by Kate Stacy
The more I think about it, the more I realize she’s been acting differently since before she met my family. She’s carrying twins. I would think she’d eat way more than she does, but it seems she has no appetite lately. She’s also more tired than usual. I chalked it up to the pregnancy and the morning sickness she so often had, but now I wonder if there’s something more to it. What isn’t she telling me?
Hannah has been spending a lot of time with Camille lately, and normally I wouldn’t want to bring her into adult problems, but now that my mind is on alert to whatever’s going on with Camille, I’m worried. If something is going on that’s affecting her health—I need to know. It’s my responsibility to look out for her, and our unborn children.
With this in mind, I turn to my daughter for help.
Hannah is spending the day with my mom since my schedule is full and I won’t be home until late tonight. I have to drop her off at Mom’s before I pick Camille up for her monthly appointment. On the way, I decide to ask her about Camille.
“Hey, kiddo? You’ve been spending a lot of time with Camille. Have you noticed anything different about her? Maybe her acting a little strange?”
Taking my eyes off the road, I glance over at her. I can tell she’s thinking about my question. Hannah’s nothing if not honest, so I know if there’s something there, she’ll tell me.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t noticed much, but there’s a couple times she’s been kinda jumpy.”
“What do you mean?”
“The day she picked me up from school. When I opened the door to get in, she almost came out of her seat. She said she was spacing out, so I startled her. I don’t know. She was looking around a lot after that, but I didn’t say anything since she said nothing was wrong. It was kinda weird.”
“Is that the only time?”
“It’s the main one I can think of. Sometimes she seems more quiet than usual. I thought maybe she was just tired. Is Cami okay, daddy?”
I knew she’d ask. Kid’s too smart for her own good. It’s part of the reason I wouldn’t normally ask her about something like this.
“I’m sure she is, kiddo. I think maybe something’s bothering her, and maybe she’s not ready to talk about it with us yet. Nothing to worry about.”
The words feel bitter as they leave my mouth. I’m a hypocrite, telling my daughter not to worry when I just surpassed worry. What the hell is going on with Camille?
Hannah takes me at my word, changing the subject to everything she plans to do with my mom today. Listening to her rambling on does nothing to ease my tension. My brain goes haywire thinking over every interaction I’ve had with Camille in the last few weeks, searching for any clue, any small hint of what could be going on with her. Something isn’t right. I know that. I only wish I had a clue what could be wrong.
Pregnancy-induced hypertension.
The words sit like a rock in the bottom of my stomach as I lead Camille back to my truck.
High blood pressure. Weight loss. Lack of appetite.
The doctor is concerned. Hell, I’m concerned.
It could just be high blood pressure, but it could also be an early sign of a bigger, more serious problem. We don’t know yet. Aside from her blood pressure and weight loss (which isn’t much), Dr. Khaskia said everything looks good. She did a quick ultrasound to check the babies’ development, finding nothing concerning there. As of now, there aren’t any signs of a more serious problem, but the doctor collected urine and blood samples to run some additional tests. Camille is already at a higher risk because she’s having twins.
Dr. Khaskia told us not to worry until we know more.
Even now, I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I think about that statement.
Don’t worry.
How the hell can I not?
Right now, we’re playing a wait and see game. We’re supposed to minimize Camille’s stress and make sure she’s eating properly. I can make sure she eats. No problem. That’s easy enough to do. Minimizing her stress? How the fuck am I supposed to do that when I don’t know what’s causing her stress? She doesn’t seem to want to let me in on the secret. As I help her into my truck, I bite back the growl trying to rumble up from my chest.
Once I’m in the truck, I look over at Camille. She’s terrified. It’s written all over her face and seeing it kills me. I need to know what’s going on, but I can’t force her to talk to me.
“I have some time before my shift. Wanna grab some lunch?”
She turns her head toward me and smiles. “Sure.” Her eyes close as she rests her head against the seat. “I’m kinda tired though. Can we grab something to go and eat at my apartment?”
“Yeah, we can do that.”
The appointment and the worry about her health has already taken a lot out of her today. With any luck, she’ll be too tired to argue with me when I try to get her to open up about whatever’s been bothering her lately. I know I said I can’t force her to talk to me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try to get it out of her anyway. I can’t keep ignoring my gut instinct that she’s hiding something serious.
Thirty minutes later, I pull up out front of her building and we make our way up to her apartment. Once I’ve got her comfortably settled on the couch, I fix us each a plate and we tuck into our food. I’m dying to talk to her, but I want to make sure she eats first. I don’t want a repeat of dinner at my mom’s house where she doesn’t finish her meal.
We eat in a mostly comfortable silence.
We’re both trying to absorb all the information we were given at her appointment. I know I am. I can’t begin to guess what’s going through her head. Sometimes she’s an open book, but she also has this ability to lock everything down and shut everyone out. I hate when she does it because it forces my protective instinct to the surface. It makes me want to know who hurt her, who caused her to react to negativity by shutting down.
Camille thinks she has to take on the whole world by herself.
She couldn’t be more wrong.
She has me now.
“How are you feeling?” I ask when she sets her empty plate on the table.
She burps loudly, covering her mouth as her eyes go wide. “Excuse me.” She laughs. “Guess I was hungrier than I thought. Now I’m ready for a nap,” she says, rubbing her belly.
I chuckle because she’s adorable.
I can’t let her cuteness deter me from my mission.
“About what the doctor said…” I start. “I don’t want you to stress. Tell me how I can help you, how I can relieve some of your stress.”
“I’m trying not to stress, not to worry too much about what she said. I’m taking it seriously, but if I worry, I stress, and then I stress about my stress...which is exactly what I’m supposed to be avoiding.” She sighs. “Blah. I’m not making any sense.”
“I get what you’re saying. What’s got you stressed though? Aside from the doctor appointment today.”
“Everything. Nothing. It’s not any one thing.” She pulls her legs up onto the couch, tucking them under her as much as she possibly can. Like she wants to make herself seem small. It’s a defense mechanism I haven’t seen from her until now, and I don’t like it. “I don’t know. Work. This pregnancy. Trying to navigate this relationship with you...”
“I’m stressing you out?”
I angle my body closer to her, wanting to comfort her, but for once, I’m not sure if it’s the right move.
“No. Not you directly. I’m just...scared, I guess. I’m afraid I’ll screw something up, and I’m already so attached to you. And to Hannah.”
Her eyes fill with tears and I can’t stand the distance between us anymore. I slide over and wrap my arm around her, pulling her body to my chest.
“Baby. I’m not going anywhere.” Feeling wetness dripping onto my shirt, I kiss the top of her head. “We’re still new, still getting to know each other, but we’re good. I’m sure we’ll run i
nto a problem between us eventually—because neither of us is perfect—and when it happens, we’ll talk it out. I spent months wanting you, Camille. I’m not letting go now that I’ve got you. Count on that.”
She sniffles, nodding her head. “Okay.”
Loosening my hold, I lean back and palm her face, tilting her head to look at me. “We good?”
“Yeah.” She smiles. “We’re good.”
I brush the tears from her cheeks and kiss her softly, groaning when she moves her hand to the back of my neck. Camille deepens the kiss, seriously testing my willpower. “Hate to say it, gorgeous, but I gotta head out. Can’t be late for my shift.”
I grumble when she playfully pouts.
I wish I could stay. I don’t want to leave any more than she wants me to go.
I don’t miss the fact that we aren’t able to finish our conversation. I still don’t know the full extent of what’s stressing her, but I’m not giving up.
Unfortunately, duty calls.
TWENTY-ONE
Camille
“See you ladies on Monday!” I call over my shoulder as I leave the salon. A chorus of cheerful goodbyes follows me out the door.
I finished with my last client about an hour ago, but I stuck around so Ginger could give me a trim. Pregnancy does wonders for a girl’s hair and nails, but my hair was starting to get a little out of control.
It’s far earlier than I’d usually leave work for the day, but this is my new normal. Finding out about my high blood pressure at the doctor last week was the kick in the ass I apparently needed to make some changes. I’m too stressed. Physically and mentally.
The first step to lessen my stress was to cut back my hours at work. I’m nearing the end of my second trimester and I can’t pretend that standing on my feet for eight to ten hours a day wasn’t wearing on me. Ginger and I talked, working out a new schedule for me. We cut my hours way back, allowing me to only work half-days Monday through Friday with weekends off. Best boss ever.
I’m happy with my new hours. My body damn sure isn’t complaining.
I haven’t seen much of Ryan since last week. We’re on opposite schedules again, which sucks royally. We talk every day, but I haven’t had the chance to tell him about the text messages because I want to tell him in person. The calls and texts are a big source of my most recent stress. I want to know if there’s a way to find out who’s sending them, and how I can get them to stop.
Blocking the number on my phone doesn’t work for more than a day before the texts start coming from a different number. I’ve stopped reading the messages. I no longer bother opening them and immediately block the number as they come in, for all the good that does.
Digging around in my purse for my keys while I walk to my car, I decide to grab lunch and head over to the station. Ryan mentioned this morning that he has a ton of paperwork to do. Maybe if I pop in, he can spare a few minutes for me.
Finally finding my keys, I unlock my car.
Something in my peripheral catches my attention.
A deep burgundy rose rests on my windshield, held down by the wiper. Beneath it, a small white envelope, my name scrawled across the front in barely legible writing.
I’m frozen in place.
Eyes locked on the objects on my car.
I don’t reach for them.
I don’t know how long I stand in that spot, staring at the seemingly harmless flower and envelope, but a voice breaks me out of my trance. Macy’s voice.
“Bestie!”
Inhaling deeply, I gather myself and turn toward the direction of her voice. I watch as she skips—yes, skips—across the small lot. She reaches me, eyes catching the sight of the rose on my window.
“Aww! How sweet! Baby daddy left you a love note.”
She reaches for it, but my hand darts out to stop her.
Ryan isn’t responsible for this. I couldn’t tell you how I know, but I do.
Still gripping her wrist, I stare at the dark red flower again, dread washing over me.
“Cami?”
My gaze shifts to my best friend and I see the worry, the questions written all over her face. I don’t know how to answer them. I’m not sure I want to.
Pulling herself free from my grip, she reaches out again, but my voice stops her this time, “Don’t.”
Her hands move to her hips. “Tell me what the hell is going on, Cami. Why won’t you let me open it?”
“It’s not from Ryan,” I say, my voice barely a whisper, but it’s enough. She hears me.
Pushing back the fear that’s taken up residence in my mind, I snatch the rose from the windshield, desperate to get it away from me.
“Shit!” I hiss through my teeth.
The rose falls to the ground as I jerk my hand back.
My eyes move to my hand, watching the blood surface on my fingertips.
Fucking thorns.
“Cami?” Macy questions again, a tremor in her voice pulling me out of daze. “What the fuck is this? Is this some sort of sick joke?”
A mirthless chuckle bubbles up. “I wish.”
I’m not even sure I want to know what the note says, but Macy passes it to me, and I look down at the words scrawled across the paper in the same messy handwriting.
You can’t ignore me forever, Camille. I’ll always find you. I’m always watching.
My breath hitches, a knot forms in my throat. Tears fall freely down my face as I look up at my best friend and admit one of my secrets.
“Someone’s stalking me.”
Without a word, she pulls me toward a bench at the side of the building.
Smart.
We probably need to sit for this conversation.
“Talk, Camille. Don’t leave anything out.”
I give in to her demand. I tell her everything.
The first text, every text that followed. The calls. The new numbers. The minute I realized it wasn’t random. How afraid I was that someone was watching me. How the fear elevated knowing I had Hannah with me. My indecision about telling Ryan and what it would mean. My worry that there’s nothing that can be done. I let it all out. Every worry. Every fear.
I tell her about all the times it’s felt like someone’s watching me.
I don’t even like being at home anymore because my sister is always gone.
I admit that I thought it was a prank at first, a wrong number. Even once I knew the messages weren’t a mistake, once I knew they were meant for me, I still didn’t want to believe it was really happening. This whole situation has me stressed out and on edge. It’s fucking with my appetite, my sleep, my health, my pregnancy.
And now this.
A physical representation of everything I’ve tried to ignore.
I can’t ignore this.
The rose. The note. They only prove that this asshole is actually watching me.
What was annoyance and frustration has morphed into pure fear.
I’m afraid of whatever’s coming next.
“Cami, this is fucking insane. What are you gonna do? Please tell me you’re going to tell Ryan. Or Holden. You have to tell someone.”
“Not Holden.”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Camille? Did you not learn anything from Madalyn and the shit she went through?” She huffs out a breath. “I can maybe understand why you haven’t told anyone yet, but that’s no longer an option. This,” she says, holding up the note, “is on a whole other level, a serious fucking level. Keeping this a secret is just plain stupid. You know damn well I’m right.”
“I know. I was already planning on stopping in to see Ryan. I wanted to talk to him about the texts. Guess I have even more to tell him now.”
She’s quiet for a minute.
“Any idea who this psycho could be?”
“Psycho?”
Her shoulder lifts. “Seemed fitting.”
She’s not wrong.
“I wish I knew. If I
did, it’d be easier to put a stop to all of it.”
“Guess it’s a good thing you got knocked up by a cop, huh?” She nudges me with her elbow, waggling her brows.
Laughing, I shove her away from me.
Macy always knows how to break the tension when it’s getting to be too much.
I’m a little calmer, but I still feel uneasy.
“Do you want me to go with you? I’m supposed to be at the hospital in an hour for my shift, but I can call in.”
“No but thank you. I’m gonna grab lunch and head over to see him. That was my plan before…”
She nods, knowing where I was headed.
Together, we walk back to my car. I can tell she doesn’t want to leave me on my own, but I promise her I’m okay. Macy bends down, retrieving the rose still lying on the pavement where we left it. Carefully, she places it in my hand.
I leave her with a hug and a promise to text her later.
I head toward Ryan. Toward comfort and safety.
All while trying to ignore the mix of burgundy and white haunting me from the seat next to mine.
TWENTY-TWO
Ryan
A knock on the doorframe pulls my attention from the reports I’ve been working on since I came in. I hate fucking paperwork. Looking up from the stack of reports, I see Morris smiling at me. I raise my brows, wondering why the hell he’s bothering me when we’re both behind on paperwork.
He grins wider at my silent question and I’m half-tempted to throw my damn stapler at him.
“You’ve got a visitor,” he says, stepping aside.
I perk up when Camille steps through the door, no longer bothered by the interruption.
“Is it a bad time?” she asks.
“Not at all. I could use a break. C’mere.”
Morris turns to leave, tapping on the door before pulling it closed behind him. I silently thank him with a tip of my head.
