Page 93 of Beyond Oblivion

The call ended and I pocketed my phone. Camille was in the kitchen, moving like she was made of glass. She looked at me but didn’t really see me, her face pale and drawn.

“You all right?” I asked, leaning against the counter, watching her carefully.

She forced a smile. “I’m fine,” she said, turning to head for the bathroom.

A minute later, the sound of running water broke the silence. Camille had been quieter lately, like she’d rewound herself to before the pregnancy—closed off, carrying something heavier than the rest of us. Watching her struggle without knowing why? That was a special kind of hell. It twisted my guts into knots so tight I could feel it in my chest. If I asked, she wouldn’t tell me. If I pushed, it only made things worse. So, there I was—self-appointed protector of everything that mattered—feeling like I was guarding a fortress I wasn’t even allowed inside of.

“You can tell me, you know,” I said, standing in the doorway.

Camille was washing her face, her mascara streaked around her eyes and down her cheeks. She paused, staring in the mirror. “I can’t.”

“You’re the second person who’s told me that today.”

“Who else?” she asked, turning to me.

“Lachlan. He knows who was outside the shop tonight, but he can’t tell me. Says they’re being investigated. But somehow, he knows. It’s all weird to me, and I feel like I’m fighting a room full of people blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back.”

Camille rinsed her face, dried it, and then reached in the shower to turn on the water. She took off her top and then held it against her chest, facing me but not making eye contact. “Babe…”

After a few moments of silence, I sucked in a breath. “You know who it is, don’t you?”

Her eyes flashed to mine, already filling with tears. “Yes, but it was on accident. I wasn’t supposed to know, and it’s dangerous to know.”

I pushed off the door jamb. “How the fuck do you know? How is it everyone can know but me?”

“Because it’s not our secret to tell,” she said, her tone begging. “Trent, I don’t want to keep this from you. I don’t even want to know, but I do and I don’t have a choice.”

I pointed to my chest. “I’m your husband.”

“I know,” she said, walking over to hug me. “And I’m your wife. It’s not because I don’t trust you. It’s because it’s dangerous for you, for someone you love, and I was hoping”—she leaned back to meet my gaze—”that you’d understand. That you know me and know if I’m keeping something from you, it’s for a very good reason, something that you’d agree with, too.”

“Is it Dad?” I asked. “Someone he pissed off before he retired?”

Camille turned from me. “No. Please don’t ask any more questions.”

“Is it Travis?”

Camille pushed her pants over her hips and stepped into the shower, closing her eyes as the water streamed over her hair and face.

Travis.

Law enforcement.

A group of people with a vendetta.

The fire.

It had to be the fire.

Lachlan ran in security circles before he was Travis’s boss, so it made sense that he knew. But why Camille? I thought about when she’d been around them, visiting Abby. My memory flashed back to the day she said Abby and Liis had been weird. The day that Thomas and Liis visited, she wasn’t herself for days. Thomas and Liis walked over to hear what Lachlan had to say at Dad’s. It was all of them. They were all in on it somehow, Camille had figured it out, and they’d made her promise not to tell me. To protect someone?Who?Someone who would suffer if the group used Madison’s stalking intel to hurt Camille or me. Travis or Thomas—or both of them.

My brain flipped Olympic-level somersaults, trying to make sense of the information I had, but I couldn’t quite get to the finish line. What I did know is Camille’s expression told me she hated keeping me in the dark, and whatever it was, she was right. I did believe she’d only keep that promise to protect me.

I opened the shower door. “Babe?”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, keeping her head down, water dripping from her nose and chin. “I hate this. Please don’t ask.”

“Okay,” I said simply.

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