chance to breathe.”
“I hope it’s got a good diner. Like, the kind that Falyn used to work at, the ones that don’t skimp on the bacon.”
She smiled, and for a second, the knot in my chest loosened. “We’ll find one,” she promised.
Nearly three hours and seven attempts at a nap later, the plane touched down in Albuquerque, its tires screeching against the runway before easing into a slower roll. Out the window, the desert spread out forever, with the Sandia Mountains— thanks, Google —sitting tall in the distance. It wasn’t Chinle, yet, but Albuquerque had its own rough kind of charm, with its dry grit and bursts of bright southwestern colors.
Camille leaned into me as we taxied to the gate. I could feel the sudden tension in her body, like she was holding her breath, waiting for something—anything—to go wrong. But for once, everything was going according to plan, even if that plan started with a pit stop in the Land of Enchantment.
Once we’d snagged our bags from the carousel—Camille’s neon green luggage making it impossible to miss and mildly embarrassing to carry—we hoofed it over to the shuttles headed for the rental car lot. As soon as we stepped off the transport, Thomas smiled and waved, looking surprisingly relaxed in a linen button-up, aviators, and cargo shorts, like he’d just taken a break from filming a travel vlog titled Tactical Meets Tropical . Liis was still leaning against a dark SUV, dressed down in tailored khaki shorts and a light blue, short-sleeved blouse flowing over her very pregnant belly, her hair pulled back into a slick ponytail, about as casual as it got for her.
Thomas seemed to be relieved when he saw us, his usual stoic demeanor softening into something almost approachable. Liis gave a quick wave, but her sharp eyes were already scanning the lot, as if she were calculating escape routes or figuring out which nearby tourist was most likely to start trouble.
“So, you took the left turn at Albuquerque, I see,” Thomas said as he pulled me into a firm handshake-turned-hug.
“Was that a Bug’s Bunny reference?” I asked. “What are you? Middle-aged?”
“Getting there,” he said, chuckling. “But you knew it, so that makes you an old man, too.”
I looked down at Liis’s middle. “I’m surprised they’re still letting you travel.”
She ran her hand over her baby bump. “I’m very persuasive.”
Camille smiled faintly as Liis wrapped her in a brief but genuine hug. “Let’s get moving,” Liis said, nodding toward the car. “Chinle’s not coming to us. Oh, those are very… green,” she said, noticing our luggage.
“Subtle, like her,” I teased.
Camille pressed her lips together but was taking it all in stride. I was impressed; I’d worried before we left that she’d focus on what I’d said about her and Thomas in anger. I’d spent years defending her loyalties, swearing it didn’t bother me—and to be honest, it hadn’t—but in one weak, heated moment, I did the one thing I’d always promised myself I wouldn’t. It wasn’t just a low blow—it cut deeply the person I loved most, and those words would leave a scar even after my anger faded. The worst part was knowing, even as the words left my mouth, that I’d wanted them to. It didn’t matter if I wasn’t myself in that moment; what haunted me was that I was capable of being that cruel to my wife. The shame of it burned in my chest.
“I’m just kidding, baby. I’m sorry,” I said.
“What?” she asked, surprised. “Oh, please, it was funny,” she said, nudging me with her elbow.
I kissed her forehead, making a note in my mind to promise her before we got home that the night I mentioned Thomas was the last time I’d ever cross the line by dredging up the past. Watching Camille now, standing next to me, the hope practically radiating off her that she could fix what I’d broken and knowing she’d forgiven me the second I’d said it... fuck . I’m a piece of shit. I breathed out, trying to somehow release the guilt twisting my insides. She deserved better than that, better than me, and I could only hope I had time to make it right.
“You okay?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“Yeah,” I said, hooking my arm around her neck and kissing her temple. “Yeah, baby doll. I’m here with you. I’m perfect.”
The drive to Chinle was a mix of casual conversation and the kind of silence that happens when people held captive together on a road trip are too tired to fake the chit chat. Camille sat next to me in the middle row, while Thomas navigated the roads and highways as if he were piloting a government convoy instead of a rental SUV. Liis leaned back in the passenger seat, just enough to maintain a polite angle, filling us in on the preparations they’d made since arriving the day before. They’d already hit the grocery store to stock the fridge and pantry with fresh veggies, marinated steaks, some fancy bread I couldn’t pronounce, and enough wine to impress a sommelier.
Liis ticked off items on her fingers as she continued to detail her grocery list. “We stocked up on essentials plus chicken breasts, bell peppers, zucchini, cherry tomatoes, avocados, limes, fresh cilantro, black beans, tortillas, pasta, ice cream, just… everything. The fridge and pantry look like we live there,” she said, amused with herself. “Oh, and of course popcorn… because it’s movie night.”
“There’s an outdoor projector on the patio,” Thomas explained. “We’re going to watch Spaceballs under the stars.”
“No shit? This is the best trip of my life already,” I said.
“Right?” Thomas said, nodding. “No light pollution out there. Chinle’s on the Navajo Reservation, by the way. I’ve had some pretty cool spookiness happen when I’ve been out there alone.”
“Sounds… terrifying,” Camille said.
Liis grinned, shaking her head and staring out her window. “After all they’ve been through, you had to say it.”
“It’s the harmless kind of spooky,” Thomas said, feigning offense. “And with the Native folklore and all, it’s going to be the best trip we’ve had so far,” Thomas added, taking his eyes off the road just long enough to grin at Camille and then at me in the rearview mirror .
As the desert rolled by, my usually stoic brother pointed out stores and landmarks on the horizon like a kid bragging about his backyard. “You’ll see every damn star in the sky. This is my escape. No one can sneak up on you in the desert.”
“Thomas James!” Liis barked, then laughed once when the shock wore off. “Christ on a bike, would you stop?”
“Shit. I’m sorry,” he said, reaching over to touch her belly.
I shook my head. “This trip is supposed to take our mind off things, Tommy. Keep up.”
Driving into Chinle felt like we’d crossed through a portal to another planet. The air was dry, smelling faintly of sagebrush, and the heat clung to everything like an overly affectionate relative. Tumbleweeds rolled lazily across the occasional empty stretch of road as if they owned the place, and honestly, they probably did.
The town itself was almost at a standstill, a patchwork of small businesses with faded signs, dusty streets, and houses that looked like they’d been plucked straight out of an old western and dropped there to sunbathe. A group of kids shot hoops on a beat-up court just inside the city limits, their laughter cutting through the quiet. Chinle wasn’t about impressing anyone—it was raw, worn-in, and unapologetically itself—the kind of place where time didn’t move slower; it just didn’t care to keep up with the rest of the world.
By the time we pulled into the drive of Thomas’s favorite rented oasis, the sun was dipping low, casting long shadows over the desert. The house itself was straight out of a travel magazine. Adobe walls, a flat roof, and big windows that let in all the natural light. Inside, it was simple but nice—wooden beams, terracotta tile floors, and a fireplace that probably hadn’t been lit since the ’80s. Camille wandered through the rooms like she was cataloging every detail for later, then joined me to help unpack. Once we were settled in, we followed the smell of garlic to the kitchen.
Thomas and Liis were already at work, their movements perfectly in sync, a clear sign of the countless meals they’d prepared together over the years. Liis chopped vegetables while Thomas stirred something in a pot, the savory smell of garlic and herbs tugging at a memory of something Mom used to make when we were kids.
“Need help?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Thomas didn’t even look up. “Yeah, if you could set the table, that’d be great.”
“On it,” I said, grabbing plates and silverware.
Camille joined me, her smile soft and unguarded as she handed me a stack of napkins. For a moment, it felt like we were normal—like the cracks in our foundation hadn’t been wide enough to swallow us whole just a few days before.
Dinner was simple but perfect: spaghetti with homemade marinara, a salad that actually made me consider eating my greens, and garlic bread with some extra ingredient they refused to reveal, no matter how many times I asked.
We sat at the wooden dining table, sharing stories and laughter. The conversation flowed easily, each of us adding something to the moment that made it feel lighter. For the first time in what felt like forever, things didn’t feel so complicated—it was just food, company, and childhood tales; one of those evenings you didn’t want to end.
After dinner, Camille joined Liis in the kitchen, the sound of running water and clinking dishes carrying through the open windows. Every so often, their voices carried out, a comforting hum that brought a grin to my face each time I caught it. Thomas and I stayed busy setting up for the movie, untangling wires, adjusting the oversized screen, rearranging the furniture, and hauling drinks, pillows, and blankets out to the patio.
The absence of cars, dogs barking, even the hum of an air conditioner was almost unsettling, making me pause and scan the yard every time a breeze rustled through the brush. The faint chirp of crickets and other whispers of nature filled the gaps, but as soon as Thomas powered on the projector, it whirred softly and cast a faint glow against the screen, helping me to relax.
Overhead, the sky stretched wide and impossibly clear, littered with stars so bright they almost didn’t look real. Thomas worked in focused silence, unrolling a blanket over one of the chairs, while I adjusted the projector’s angle. For a moment, neither of us spoke, letting the stillness settle around us like an old, comfortable friend.
“Thanks for doing this,” I said finally, breaking the silence.
Thomas nodded; his gaze fixed on the horizon. “You’re family. This is what we do.”
The simplicity of his answer hit me harder than I expected. Family. The word carried weight, but it didn’t feel like a burden. It felt like a lifeline.
Inside, Camille’s laugh floated through the open window, and for the first time in weeks, I let myself hope. It wasn’t forced or polite, but the kind of laugh that sneaks up on you, escaping before you can think to hold it back. Everything felt... okay. Maybe not perfect. Maybe not fixed, but a solid start.
Thomas glanced at me from where he was adjusting the outdoor loveseat, his expression unreadable but knowing. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to. Camille’s laugh said it all.
Camille came out onto the patio, a blanket draped over her arms. “Liis sent me with reinforcements,” she said, holding up a bottle of beer before passing it to me. Her tone was light, but her eyes softened when they met mine.
“Good timing,” I said, draping the blanket over one of the chairs. “We’re just about ready.”
Liis followed behind her, carrying a tray of drinks, her movements calm but efficient. She set it down on a small table, giving a quick nod of approval at the setup. Thomas, ever the perfectionist, made one last adjustment to the projector before stepping back and crossing his arms, as if mentally giving himself a pat on the back.
Somewhere in the distance, a coyote let out a low, mournful howl, its voice stretching across the empty expanse.
“Is that the spooky?” Camille asked.
Thomas and Liis traded glances. “Sure,” he said, dragging out the word.
We all laughed, knowing he was lying for Camille’s sake.
We settled in, each of us sinking into our chairs as the movie started. The screen flickered to life against the adobe wall, its light casting faint shadows on the patio. Camille curled up next to me, a blanket draped over her lap, her shoulders relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever.
We weren’t trying to fix anything or figure out what was next. We were just there, existing in each other’s orbit the way we used to. I leaned back, staring up at the endless stretch of stars overhead, letting my wife’s faint but comforting scent settle around me. For the first time in a long time, I let go of the anger, the anxiety, the guilt, and the shame. I let myself just be the guy who adored his wife, and I let her love me back without questioning whether I deserved it.