Staying For You Page 22

  “Camilla Moore.”

  That gets my attention. Is this…

  Is this jerkoff Cami’s ex-husband?

  He looks smug. I just gave him the exact reaction that he was aiming for. Dammit. “Yeah. That’s my wife you’ve been screwing.”

  “I think you mean ex.” I know a lot of things and even though Cami and I may have had our miscommunications, I know one thing’s for certain. She told me she was divorced and I have no doubt in my mind that she was being truthful there.

  “Is that what she said? Hmm.” He doesn’t deny that they’re divorced. Just tries to manipulate his words into making it seem that she was lying.

  “It is. She also let me know that you’ve been squatting in her house. Got a stripper pregnant. Oh, and that you’re a piece of shit.” She didn’t use those words exactly but they were implied, I’m sure.

  “Squatting?! That lying bitch!”

  I somehow stay calm when I chuckle. “Hey now. Scott, is it?” His eyes darken at my use of his name. “That’s no way to speak of your wife, do you think?”

  He scowls and I know this time, I don’t give him the reaction he was looking for.

  “Listen. I don’t know what Cami told you but she’s a habitual liar. Bipolar, actually,” he adds on as if he’s just coming up with the story as he goes. He starts walking toward me like I’m a scared little animal, about to run away if he gets too close. He’s wrong though. I don’t run away from predators. Or assholes.

  “Is that so?”

  “It is. I’m sorry you got caught up in her fray. I know she seems like a cool chick and fairly normal but trust me, she’s far from it. I’ve been dealing with it for a long time now.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” I tell him even though the only thing I’m sorry about is the fact that he’s a giant douchebag who’s trying to spread terrible things about Cami.

  “It’s been hard, but yeah, I’m kind of her caretaker. She’s never gone this far off the deep end before, though.” He scoffs and shakes his head like he’s sad. “She actually left me. Broke my fucking heart. She’s the love of my life, you know?” He’s really laying it on thick, walking closer, clutching his damn heart. My word. If he wasn’t such a bad actor, I’d actually struggle not to believe him. “She even changed the locks and sent the police in after me when I was finally able to get into my own home. Kicked out of my own home! Can you believe it?” His lies just tumble out of his mouth, he’s such an idiot.

  “You’re a saint. Dealing with all that.” The words taste like bile in my mouth but I say them anyway. The problem with guys like him, their narcissism knows no bounds. He probably believes everything he’s saying as if there’s some semblance of truth to it. And, part of me likes feeding him full of bullshit just like he’s doing to me. Seeing the way he thinks he’s besting me. Dillhole.

  “Nah. This is what you do for the people you love, you know?”

  “Right.”

  He shifts on his feet and fuck if the evil look in his eye doesn’t make my stomach twist. “So where is she? I’m here to take her home.”

  Even if I had a clue where she was, I wouldn’t tell this toolbag. “I have no idea.”

  “Come on, now, don’t lie to me. I know she’s here. It took me a while but I tracked her down.”

  “For real, man. I’m not the liar here. I don’t know what to tell you, but she’s not here.”

  His stance takes on one full of anger as he advances toward me again. I can tell he’s about to snap. I have no idea why he wants to find her so badly, but he’s growing angrier by the second for me not giving her up. “She’s not well, man. Help me out and just tell me.”

  “You know, men like you? They don’t deserve the title of man. I don’t know who you think I am, but I do know that Camilla Moore is none of those things. Not a single one. She’s good and sweet and kind. Funny and beautiful and so fucking fun to be around. And she’s divorced. I know this to be true as well as I know my own name. So I’ll tell you this just once. Get the fuck off my property and go back to whatever hole you crawled out of. Cami’s not here. She left a week ago. I suggest you learn how to be a fucking adult and move the hell on and forget about her.”

  “Forget about that bitch? Right. She ruined me!”

  I get in his face and point at his chest. I was calm for long enough. He didn’t deserve it then, and after calling Cami a bitch more than once and saying everything he said, I’m done. “Man, you are not hearing what I’m saying. Get the hell off my property. I know Cami. And two seconds in your presence and I knew you. You’re the most transparent piece of shit I’ve ever met in my life.”

  He looks at me closely, assessing. I’ve got about thirty pounds and a few inches on him and he realizes that. Still… it doesn’t stop him from shoulder checking me as he passes by to get to the staircase behind me.

  I grip his bicep, or where his bicep should be if he were even remotely strong, and growl, “You want to try to start something with me? Go ahead. I’m in a helluva mood and looking for a way to get out some of this frustration.”

  Unlike when Cami slapped me, which I deserved, I see his fist coming and dodge it easily. But he doesn’t see mine coming at him, too. I punch his gut and he doubles over, grunting and cursing. Once he stands up, I taunt him a little. “Want to keep going?”

  Apparently, he does, because when he raises his head, all I see is crazy eyes staring back at me before he charges. Dipping low and rushing at me with his shoulder into my stomach, I lose my footing and that’s when I realize my mistake. Standing in front of the staircase, I don’t have anywhere to go but down.

  I fall, landing with a hard thud against the stairs and flip over, somersaulting backward down the stairs. I feel something pop in my shoulder and my head slams hard against the edge of one of the wooden steps. Then something snaps in my leg on a trip over and when I land on the hard concrete at the base of the staircase with my head smacking against the ground, everything goes dark.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Cami

  I’m unpacking my car from my trip. Today would have been my last day at The Escape and the significance of already being at home and sad isn’t lost on me. Exhausted from driving alone and everything else. I decided to stay one extra day in the hotel because the hotel has laundry services and I must have looked pathetic enough that they said they would help me out with all my clothes. When I packed up from the cabin, I threw everything in together so I didn’t even know what was clean and dirty anymore. The charge for them to do my laundry was insane but it was worth the money.

  Now that I’m home, I don’t have to worry about a day’s worth of laundry and I can get to work putting my house on the market. Something I decided on after talking with the police earlier today who informed me that Scott had once again snuck into the house. This time, though, he was using a freaking headlamp for light. They did a drive-by and saw lights moving around in the house that looked suspicious. When they knocked on the door, he made up a story about the power being out and continued with his lie that he owned the house and belonged there.

  I no longer want to live here or be surrounded by memories of him so I’m starting the process of selling and I’ll decide where I want to live later. Right now, I just know that this house isn’t my home. I’d rather stay almost anywhere than in this house but the fact is that Gretchen and my family are also here. But then again, so is Scott and his new pregnant girlfriend. Which means I’ll never be free of him or his presence in this small town.

  Walking around the house, I inspect all the nooks and crannies, grateful that nothing appears to be missing. He’s such an idiot.

  I received a call back from my lawyer who said he was on it, meaning that he was taking care of whatever he needed to in order to make sure that Scott never comes back into this house again.

  Before I start my day, which is a long list of finding someone to deep clean the house, calling the realtor, and contacting a moving company to help get everything p
acked and moved into a storage facility until I find a new home, I log into my computer to send Gretchen the rest of the chapters and check email again.

  Then I make the mistake of opening Facebook and checking my messages.

  Once again there is a message from Olivia Johnston but now there’s also one from Chloe Matthews.

  “What in the world?”

  I open Olivia’s first and scroll back through the earlier messages.

  Olivia Johnston: I know my brother was a dumbass but I hope that means we can still be friends. Hope all is well.

  Next message: Hey there. Can you let me know how you’re doing? Owen is concerned but said you won’t reply to him. (Don’t blame you there but seriously, he does care. Just had a crappy way of showing it.)

  Next message: I’m sorry to keep bothering you but really, if you can get back to me, I’d greatly appreciate it. Owen won’t talk to us and I don’t know what to do.

  Next message (sent late last night): Okay. Maybe you’re not online. Owen said you’d left so maybe you’re just driving but I saw you post in your reader group that you’re back in Tennessee so maybe you’re just ignoring me. Totally understandable if what I heard from Owen is true. I’ll say again, he’s a dumbass. But he really needs you. I hate to say this in a message but I don’t know how else to get in touch at this point. He was in an accident and was hurt. Call me.

  My face heats up and I gasp. As I click on Chloe’s message, my heart feels like it’s in my throat and the blood is roaring in my ears.

  Chloe Matthews: (sent early this morning) Hi, Cami, Olivia’s been trying to get in touch with you and I hate to tell you about it this way but I feel like you need to know because we’re all freaking out. Owen was in an accident and hurt pretty badly. He’s still in the hospital and Ethan and Olivia are up there with him but I think he needs you. I heard about what happened and understand completely if you don’t want to come. But truly, don’t let whatever his stupid ass did or say cloud how you feel. Here are the details of where he’s staying. Hope all is well.

  No.

  Accident? Hospital?

  My phone drops from my grip and I follow it, my knees hitting the carpet followed immediately by my hands. I’m going to throw up or pass out or maybe both. The last time I felt this way was when I found out my dad died.

  “No,” I whisper as tears flood my eyes.

  Scrambling for the phone, I call Olivia. We’d exchanged numbers and I realize too late that she’d sent me some text messages also but because I didn’t have her number programmed yet, they went into my Unknown Senders folder that I rarely check.

  “Stupid!” I hiss at myself just as she picks up the phone and answers, “Cami?”

  “It’s me! It’s me!”

  “Oh, thank goodness. Where are you?”

  “I’m um… I’m back in Tennessee. I’m at home.” The word home feels foreign as I look around my house. It doesn’t feel like home at all. After explaining where I am, Olivia says, “Ethan, look up this address. Find out how far away she is then go get her. She can’t drive on her own.”

  Alarm bells ring in my head and my stomach sinks. “What’s going on?”

  She’s quiet when she explains, “Owen’s in the hospital. He fell from the stairs on his deck as he was staining the wood.”

  I’m barely able to get the words out when I ask, “Is he okay?”

  “He is. Or he will be. Broken leg, dislocated shoulder, and a concussion but he’ll be okay. Eventually. He has rehab and physical therapy he’ll have to go through.”

  I move to my butt and sit down then start weeping. Crying so hard, snot is coming out and I’m having a hard time getting in a good breath.

  Olivia’s soft voice breaks through my crying. “Cami, there’s more.”

  “No.” I can’t take more. The last few days have been such a roller coaster of emotions, I truly can’t handle anything else.

  “Do you know where your ex-husband is?”

  That gets me to stop the tears abruptly. “Why?”

  “Well, I think… from what I know, anyway…”

  I stand from the floor and begin to pace. “Olivia. Out with it.”

  “Owen’s alert. And he said he had a little bit of a tiff with him before he fell, kind of pushed, actually, down the stairs.”

  “What?!” I shout.

  “Cami, he’s talked to the police. He might have been knocked unconscious but he remembers exactly what happened. They’re working on the details.”

  “Details?”

  “Of how it all happened. That your ex came up to the resort and was wanting to know where you were then he became aggressive. I guess Owen punched him in the stomach once, which sounds like it wasn’t enough, but Scott, your ex, right?”

  “Right.”

  “He had an advantage because Owen was standing at the top of the stairs on his deck. According to Owen, he charged him and Owen lost his footing. He went end over end down the stairs and when he came to, he was in an ambulance.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” I whisper just as my doorbell rings. “Just a second, okay, Olivia? Don’t go anywhere, alright?”

  “I’m here.”

  I make my way to the front door, wiping under my eyes and trying to get control of myself. The doorbell rings again and I pick up my pace.

  I open the door and mutter, “Shit.”

  “What? Who’s there?”

  “Olivia, I have to go. Text me the details. Tell Ethan I can make my way there on my own and do me a favor and let Owen know I’m coming. We’ve had enough miscommunication between us to last a lifetime. If he doesn’t want me there, let me know.”

  “He’ll want you here.” She’s so sure, no question in her mind. It brings me hope.

  “If that’s the case, then I’ll be there.”

  “Cami?”

  “Yeah?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the guest at my door.

  “I know shit went down and trust me when I say that driving up to The Escape and laying it on the line feels like you’re giving in or conceding, accepting things the way they are or submitting. Trust me, I get it. But it’s not that. Because I did the exact same thing once so I know. It’s not that. You can still stand your ground and show him the way you expect to be treated even while meeting him halfway. Or, in this case, all the way. It’s not that.”

  “Huh?”

  “With Ethan, I did the same. But I’ll explain it later. Maybe over wine again. Actually, crap, I can’t have wine right now but maybe over some herbal tea.”

  “Okay? Where are you going with this?” I ask, stepping aside and allowing the person at my door to walk through.

  “I just mean that this isn’t that.”

  “You said as much.”

  “If you come up to be by Owen’s side, that doesn’t mean you’re accepting defeat over anything that happened or not asking for more or not demanding him to show you that you’re worthy by running to you.”

  I don’t understand anything she’s saying right now because I’m far too distracted by the person standing before me.

  “Okay. I’ll just… I’ll call soon, okay? I need to go. I have someone at my door.”

  I hang up without hearing her say goodbye then tell my ex-husband’s pregnant stripper girlfriend to follow me to the living room. I have a feeling I’m going to need to be sitting down for whatever I’m about to hear.

  * * *

  “What’s your name?” I ask with not only authority but a little impatience. I just found out Owen was hurt because of my ex-husband, is in the hospital, and well, I don’t want to be here. Not one bit. I want to be searching for flights and getting on a plane so I can get to him. I don’t want to be sitting here with…

  “Don’t laugh.” I raise my eyebrows. What a strange way of starting out a conversation. “Helen.”

  I can’t help it. I giggle. Helen the pregnant stripper girlfriend is not what I expected.

  I also really need to stop referri
ng to her as the pregnant stripper girlfriend. It’s not nice, even if it’s true.

  She’s sitting on the couch, looking around the living room like she’s seeing everything with different eyes. She’s pretty, though she appears tired and a little rundown. And young. She couldn’t be much older than nineteen. She also looks like she’s trying to be someone she’s not. Long, bright blonde hair with dark roots, far too much makeup than she needs, a hot pink mini-skirt with a white top that would be tight even if she didn’t have a pregnant belly but with it, it’s borderline inappropriate. Thing is, though, she looks like she’s uncomfortable in her own skin. I want to strip her of the disguise and see what’s underneath because I’m certain she’s beautiful. “Okay, Helen. Care to tell me why you’re here? And just to say, I’m in a rush. I just found out some bad news and I need not to be here so I’d love if we could push this along and quickly.”

  She doesn’t hesitate or look away for a second before she announces. “Scott’s a psychopath.”

  I blanch at her words but still, “Yup.” Though, until learning that Scott may have had a hand in Owen’s injury, I would have said was a bit extreme. But now, after his recent behavior, I’m unfortunately in agreement with her.

  Her knees are pressed together, feet out wide and she’s fiddling with a cute little camel colored handbag on her lap. It doesn’t match her outfit one bit, but if I had to guess, I’d say it matches her. “He um… I’m sorry.”

  “What are you apologizing for?”

  “Everything? He, well, he’s a manipulator and a liar. I… look at me, Camilla. It’s Camilla, right? Or did he lie about that, too?”

  “No, he didn’t lie about that.”

  “He told me that you were crazy.”

  “Well, he made me a little crazy.”

  She offers up a small smile and it transforms her face. Her bright green eyes are such a brilliant shade, they remind me of the color of grass. Straight white teeth that show time spent in an orthodontist’s chair really paid off. But there’s an overwhelming sense of sadness that’s surrounding her.