Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Fighting not to curl into myself, I fist the duvet. I want to scream and cry, and I really want to march to Cameron’s apartment and demand answers. I won’t, though, because I know what’s really eating at me. It isn’t Cameron’s lies or Grayson’s heartbreak. It is the fear that I’m nothing more than a set of open arms. I am the rebound—the safe choice.
I have liked Grayson for a long time, but my feelings grew significantly this past week. I thought it was mutual, but now I’m worried it was all a lie.
Excessive hormones must have me mistaking scenes like the one we just shared in the bathroom. Despite my brain telling me I’m making things up, I can’t stop recalling how good it felt having his hands on me, and the way his eyes lingered for a second too long on the tiny bow of my panties. It felt right even when it should have felt wrong.
I want to be the person Grayson can lean on, even if it were just for a night, but who in their right mind would volunteer to be a stand-in girlfriend? No one with any self-respect.
I want to be chosen, to be more than a crutch when times get tough.
I want to be enough.
After exhaling to loosen the tightness in my chest, I change into a two-piece cotton pajama set and then slip beneath the sheets. I stare up at the ceiling fan, hopeful its familiarity will quell the storm brewing inside me. The apartment is quiet, yet my mind is racing. My thoughts collide and tangle until I can’t tell where one ends and another begins.
Cameron is alive. She is here, in this city, pretending not to know Grayson or the years of dedication he’s put in to bring her home.
How could anyone pretend not to remember the boy who took on five assailants by himself to try to save you? How could you forget the boy who ran seven miles to find your last known location, using nothing to guard his steps but his intuition? I don’t understand Cameron’s objectives. If someone had moved heaven and earth to bring me home, I’d fall at their feet and thank them until my voice gave out.
Cameron’s reaction wasn’t close to that. She ran. She hid, and she continues to hide. Not solely from Grayson, but from anyone who has ever wondered what happened to her. Her parents must be beside themselves. And her sister—God, she must be distraught…
My thoughts trail off when I struggle to remember the last time Cameron’s sister was mentioned in her file. Grayson left nothing off the timeline of events since her disappearance. He even documents Blake’s yearly calls to the bureau, seeking updates on her case. But I can’t recall seeing any of Cameron’s immediate family members’ names in the past five years of updates.
Her parents may have found the heartache too much to bear year in and year out, but a sibling’s bond surpasses a parent–child bond. They’re on the same wavelength and have the same thoughts. Her sister must still be searching for her. She wouldn’t have given up, surely.
What once seemed like a minor detail in her file now feels crucial. It isn’t the final piece, but it could be the piece that brings the picture into perspective.
No longer tired, I slip out of bed, careful not to make a sound. The apartment is still quiet, with the only light coming from the living room. That isn’t unusual. Grayson works better under the eye strain of a muted television. The constant dance of visually erotic commercials between news segments stimulates the brain and keeps it active.
I’m not surprised to find Grayson hunched over a stack of files, chewing the end of a pen. His head is bent at an odd angle, and fatigue marks his face, but I still think he is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
I swallow to relieve my throat before attempting to interrupt him with a cough. Before I can, he tilts back far enough to expose the case he’s burning the candle at both ends for. It isn’t Cameron’s, as suspected. It is Kendall’s.
Tears burn my eyes as brutal honesty steals my breath. What I feel for Grayson—that bone-crushing admiration I’ve brushed off as a crush for years—isn’t a crush. It’s love.
It is the kind of love that seeps into your bones and makes you want to fight for someone even when it hurts. The type that terrifies you because it could break you.
The love that will never be because you love him fiercely enough to realize his happiness isn’t about what you can give him, but how you can free him of the burdens weighing him down.
After tiptoeing back to my room, my steps silent, I close the door, then brace my back against it. This kills me to admit, but I know what needs to be done. I’ll take Cameron the sketch and then ask her the questions no one else will. I will unearth the truth, even if it breaks my heart, and I’ll do it without Grayson’s knowledge.