Page 34 of Knotted Laces

The wind’s blowing, those drops falling harder.

A storm’s coming in.

I frown, study the sky, the river, then open my mouth to tell her that it looks bad and she should go?—

“And fucking lock it this time,” she snaps, distracting me. “Since you’re going to stop being an idiot and remember that doors have locks and bad guys are everywhere and you’re not usually a goddamned idiot when it comes to your personal safety!”

Confusion is shoved out by annoyance. “Look, Ats,” I grind out. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I didn’t ask for a Jackson invasion.”

“You’ve been out of contact for several days. Haven’t returned calls or texts—” She fixes me in place with another fierce glare. “And your mom is worried.”

That, like nothing else, is what tamps down my frustration.

My mom’s worried?

“Fuck,” I mutter, any vestiges of my drunkenness disappearing like so much smoke.

“Yeah,” she says, slamming down a bowl and dumping ingredients inside. “Exactly.” A nod to my cell, sitting haphazardly on the coffee table where I must have left it before I put it on Do Not Disturb and passed out.

And also why I hadn’t heard it ring?—

I unlock it, glance at the screen, see that the battery is low, and…

That there are twenty calls and near-on one hundred messages.

Damn.

They weren’t all directed at me—the bulk were from our family’s group chat. Pictures of the kids, comments on how cute they are, an event at Frankie’s shop with all of Stoneybrook seeming to show up. Misty had knitted a new blanket for Chloeand they were planning a summer trip and wanted opinions on where to go.

But a handfulweresent only to me.

Damn.

I scroll through them, delete the voicemails without listening to them—the transcripts my phone shows me are enough.

They’re worried.

But most especially my mom.

I hit the button for her contact listing, lift the phone to my ear when the call connects and begins ringing.

And doesn’t finish.

Because she picks up almost immediately.

Double damn.

“Cam, honey,” she says quickly. “Are you okay?”

Not good enough. Not ever enough.

The thoughts cut deeply, but there will be plenty of time for guilt later. “I’m fine, Mom. Sorry I worried you. I was playing with my friends, had a bit too much to drink, and was sleeping it off.”

There’s a long moment of silence.

“It’s summer, remember?” I find myself filling in the quiet, not wanting to hear the disappointment that I know is sure to follow. “We worked our asses off, and I just…needed a break. Don’t worry,” I add with a laugh. “I’m not twenty-one anymore. The hangover isn’t worth it. Neither are the extra hours I’ll have to do in the gym to make up for the crap I’ve been eating the last few days.”

“Oh, honey,” she says, and her next words tell me that I’ve curbed her worry and focused her on the right thing.

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