Page 19 of Echoes in the Storm

I get it—he probably has his demons. But the way he snapped at me, and the hate in his eyes as he did so … That man has one heck of a violent side sitting just below the surface. When and if it decides to show, I know one thing for sure: I don’t want to be around to see the aftermath.

I put the car in gear, yet hesitate when my phone rings inside my bag. Returning the shifter to neutral, I race to get my phone out before I lose the call to voicemail. Part of me wonders why I didn’t let it go when I see who’s calling.

“It’s the weekend,” I answer, bypassing formalities.

“So?” Jared asks. “What does that matter?”

“I had hoped you’d let me have at least a couple of days off where I didn’t have to think about it.”

“This is the real world, Cam. You don’t get to bury your head in the sand and pretend things don’t need to get done.”

Arsehole.“What are you calling about then?”

“I’ve got a shortlist of agents I want you to look at.”I’m still not ready for this.“I thought if you’re home, I’d pop over later and go through it with you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.I’m not mentally prepared. It’s barely been a week since he sprung the decision on me.

Then again—will I ever be ready if the task is something I don’t want to do?

“I’m out running errands at the moment, but I should be back by eleven-thirty.” I lean forward, resting my forehead on the steering wheel. “I’ve got to be back on the road by twelve-thirty, though, for the afternoon show.

“You still wasting your time with that?” He sighs, as thoughmysocial life inconveniences him. “Kell and I are busy right now as well. I can come over between shows, around five.”

Of course. Because he won’t come now if it means he has to bringherwith him. He knows better after what happened last time.

“See you then.” I disconnect, keeping my head on the steering wheel, and groan.A goddamn shortlist.May as well say he’s picked the agency. What’s the bet the arsehole had the list curatedbeforehe approached me with the request? I wouldn’t put it past him to have a contract drawn up with one of them already, and this is just his fake bullshit show of making me feel “involved”.

My eyes drift to the rear-view as I straighten up, but Duke is nowhere to be seen anymore.Good.I’ve had it with men—all of them. The only man I know of that’s half-decent is my dad, but even then, he has his days.

I make the drive two blocks down to the grocery store with my eyes on the road, but my mind is on the past four and a half years.

It wasn’t your fault.The same bullshit lie I tell myself every time to try and reason why I should be moving on with my life. But at the end of the day, how can I believe that when I failed the one basic rule you’re silently given when you become a parent: keep your child alive.

I pull the keys from the ignition and get out, opening my bag to drop them in after I’ve locked the car. My eye snags on one of my many crutches, buried deep in the dark recess of the main compartment. My fear morphs into an immovable lump in my throat as I reach in and exchange the car keys for the toy.

A Polly Pocket. One of her favourites, and the very one that would send her into a fit if I didn’t have it with me when we went shopping.

Just like I am now.

I should put it back. Hell, I should toss the little plastic compact in the trash on my way past. After all, it’s useless to me now.

But it washers.

So instead, Polly takes a ride with me around the supermarket, perched on the fold-out kids seat in the front of the shopping trolley. I pack it away when I get to the checkout, the same sinking feeling taking root in the pit of my gut when I drop the toy back into the dark.

“Hey, Cammie. How was your week? The show doing good?”

I detach from the past and lift my chin to face Ava. She’s worked the checkouts at the local grocery store since I was I primary school, always pointing out the chocolate that was on special when I came in with my pocket money. She won’t take credit for it, but a lot of the customers come here to keep up with her, rather than save ten dollars shopping on the other side of town.

I’m one of those people.

“The show’s going great,” I say as I pack the bagged goods into the trolley. “Sold out yesterday’s matinee.”

“That’s good. What one are you doing this time again?”

“Pirates of Penzance.”

She chuckles. “Oh. That’s always a good one. I should convince Ed he needs to go.”