Page 24 of SALT

"You lied to me. Why would you lie to me?" I demand, closing the back door harder than intended.

"I didn't lie to you. You heard what you wanted to hear," she answers from behind the bar as she pours a glass of vodka and seltzer water with lime.

"I asked you what your father said in his letter, and I specifically asked you about Kelce."

"You're right. You asked me what the letter said, and I told you. You didn't ask me what I did with that information after I read the letter. Because you still think of me as a child, you treat me with kid gloves. If you continue to think of me like an orphaned teen, you'll come up short every time. It happened, it hurt, but it isn't who I am."

I stalk over to the bar, half tempted to smack her ass for lying to me, only to think better of it once I'm right in front of her. She'd like it too much, and doing so would only hurt me. I have to stop taking liberties. Every time I do, the line between right and wrong moves, and I find myself drowning in my regrets, torn between what I have and what I want.

Instead, I take her drink. "If you want me to see you as an adult, stop acting like a child." I take a heady sip before adding, "You should have told me about Kelce. Your safety is paramount."

She snatches her glass back, drawing my attention to her mouth as she takes a long, slow drink. "I didn't think I needed to tell you things you already knew." Sliding the glass toward me, she crosses her arms. "My father was a good man. Whether he died believing it to be true or not, doesn't change that. Besides, Kelce was never the person anyone needed to fear. That person sank to the bottom of the Mississippi with him."

I slam my eyes closed as I try to push out the memories of the night I lost my best friend. I don't need any reminders to pull me away from the now. That night and all the what-ifs surrounding it have haunted my every dream since that fateful accident.

"What does that mean, Cameron?"

"It's no secret my parents had a loveless marriage, and I think Kelce was one of the reasons for it. When I went to Maine to visit him, I never met with him. Don't get me wrong, I planned on it, but when I pulled up to the fishery, I found him working, and something stilled my hand. I didn't get out of the car. Instead, I sat and watched, and as I did, I reflected on our life together. I went there with a lot of assumptions. They were easy enough to make over the years, the sense of entitlement he seemed to wear like a badge of honor, the money he'd blow through, his arrogance. He painted a picture that would easily lead you to believe him to be a suspect in the break-in, but as I sat there with my own pain, I realized something. I was judging his. Who am I to judge pain I haven't experienced?"

"You both lost parents in the accident. You have the same pain."

She pulls in a frustrated breath like I should know what she's getting at. I think I do, but assuming things with her is off the table. "When I tracked Kelce down to Maine and the address he was staying at, I Googled the homeowner. It was a name I'd never heard of. I knew it wasn't any family of mine, but it was obvious Kelce was family. The genetics on that side are strong. The guy he was living with could have been a dead ringer for his father, and that's when it hit me. Kelce knew. I can't be sure when he found out, but he knew Damon wasn't his father, and I think he acted out because of it." Picking up the drink, she shoved at me, she downs the glass. "Everyone knows there was no love lost between our parents. Kelce and I weren't immune to that fact just because we grew up witnessing it. I think Kelce figured out the truth somewhere along the line and resented both of them for it."

Standing here listening to the amount of thought she's clearly put into this, my anger wanes, but my curiosity doesn't. "You put all that together just by watching him? Damon left nothing in his letter that would lean into those conclusions?"

Her eyes narrow on mine. "Are my thoughts really that farfetched? I thought you, out of all people, would relate to living a lie, being what other people wanted you to be instead of who you want to be. Who you are." I rub the space between my eyes. She sees so much of me. I wish she would see that I keep things close to my heart to protect hers. "Just forget it, Everett. I'm done talking. When you are ready to have a real conversation, you know, one where you exchange ideas, thoughts, and feelings without shrewdness... you know where to find me."

She quickly turns on her heel to leave, and my hand hurriedly grasps the loop on the back of her denim dress. "That is precisely what I am trying to do." I spin her around, and her mouth pops open in shock. "You want real? Fine. Your father's death hasn't been easy on me either, Cameron. But I've never wanted you to feel an ounce of hurt. If you believe protecting your heart makes me the enemy, so be it. With his death, I was left with more questions than answers. I don't know everything, which is why I asked the questions I did last night..." I release her and drop my hands to my hips. Do I know more than I'm letting on? Yes, but I wasn't lying when I said I don't know everything and I don't want to speak on theories. Does that make me a liar? Some might see it that way. Secrets and lies are both deceptions, but as a lawyer, I know there is a gray area. Not every detail is necessary for accuracy. Like her, I also keep things close to my chest. Everyone does. Some are just bigger than others. I need to know what she does, so I try again, and I'm softer this time. "It's why I'm asking now."

Pulling in a sorrowful breath, she says, "I just gave you my truth. That's all I know. Kelce doesn't want money. He never did. I believe he hates it and everything it represents. With their death, he was free of it. He was free of being Mom's pawn, another reason for Dad to stay when he didn't want to. Maybe when you're done walking through the hurt of my father's death alone, maybe I can love the lonely out of you and numb the pain. Maybe if you let me in instead of saving me, we can save each other."

Her words hit deep. I'm not used to someone looking after me and caring about how the choices I make don't come lightly; they wear on me too. It's why, this time when she drops her gaze as I once again give her no words, I let her go. I learned a lot tonight. She gave me an angle I hadn't considered because she's right about sharing our pain; our grief is visceral, and in choosing to hold onto mine, I've managed to tie one hand behind my back. Rather than letting her in and allowing her to think through the riddles he dropped at my feet with his last breaths, I suffer alone. She wants to save me, but I'm not meant to be saved. My job is to keep her safe.

Chapter 12

Cameron

My alarm goes off Monday morning, and the last thing I want to do is go to work. It doesn't matter that Everett is there too. This past weekend, I had him all to myself, and even if we didn't part on the best of terms yesterday, I'm not ready to let go of having him uninterrupted. We didn't discuss our moment on the couch, but we shared one beside the pool until Colton showed up and ruined it. Though I'm unsure, I can place the blame squarely on him. Had I shown my cards about Kelce the night before, Everett may have called Colton off whatever wild goose chase he sent him on to defend my safety. I'm not trying to be irresponsible or inconsiderate of other people's time, but secrets are lies too. You can't say they are ill-timed truths because it doesn't change the fact that you kept them. Everett letting me have the last word and walk away yesterday tells me he's still keeping them. Part of me thinks he holds onto his secrets because they are the only things that give him a purpose to still be in my life. The secrets give him a reason to check in on me and watch. They fulfill whatever oath he gave my dad by existing. If you strip them away, what's left?

The answer is simple: me. I want that to be enough.

I kept that in mind as I got ready this morning. He's starting to notice me, whether he's willing to admit it or not. Even when his words are tainted with ire, he sees me. It's then that I think he sees me the most, and he hates it. But I know that not all hate is rooted in venom. Most of the time, hate comes from fear. I need him to grow through the hate so he can come out on the other side. That's why today I put a little more thought into my outfit. I put effort into my outfits every day, but I've been more lax in my choices since I've been at the stadium. Don't get me wrong, my hair and makeup have been on point. Well, apart from last week, when I came in looking and feeling like a pile of shit. I might be borderline certifiable because even though we still don't know who broke into Connor's house, nor do we have a solid motive, I'm low-key happy that I did, indeed, have a stalker because it gave my appearance a pass. Before that, I'd been wearing cute, refined athleisure, but today, I'm going with slim-fit, high-waisted white pants paired with a cobalt blue body suit. The outfit fits me like a glove. Everett may have been able to ignore me last week, but this past weekend, I held his eyes, and I'm going to make sure I keep it that way.

I'm just coming down the stairs when I remember I don't have my keys. Everett had my car picked up from Connor's over the weekend and he never handed them to me. Turning toward his office, I only manage to take two steps before he startles the shit out of me. "Ready to go?"

My hand flies over my heart as I peer up the open staircase and find him standing at the top, looking the complete opposite of me. Where I'm dressed for a day at the office, he's looking like a snack dressed for a day at the gym with his athleisure clinging to his toned chest and stretching around his biceps.

"I was just going to ask you for my keys."

He starts down the steps. "That won't be necessary. You'll be riding with me for the foreseeable future." A small part of me wants to argue and tell him that I am an independent woman and don't need a babysitter. However, a bigger part of me wants to ride with him everywhere. Not to mention, mad or not, this keeps me right where I want to be—next to him. When he gets to the bottom, he picks up the duffle bag by the door and says, "Want to stop at The Bean Hive?"

I'm unsure where this lightheartedness is coming from. Yesterday, I gave him honesty, but that's a hard pill for him to swallow when he's not ready to face his own. Those truths tend to shut him down. He retreats instead of facing them. I was prepared to put in the work to bring him back to me, but I don't dwell on it. Instead, I tuck it away and play into whatever this is.

"Are you trying to sweeten me up in hopes I won't notice the hostage situation developing around here?" I teasingly toss back as I make my way out the front door.

"You're hardly being held captive." He closes the door as we walk the stone path out to the driveway.

"Okay then. Can I have my keys to go to the store after work? I need to pick up a few things."

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