Page 231 of Corrupting Camille
Then a beat passes.
“No.”
I nod against him. “Okay.”
Because I know him. I know how much it costs him to say even that.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “If you ever want to talk.”
He doesn’t answer.
But his arm tightens.
And his breath hitches.
I can’t see his face, but I feel it, how hard he’s holding onto me. Like I’m the only thing in the world not slipping away from him.
Later, in the dark, when I think he’s asleep, I trace the scar on his side with my fingers.
He catches my wrist.
Not hard.
Just enough to stop me.
His voice is a whisper in the dark, broken and low.
“They were following you.”
I freeze.
He says nothing else. He doesn’t explain. Doesn’t tell me what he did or who he found.
Just that.
They were following you.
I turn in his arms, heart thudding painfully, and look up at him in the dark. His eyes are open. Watching me.
I want to ask more. Want to press.
But I don’t.
Instead, I reach up and cup his face, my thumb brushing his cheekbone.
“You found them?” I whisper.
He nods.
“And?”
“They won’t try again.”
I swallow hard.
“Good,” I say softly.
And it is. It should be.
