Page 98 of Never Bargain with the Boss
He looks back down, acknowledging the request, and studies his phone. “Looks like she’s still at the hotel. Texting you the address.”
I’m already standing, my coat in my hand, and I nod. “Grace, are you good to stay here a little longer? No promises, but I’m going to go talk to Riley.”
“Go get her, Dad!” she cheers hopefully. “Bring Riley home!”
Fuck, I hope I can do that. I thought I was putting Grace first by sending Riley away, and I was willing to make that sacrifice for my daughter. But the idea that I can have it all—my daughter safe, my heart full, and Riley happy—is my dream now.
RILEY
Today has sucked. Like more than a Dyson holding up a bowling ball level of suckage.
I’ve mostly stayed in bed, staring at my phone and disassociating. At some point, I’ll have to make some decisions about what’s next for me, but today, I’m letting myself wallow in sadness.
Tomorrow, I’ll open myself up to Fate and see where she leads me.
So of course, that bitch says, ‘Heard. Check this out,’ and leads me wherever the hell she wants to, because that’s when there’s a knock at the door.
I freeze, eyes looking left and right like the answer of who’s at the door might be in the room with me. Of course, it’s not. I didn’t order food for dinner, I already paid for the night so it shouldn’t be hotel staff, and the Harrington crew already said their piece.
I climb out of the nest I’ve made myself on the bed and look out the peephole. Instantly, I start trying to fix my mess of hair, swiping under my eyes to get the dried tear-crusties off, and straightening the nightgown I never bothered to get out of. Because Cameron is here.
I look through the peephole again like he might’ve been a mirage, but he’s still there. He looks good, in his work suit, his hair perfectly styled, a five o’clock shadow appearing on his jaw, but his eyes are haunted as he stares at the door between us. Like Kayla, he knows I’m here and peeping out at him, but the truth is, there’s a lot more than two inches of wood-veneer separating us now. There’s a chasm of hurt and betrayal.
Even so, I open the door. I can’t not open for him when I love him despite everything.
“Cameron? What are you doing here?” I’m still fidgeting in a pointless effort to make myself look presentable and slightly less like a feral fairy, but it’s a losing battle.
“Riley, can we talk? Please?” He looks uncertain whether I’m going to say yes, but of course, I’m going to let him in. I step back, giving him space to come inside.
He looks around the hotel room, seeing the disarrayed pile of sheets and blankets on the bed I’ve been sleeping in and the neatly folded stacks of clothes on the other bed. After Janey, Kayla, and Miranda left yesterday, folding clothes had been my busy work, keeping my hands moving while my mind raced. Now that it’s all tidy, I think everything will fit in my usual suitcase and duffle bag combo, and I won’t need an additional bag, much less a trash bag. It also seems like a metaphor for me and Cameron at the moment—me, a complete mess, and him, all organized and neat. At least on the outside. Inside, I think we’re both pretty fucked up.
He starts pacing back and forth in the small space, so to give him room, I crawl up onto the bed and sit with my legs crisscrossed, watching him get more and more riled up.
“I don’t know where to start,” he says, walking toward me. He spins, marching back to the window that overlooks the parking lot. There, he turns again, coming back toward me. The room isn’t large and he can cross it in fewer than ten of his long-leggedstrides, so I hope he’s not prone to dizziness or else he’s going down after a few back and forth laps. “I’ve been thinking about it the whole way here, what I’d say, what I could do, how I could fix this.” He shakes his head like his thoughts are rattling around in his head and he’s trying to get them to cooperate well enough to get in an ordered line.
Fix this?
The words make my heart start pitter-pattering in my chest. He wants to fix this? But I try to temper any hopeful excitement trying to build with a dose of reality. This is no abracadabra, wave a wand repair.
“Just start talking,” I suggest. “What you want to say will come out.”
He frowns like that’s a crazy idea, but with a ‘here goes nothing’ shrug, he starts, letting it all flow. “First, I am so sorry. I panicked. I was so scared. You didn’t hear Grace on the phone. Her voice was…” He takes a jagged breath. “And I know you were scared too and doing everything you could to keep her safe. Thank you for that. Thank you so much.”
He looks at me with gratefulness in his gaze, and I have no doubt he means it. But deep down, he still blames me for Grace needing protection in the first place. In his methodical mind, I can see the equation… if no Riley, then no Austin, and therefore, an absolute zero threat. I’m not a numbers person like he is, and even I think that’s logical.
So I put it out there, taking my own advice and saying what comes to mind. “I shouldn’t have had to protect her. It was my fault she was in danger in the first place.” Guilt weighs down every word, and they land between us heavily, making the air thick.
“No,” he says firmly. “Bad things happen. Someone pretty smart told me that and said someone even smarter taught her that.” He looks at me pointedly, and I know he’s talking aboutGrace and me. “The only person to blame for what Austin did is Austin. It just as easily could’ve been some random person or someone we know. Hell, when Samantha got kidnapped, it was a guy she was helping.”
“When Samantha what?” I exclaim. I haven’t heard that story. I’m not sure I want to hear it, but if Cameron’s family has been through that, it only adds another layer to his fear and his reaction.
“That’s her story to tell, but the point is, it’s not your fault and I was wrong to blame you. I’m sorry.”
I’ll still always blame myself to some degree, but his words do relieve some of the guilt, which I appreciate. “Okay,” I say, accepting his apology. Maybe I’m too easy, but I understand that in the heat of the moment, with fear riding him hard, he lashed out. And there’s no point in being hard-nosed about that when it’s the least of our problems. Because nothing else has changed. Grace is still his priority, and that will never, and should never, change. “Thank you for coming to tell me that,” I tell him, starting to stand up and planning to walk him to the door.
He plants his feet. “I’m not done.”
I freeze. “What? I thought…” I stare at him in confusion. I thought he was coming to apologize and would leave now that he has. I need him to go before I start crying again because seeing him hurts too much.