Page 54 of Their Arrangement
My back hit the gravestone with a wet, hollow thud.
Cold marble bit into my spine.
My breath caught.
Rain slid down my cheeks.
The photo slipped from my hands.
It fluttered to the ground between us, already curling at the corners.
He saw it.
Wolfe looked down.
At Camille’s laughing face.
At mine beside her.
Happy.
Untouched.
Before.
His eyes changed.
Not softened.
Broken.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
His hands opened and closed at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.
He stepped back.
One pace.
Two.
The distance didn’t help.
He looked at me like I’d stabbed him.
Like he’d just realized what he’d done.
Where we were.
Who wewere.
I didn’t speak.
Couldn’t.
Not with my spine pressed to Camille’s name.
Not with his guilt soaking the air like a second storm.
