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“We’ll be strong together. We’ll always have each other.”
“Cooper?” Fuck.
Story’s eyes leave mine and narrow on the owner of that voice—Camille. When I turn around, Camille has almost reached us. It’s not her presence that has me tucking Story out from the line of fire. It’s the folder she’s tapping in her hands.
Fuck my life. And the next after this, for that matter.
I turn back to Story, knowing I have no time left to prepare her for the onslaught of what’s about to happen. Grabbing her arms, I lean down and look into her eyes. “You have to listen to me. Whatever they say, you can’t believe it, okay?”
“What? Why?”
“Please, just trust me. Trust. Me. Story. Only me.” I hand her the claim check to my car. “Go home, and I’ll be there later to explain.”
“What’s happening?” she asks, panic already set into her eyes.
“Go, babe. It’s okay. I promise you. It will all work out how it’s supposed to.” I don’t know why I say that other than I can feel the walls closing in and the cage ready to fall over my head.
Her gaze darts from Camille to me. “Cooper?”
“Go. It’s okay. I’ll be there later.” I kiss her quickly.
She starts walking away, slowly at first, and then she says, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Camille comes closer, and asks, “What are you doing, silly goose?” She watches Story rush across the lawn to the valet stand and then turns back to me with a fake smile on her face. “Aw, poor thing. Did you guys have a fight?” She touches my brow to brush my hair aside, but I duck away.
It was always best when I ignored her and removed myself from the situation, but I have a feeling that won’t work this time. I start for the house anyway.
Camille says, “Your dad wanted me to give this to you. I think it’s something about her mom?” The doe-eyed innocence she’s aiming for is lost on me. I see her for who she is. I always did.
She starts rambling like this is just another day in paradise. When I reach the house again, I turn back to see Story driving away. Not sure if she can see me in her rearview mirror, but I wave just in case she can.
Camille reaches the bottom step, and asks, “When are you going to stop fighting against a system that’s rigged in your favor?”
“I love her, but you’ll never understand because you conflate happiness with a bank account. They’re not the same thing.”
“You’re right, but you need to decide whose happiness is worth more to you—yours or Story’s?”
“Story’s. Always hers.”
She comes up the steps and hands me the file. “If that’s true, sign the contract, and let’s start our life then.”
Story can get a new degree. It’s a glitch they’ve rigged. She’ll take a class or two over, and I’ll pay her way. She’ll be disappointed, but we’ll be together.
Maybe she’ll want to know her mom’s real name. We can overcome these threats together. We’re enough. Our love will be enough for us.
I need to find a ride back to Atterton. I can hole up in my room, take anything that ever mattered, and get the hell out of here when the car arrives. I take the file, not naïve enough to believe it’s the only copy, and start inside.
“She’ll end up hating you, Cooper.” I stop and look back, her voice sounding genuine. “You know as well as I do that she’ll be gone when it becomes unbearable. And it will be . . . her life will be unbearable if you choose her. What’s in that file will change everything.”
“Tell me something, Camille, you’re okay with marrying me and having a kid with me, knowing I despise everything about you? And all for money and the Haywood last name?”
“I’m jealous that you feel anything other than numbness. I’m envious of Story because you love her. I don’t know what I want anymore. Everything you said before Christmas still plays on a loop in my head.” She comes closer and looks around before whispering, “I’m not strong like she is, but I’ll be a good wife to you.”
My gaze volleys between her eyes, not an ounce of lie found in them. “But I can’t be a good husband to you.” I walk inside and take the stairs by two. As soon as I get inside my childhood bedroom, I lock the door and flip open the file.
The kinds of threats thrown out today will only work if they’re backed in substance. I also believe my father has more tricks up his sleeve than a bomb with a faulty detonator. The degree aside, I don’t think Story would mind knowing her mom’s real name based on discussions we’ve had before.
Scanning each page rapidly, I search for the bombshell that must be hidden in here. There’s nothing, though . . . until the last page.
