Page 66 of Knotted Laces

Cam’s grip tightens then loosens, as though he’s worried he’ll hurt me.

As though he’s worried I could feel anything except for icy cold right now.

“So, you aren’t going to send me my money?”

“Goodbye, Mom,” I say by way of answer. “I wish you well. If you change your mind about rehab or the food, please let me know.”

“Athena Phillips”—there’s desperation in her voice now—“don’t you fucking dare hang up on?—”

I hit the button and disconnect the call.

The silence that’s left behind in its wake is terrible.

Then Cam curses quietly and gets up.

My heart sinks as I stare down at my phone, watching her call back, listening to it buzz.

I showed him.

I made him see.

And now he’s going to leave.

The call cuts off.

Starts up again.

I reach for my phone but a big hand takes it from me, rejects the call and turns the whole thing off.

I blink.

Look up to see that he hasn’t left.

That he’s here—right next to me.

“Come here, cupcake.”

Before I can so much as turn my head, Cam’s tugging me out of the chair, wrapping me tightly in his arms. One hand sinks into my hair, the other rubs lightly up and down my back.

“I—”

“Shh,” he says quietly. “I don’t need an explanation.”

“She’s terrible,” I whisper.

“Yes.”

That he agrees without preamble does something to me—cracks through the ice, I guess. Though any hope of shielding myself from him has already splintered and melted into nothing these last few days.

There are so many reasons for me to keep my distance—not the least of which includes that fucked-up phone call—but…

I can’t seem to locate any.

Reasons and self-control and distance.

Not with him hugging me tightly.

The words just…

---