Page 18 of SALT

I can't see in here. I was too scared to turn on the light, afraid doing so would give up my hiding spot. The sound of heavy footsteps walking down the hallway on the other side of the wall has my body locked in fear. I couldn't move if I wanted to. Fucking pathetic. I want to tell him I can't, but I also don't want him to see my fear. So instead, I say nothing.

"Cameron, answer me. What's happening?"

"I'm waiting to see what the guy looks like before I lock the door," I answer sarcastically because, apparently, satirical utterances are my coping mechanism.

"Shit," I hear him mutter. "Don't move. Don't fucking move. Stay where you are."

I hear the click of the doorknob as the door to the master opens, and I click off the phone before whispering, "I love you." He may not hear it, but at least I said it before I met my end. The closet was the worst place to hide. If someone is here to steal, this is probably one of the first places they'd check for valuables: jewelry, safe boxes, and expensive purses. It doesn't matter that Mackenzie isn't into any of those things. They don't know that. Damn it, Cameron, all you had to do was crawl to the door and key in a code. The antique handle on the closet door subtly tinkles with what is undoubtedly the weight of a hand gripping the smoothed bronze lever. As I take my right hand and start to trace the sign of the cross over my heart. I hear the sound of sirens in the distance. The knob releases with a resounding clack as whoever is on the other side abandons their mission as the sirens grow closer.

As the telltale signs of a window opening ring out, so does the sound of the front door slamming open, followed by heavy footsteps running down the hall. It has to be Everett. I strain my ears, unmoving, convinced all of this could be a figment of my imagination. It's possible I'm still dreaming because shit like this doesn't happen here, but then the door opens, and the light flicks on. My eyes take a second to adapt to the bright intrusion, but as I reflectively blink away the dilation, my eyes connect with Everett's, and I pray this isn't a dream because I don't see annoyance or anger, which are probably warranted from the fact that I hung up the phone. Instead, I see relief and not just the reassuring kind. I see the heart-tending kind, the type that says I almost lost someone who means something to me.

But it's gone almost as quickly as it came when he says, "Let's go. You're moving back in with me. It's not up for debate. I won't accept no for an answer." He runs his hand through his dark hair, the muscle in his bicep stretching the cuff of his polo as he pulls at the long length on top. His eyes assess my pitiful position, arms wrapped around my bare legs with Mackenzie's black satin dress draped over my shoulders. The last thing I want is his pity. I didn't want him to come tonight. Damn it, I didn't dial his number.

"How did you get to me so fast?" His mouth is closed but I don't miss how his tongue runs over his teeth as he drops his head and rubs his hand over his jaw. I'm not in the mood to argue, but I want to know. He's determined to push me away, yet here he is, riding in on his horse to rescue me. "How, Everett?" I grind out, my tone a little more cross than I intended, but fuck it. I have a million emotions coursing through my body right now, and he's more than a bit deserving of my wrath, given how we've parted the past few times.

Raising his eyes to mine, he says, "You leaving me doesn't release me of you. The chains that bind my mind don't break because you say it should be so. We both know I don't dismiss my commitments, nor am I one to run. Running doesn't rid me of the obligation…" He trails off, his eyes narrowing slightly, a tell that says he's choosing his following words carefully. "The only peace to be found comes from honoring my commitments. We both know I watch you. I'm always watching you, Cameron. You coming here didn't change that."

Our eyes stay locked as I memorize his words. Words I know I will spend countless hours lying in bed thinking about later, when I'm not so rattled and he isn't towering over me stealing what limited oxygen is left in the room.

Heavy boots thud against the wood floor before a police officer breaks the silence. "Sir, is Ms. Salt in there?"

Everett holds up his hand to stop the man from entering further and seeing me in my disgraceful state of undress. "She's unharmed. We'll be out in a minute." I drop my eyes to the floor as the scene before me sinks in. I may not have been physically harmed, but my pride has definitely taken a hit. He turns to exit the closet, but not before adding. "Don't bother packing. We're leaving now. I'll send someone to collect your things tomorrow."

When I finally walked out of the closet, I expected Everett to be waiting in the other room, speaking to the police, but he wasn't. He was standing at the entry to the bedroom, aggressively typing away on his phone as the police combed the house. I know he went to school with the new police chief, so I was sure he was texting him a list of demands. While I was sitting on the closet floor curled up in fear, the words Everett gave me may have seemed insensitive, but where his words fall short, his actions tend to make up for them. I've watched him for years, and I'm more than familiar with his idiosyncrasies. The man was raised by a district attorney who then went on to campaign for a senate seat, which he won. Everett Callahan has spent his entire life serving, conforming, and being what people need him to be, and he's done it without complaint. It's the words he doesn't say that speak the loudest.

Seeing me, seeing that I was unharmed, wasn't enough. There was no way he was going to leave the room. Doing so meant taking his eyes off me. Standing there on his phone, I knew he was fiercely multitasking, hiring a new security company, texting the police chief and his brothers, and using every weapon in his arsenal to find the person who dared to break into his son's house. But duty aside, I saw what most wouldn't. The simple act of him standing beside the door told me he was taking something for himself. He may have used the word obligation in reference to me, a word I despise hearing from him. I want him to want to be around me for no other reason than that there's no place he'd rather be. However, obligation wasn't the only word he used. He also used the word peace. There might be a raging storm inside of him, and I might be the cause, but at the eye of every storm, there is also peace. I bring him peace.

It was that thought that I held onto as we drove home in silence once again. Everett kept his eyes forward, pinned to the road, his right hand on the wheel while his left hand occasionally ran over his bottom lip. I could tell he had words he wanted to give me, but he didn't. His choosing to say nothing felt better than any ire he may have spewed. Choosing to stay silent meant he cared. He didn't want his words to hurt me. Even though I can be a stubborn smartass, it doesn't mean I'm completely unaffected by shit. It means I'm strong and not easily swayed. I've always been boldly independent, even before my parents' accident. Losing them only made that more true, but it doesn't mean I'm not human. It doesn't mean I don't feel. I stayed just as quiet as Everett, maybe even more so because I don't think I moved an inch.

The events of the night shook me, and that's why I can't sleep now. The nap I had before the break-in doesn't help, but even knowing Everett is in the same house as me isn't settling my nerves. Throwing off the blankets, I head downstairs in search of comfort food. Popcorn and a chick flick might do the trick. Before I reach the kitchen, the light from Everett's office catches my eye. He's awake too. I contemplate walking down the hall to apologize, but I don't.

I've just finished popping my bowl of popcorn and pouring a glass of bourbon on the rocks with a brown sugar and sea salt rim. I'm not a huge fan of drinking by myself, but the alcohol serves two purposes at midnight: calming my nerves and helping me get some sleep before the morning. The second my ass hits the couch, and I look around the dimly lit space, I know settling down isn't going to be easy. I'm going to overanalyze every shadow and every creak. Standing, I decide to push aside my pride and walk to his office, but when I do, he's there, in the kitchen, with his back to me, staring blankly into the fridge.

I'm silent as my eyes linger on his dressed-down appearance. It's new. My entire life, he's been a suit-and-tie guy, immaculate—not a wrinkle to be seen or a single hair out of place. But since he's been home and helping out with the baseball team, his style has adapted. He's traded his tailored suits for Bermuda shorts and athletic polo shirts. It doesn't matter what he wears, he looks good in everything. But tonight's attire might be my all-time favorite: gray sweatpants and an all-white tee that stretches across his toned back in all the right places.

Turning with a bottle of sparkling water, his eyes collide with mine, and I suddenly feel naked. Sure, I've run around this house and flaunted my ass and tits in string bikinis for more summers than I can count, but something about the intensity in his stare now has me feeling vulnerable. I don't know what I see because I've never seen it, but I also can't look away. I can't find any words even though that's exactly what I was about to give him… words.

"Can't sleep?"

"No," I answer as I pull my satin robe around my camisole and sleep short set, a move that doesn't go unnoticed by him. We both had an intense night, and I know while his exterior says cool and collected, inside, like me, he's anything but. If I had it my way, he'd be storming across the room right now, sweeping me up in his arms and taking me to bed where we could work out our stress.

"I—" we both say simultaneously.

"Go ahead." I insist that he speaks first.

"No, that's not how it works. What were you about to say?"

"Before you came in here, I was about to ask if you wouldn't mind working in here tonight." I shrug and fidget with the lace of my satin robe. "I don't really want to be alone right now. I promise I won't bother you. I've already made popcorn and a drink, and I was?—"

He holds up his hand. "I'll grab my laptop. I think it's time we discuss that letter."

Chapter 9

Everett

Ididn't say yes because she asked me to sit with her. I said yes because there was nowhere fucking else I wanted to be. The second we got home, I had every notification set on my phone to alert me of any and all movement, both inside and out. Usually, I only have the outside notifications turned on, but tonight, I wasn't taking any chances. Whoever broke into Connor's house knew exactly where the cameras were located. They'd clearly been casing the place, and at this point, it's unclear if they had done so with the knowledge he was out of town, or if whoever entered the house did so knowing Cameron was inside because she was the target and not things. It's that last thought that has me breaking my silence. I've held my tongue long enough, but it's time to compare notes. Damon Salt had secrets, ones he tried to protect his daughter from, and just because he died doesn't mean they died too. We both received letters from him after his death.

"Cameron," I say her name to grab her attention, ensuring I have it before saying anything more. She's on her second glass of bourbon and her eyes have been glued to whatever fluffy romance movie she's been watching for the past hour. I don't know how channels like this stay in business. The love they propagate isn't real, yet they make millions selling false realities year after year. Her eyes find mine, and my stomach tightens. The truth is I've spent the past three hours we've been home staring at my computer, unable to work because of the hell I've been living in at the thought of her getting hurt or, worse, losing her. "I think it's time we talked about the night of your twenty-first birthday." Her eyebrows raise slightly, and I instantly realize the error in my wording. I clear my throat, closing my laptop, "Let me clarify. I'm referring to the letter I left you. The one from your father."

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