Page 69 of Echoes in the Storm
“Like fuck, you little turd. You’ll transfer the first hundred the minute I get—”
“Relax,” he says, laughing. “I was winding you up, man. Shit. What’s crawled up your arse?”
Curvy little woman by the name of Cam, that’s what.
“Nothing. Ask Mum if she wants me to pick anything up from town on my way home.”
“Yeah, I’ll get her to message you. When you leaving?”
“Tomorrow.” My gaze falls on the scuffmarks in the gravel where I restrained Jared last night.Hopefully Cam will be okay.
“Sweet. See you then, bro.”
“Yeah. Catch you then.” I end the call and crush the phone in my hand, the pain of the case as it digs into my palm a welcome anchor in what’s been my first anxious moment in days.
She’s a grown woman—she can hold her own.
But she shouldn’t have to. That’s just it. A woman like her deserves to have a strong man by her side to defend her when jackasses like her ex show up. Just because a woman can fight her own battles doesn’t mean she should have to. Especially when she’s the kind of woman who merits the sort of love that precedes sacrifice.
I spend the next hour and a bit before Cammie’s due home taking a shower and packing the HQ with my things—not that there’s much. I leave my new phone charger out to unplug and take with me when I go.
When I go.
I’m still stuck on that thought when the nose of Cam’s car comes into view down the driveway. I stay where I’m seated, back on the porch, wanting to see her reaction when she spots the HQ.
It’s not pretty.
Her car switches off, parked so that I can’t see her inside it, but the fact she doesn’t get out straight away is unsettling. A solid ten minutes pass before she opens the door and storms across the yard, straight past me and into the house.
Shit.
Guess I should go find out how bad it is, then.
“Cam?” I call as I shut the front door behind me. “Can we talk?”
She flies out of her bedroom at the far end of the hall, on the warpath. “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow.” I tuck my hands in my pockets for fear if I leave them free, I might end up with her against the wall again.
“Fuck you.” She screws her face up, shaking her head at me … and then storms back into her room, slamming the door behind her.
Okay then …
Went well, considering.
I take my time walking up the hall to her bedroom, and stop outside the closed door. I can’t pick up any sounds from beyond it. I suppose that’s a good thing because it means she can’t be crying.
I rap my knuckles on her door. “Cam?”
“Go away!”
Not yet.I open the door to find her cross-legged on her bed, her face a storm. “I get that you’re angry—”
“I’m hurt.”
And then the tears begin.
“I’m hurt because you’re fucking leaving still,” she whines, fat tears leaking over her face. “And I’m mostly pissed off because I knew you would, but I’m still surprised by it. Urgh!” She hurls a pillow across the room, its soft landing against the wall not seeming to satisfy her when she picks up her phone and prepares to throw that, too.