Page 106 of Beyond Oblivion

“I’m trying.” It sounded weak, even to me.

“Are you, though?” she asked, finally looking at me. Her gaze was sharp, cutting through every excuse I wanted to give.

I had to pause before speaking my next words, fighting tears. “Help me,” I begged, my voice barely above a whisper.

She dumped her coffee into the sink, slung her purse over her shoulder, and walked over to me, cupping my jaw with her hands. “Stop drinking yourself into oblivion, and cry with me until it feels like you’re not going to die from the pain. You can’t heal what you refuse to feel.”

She leaned in, her lips pressing against my cheek in a gesture that wasn’t tender or forgiving. It carried a quiet heaviness, full of fatigue and a sadness that told me she was nearing her breaking point. In that moment, I felt the truth I’d been running from—if I didn’t face my pain, if I didn’t fight for us, I was going to lose the most important person in my life. Without another word, she walked to the front door, her movements slow but deliberate. The door clicked shut, the lingering silence she left behind an undeniable, final warning.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Camille

Skin Deep was too quiet, and I hated it. Trenton had been out for weeks. The void that had settled between us was now suffocating the one place usually bustling enough to drown out even my deepest anxieties. The laughter that always followed playful jabs between our little work family, the late-night kisses as I closed out the system, the loud but loving way he always shouted for me when he needed something—he’d taken it all with him when he left. Now, it was just me, Hazel, Sylvie, and Beck, a handful of clients drifting in and out, Hazel’s questionable playlist playing over the shop speakers and the endlessly ringing phone.

I glanced at the clock. An hour to go, but the day had already drained me. Handling the chaos caused by Trenton canceling every session he’d had on the books, I was stretched so thin I could feel myself starting to snap. The phone rang again, shrill and persistent, and I clenched my jaw before picking up the receiver off its cradle.

“Skin Deep,” I answered, forcing myself to sound polite.

The man on the other end immediately launched into a rant about his twice-canceled appointment, how he’d booked his first one six months ago, how unprofessional it was that Trenton hadn’t even bothered to call himself. I apologized, tried my best to smooth things over, and then hung up as quickly as I could without angering him more. The phone rang again almost immediately.

“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath, letting it go to voicemail this time.

Hazel emerged from the back, peeling off her gloves after giving her station another round of sanitizing—probably her second or third time of the day. She climbed onto the stool behind the counter, her expression a blend of weariness and quiet concern. “Did Montgomery end up booking?”

I shook my head.

She threw her used gloves in the trash, frustrated. “Without Trent’s clients, this place isn’t going to keep this place afloat much longer. Have you heard back from Bishop? We have to get in at least one temporary big-name replacement.”

I frowned. “I know, and not yet.”

“How are his rescheduled clients taking getting cancelled again?”

I laughed dryly, motioning to the blinking light signaling there were numerous voicemails. “Not bad, considering I’ve only wanted to throw the phone through the window a dozen times.”

She didn’t laugh. Instead, her expression softened, her voice gentle. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you… the memorial for the baby was beautiful. I know it must have been so hard, but you poured so much love into it. Everyone could feel that.” Her eyes shifted toward me, careful, like she wasn’t sure if her words would bring comfort or reopen wounds. “The way you spoke during the eulogy—the way you captured so much love for someone you never even had the chance to meet—it was incredible. It was raw and honest but still somehow full of hope. It meant so much to everyone.”

“Not everyone,” I grumbled.

“Yes,everyone,” Sylvie said, gripping the corner of the hall.

Behind her, Beck stood with the same somber expression he’d worn since I’d returned to work. Trenton and I weren’t the only ones mourning—we’d all lost the baby. The grief stretched through the shop, settling into the spaces where joy used to be.

Hazel placed her hand over mine, her impossibly long thumb and fingernails fanning out past each side of my wrist like delicate, manicured talons. “It meant more to Trent than anyone. Even if he didn’t show it. It’s just his version of being strong, especially for you. But… I’m glad Raegan was there.” She hesitated, her expression falling. “How’s Trent doing?”

My stomach dropped, the way it always inquired about his misery. I couldn’t lie to her, not when Hazel had been there for me at every turn—the highs, the lows, the suffering that had broken Trenton and me in ways we didn’t know how to fix.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice trembling. “He’s… not himself. And I don’t know how to bring him back.”

Hazel leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter. “It’s not on you to fix him. You know that, right?”

I blinked hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. “But it is. I’m his wife. If I don’t fight for him, who will?”

“You can only do so much,” she said softly. “The rest is on him.”

Her words were meant to comfort me, but they fell short, instead making the ache in my chest worse. “What if it changes him forever? When Mackenzie died, he dropped out of college. He was never the same,” I whispered. “How do I watch him slip further and further away until the day comes when I have to accept he’s no longer the man I married?”

She snorted. “Trent was a fucking heathen before Mackenzie died. After, he was softer. He appreciated life and the people he loved more. Maybe after he goes through this… transformation, or whatever it is, he’ll come out better on the other side. I’m not saying you have to be an emotional punching bag, but it might be worth it to be patient while he works through it. I always think about caterpillars—how they have to break down completely during their transformation before they emerge bigger, stronger, more beautiful. He’s falling apart right now, Cami, and I know it’s hard to watch, but it doesn’t mean he’ll stay that way.”

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