What have I gotten myself into with Cam?
I can’t stop going over everything that has happened since that night we met at Fireflies. Of the risks I took that night and have been taking since. But I can’t stay away from him, and it’s frustrating. I wish I could easily push him out of my life. But I have spent what feels like forever keeping people at a distance and pushing everyone away.
Talking with Cam makes me feel like I’m waking up after a long sleep. The way he can so easily understand me is shocking. He makes me vulnerable, and that is a horrifying thought.
The trauma he has faced is horrendous, and I can’t imagine going through that—getting whipped by my own father. I love my parents so dearly. They are the best parents in the world. Which is why they had to believe the lie that I died. If they knew I was out here in the world, alive and well, they wouldn’t stop searching until they found me. I couldn’t put them at risk of being caught in Trey’s line of fire.
Which is exactly what I’m doing to Cam by letting him get close to me. I can’t stop the battle inside of me between wanting to be near him and wanting to protect him. It’s exhausting.
The bell of the shop door dings, and Holly walks in. Chloe decided to surprise me, and she hired two eighteen-year-old girls to help work at my shop so that I’d have time to step away. It’s four o’clock, and we close at seven tonight. The shop is pretty quiet on Wednesday nights, so Holly should be fine by herself. We usually only have high schoolers who hang out in the evenings anyway.
I was super anxious when Chloe told me that she hired staff. But she said that teenagers only cared about themselves, and, well, that’s true enough. She only hired female employees so that I would feel more comfortable. I love spending time in my shop and was hesitant to share that time with outsiders. But without them, I wouldn’t be able to head over to Chloe’s at mid afternoon.
“Hi, Nikki!” Holly chimes as she joins me behind the counter. “I just have to use the restroom quickly, and I’ll be all set.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Holly.” I smile at her as she turns and walks to the back room to use our staff restroom.
Holly is also opening tomorrow morning for me so that I can have fun tonight with Chloe and sleep in. I am loving having these new additions to the team more and more.
When Holly returns, I give her an overview of what needs to be done tonight and what needs to be prepared for tomorrow. Then, I change and meet Chloe out front when she texts me.
“Hiiiiii!” she squeals as I get in the passenger seat.
“Hey. What’re the plans for tonight?” I ask her with excitement as I buckle in.
“Okay, I thought we could either do a marathon of the Twilight movies or the Fifty Shades series,” she says and takes off for her house.
“Two very different vibes,” I mutter as I consider her proposed options.
“I have a drinking game planned for either, so I’m good with whichever option you pick,” she says proudly.
“Oh, perfect. I was worried I would have to come up with that myself.” I laugh.
I’m in need of a vent session, and the alcohol will definitely help loosen my tongue.
I would rather watch Fifty Shades, but just the thought of it makes me think about Cam and what he likes in bed. Which I guess, now, I’m thinking about anyway.
“Fifty Shades,” I announce my choice.
She clicks her tongue. “That’s my girl.”
Closing my eyes, I inhale deep and sigh louder than intended.
“What are you thinking about?” Chloe softly asks.
Leaning my head against the window, I give myself a second to just feel—feel the overwhelming emotions that have ahold of me.
Excitement for the way Cam makes me feel. Yet simultaneously, I feel fear and dread when I think of him. Not his fault, of course. But I cannot think of Cam without thinking of Trey. Of what would come if he found out I was alive. I’m not only putting myself in danger every time I talk to Cam; unknowingly, Cam is in danger too. It’s like walking a tightrope, and you know that someone will eventually grab your ankle and pull you off of it and into the darkness below.
I hate that they coexist in the same space in my brain. One cannot consume a thought without the other. It would be a lot easier if Trey was dead. I should have killed him instead of killing myself. But unfortunately, that is not how it played out.
“It’s not fair, Chlo,” I whimper as she pulls onto her street.
Her hand lies on my leg, and she says, “I know. I wish I could change it for you—I really do. I love you, and I’m always here for you, Nikki.”
“Nikki.” I utter the name with disdain.
I’m grateful for the life Nikki has, for the friendship she has with Chloe. But sometimes, I can’t help but feel so lost inside of this world that she created because of my desperation. I love my shop. I love her. I love sleeping and waking up without Trey by my side. But I hate the constant feeling of having a bag over my head or a pillow on my face, the constant suffocation of this safe and lonely life.
I have everything I could want, except for my parents. I miss my father’s cooking and my mother’s hugs. I miss the comfort of their scent and the warmth of their home. Loneliness is a feeling I am well accustomed to, a friend in its own right. If I’m lonely, that means that everyone I care about is safe.
“I love you too, Chlo, always,” I tell her sincerely.
She smiles and pulls into her four-car garage. “Do you think you’ll live like this forever?”
I sigh. “I would like to say yes. But I think, one day, he will find out. Somehow, someway, I think it’s inevitable.”
We get out of the car and walk into her home. We work our way to her kitchen, and Chloe sets her purse down.
“What do you think he would do if he found you, found us?” She attempts to mask the fear in her voice, but it’s there nonetheless.
With the utmost serious stare, I say, “I don’t have to think, Chloe. I know for a fact what he will do. If I’m lucky, he will kill me for running from him.”
She quietly asks, “That’s your idea of luck?”
I chortle. “My death alone is lucky. Him not killing the people I love is lucky. I can accept my own death. I cannot bear any of yours.”
She sharply inhales. “There is no way he can find you. Nothing exists in your name. You look like a completely different person. He’s looking for Morgan Dove. He would have to look for someone who doesn’t exist to find you. But if you want, I can hire security for each of us to be with us twenty-four/seven.”
“That would draw attention to me, and that is the last thing I want. I have a gun of my own, which is the only protection I need,” I assure her.
Besides, a cop can probably sniff a security detail from a mile away. That would do nothing to stop him. But I don’t need to worry her more than I already have.
“I just wish I knew how my parents were doing,” I sigh.
She holds her finger up and unlocks her phone. She straightens up with a big smile on her face. “Here. Look for yourself on my accounts.”
She leans across the kitchen island and hands me her unlocked phone, and I open up her social media, immediately searching for my mom. I click on her page and scroll down to the most recent post. When Trey’s face appears, my heart drops. I click on his profile that’s tagged in my mom’s post, and I try to prepare myself for what could be there. Maybe he’s found someone new, which would be horrifying in its own way, knowing what someone else might be going through. Maybe he hasn’t moved on at all, and maybe he still cares about his poor dead wife. The latter is what I find.
The most recent post is dated a day ago.
Not a day goes by that I don’t miss you dearly. I love you forever, Honeybee.
I feel sick to my stomach.
I scroll down and find another post very similar to the last. But this one has a photo with it—a photo of us. Sadness washes over me, and I’m confused by the intensity of it. I look so happy in that photo, so overjoyed with love and life. But I remember that night with great detail. He choked me until I passed out. He grabbed me from behind and put me into a headlock.
When someone looks at that photo, they see a loving couple. But what they don’t see is his fingers pinching my back, the bruises on my arms underneath the sleeves of my dress, or the recently healed broken ribs. They don’t see the darkness that haunts the photo.
I scroll to the next photo and feel a sucker punch to the stomach. It’s a photo of my sweet mother and father at a restaurant with Trey. Heavy bags sit beneath my mother’s eyes, and my heart breaks for the pain she’s feeling at my hand. She doesn’t even know that she’s sitting right next to her daughter’s killer. I mean in the sense that my parents think I’m dead. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. He did kill me, a part of me at least.
As I read the caption, unadulterated rage floods my veins, spreading through me like wildfire.
Sunday lunch with the Doves is the best part of my weekly routine. We miss her so much.
That should be me at lunch with my parents. Not the imposter of a loved one that Trey is. The phone shakes in my hand as the thought of him with my family becomes too much.
I scroll again and see another photo of them all together. And another. And another.
Do they not see him for the monster he really is? Can they not tell, even now?
Those photos, those moments and memories, should be mine.
“Take a breath, Nikki. It’ll be okay.” Chloe tries to soothe me.
I snap, “Okay?! Okay?! How in the hell will everything be okay? Trey is living my life with my own family! While I’m in hiding! Oh, yay, some days, I get to pretend to be normal and kiss a stranger at a club. Oh, yay, I can start falling for a stranger who will never know who I really am. What if we have sex? Will he be saying my name?! No! He’ll be saying the one I made up! This”—I wave my hand over my face—“is a lie. The person people meet and like and call their friend doesn’t exist! I don’t exist! He took everything from me!”
I collapse to the ground as tears pour down my face, and wet sobs and screams tear through me.
“I might not actually be dead, but he killed the person I was, Chloe. He killed her, and I’m left living in this fake life.” My sobs continue to fill the silence of the room. “I know how lucky I am that I got out and that I found you. You saved me. But this fear that every shadow is him, the fear that he’s walking into my shop when that bell dings, is exhausting. I’m fucking exhausted.”
Forcing deep breaths into my lungs, I stare at the ceiling with my head against the kitchen cabinet. Chloe opens one of them without saying a word and grabs a clean plate.
“Here.” She juts the plate toward me.
“I am really not hungry right now, Chlo.” I can’t help but chuckle at the ridiculous offer.
She scoffs, “Stand up and take the damn plate, Nikki.”
Closing my eyes, I sigh and stand up next to her and take the plate from her hand. “Okay, now what?”
She turns and grabs another plate from the cabinet. Turning back to me, she has a devious grin on her face, and I can’t figure out what she is up to.
She lifts the plate above her head with both hands, screams, and throws the plate against the ground a little ways away from us. “Fuck you, Trey!”
The porcelain plate shatters, and the pieces fly everywhere.
“What in the hell are you doing?!” I shout at her.
“I will give my maid, Gwen, an extra thousand dollars on her next check; don’t worry. Now, shut up and throw the damn plate!” she orders.
So, I do.
I lift the white ceramic above my head, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. A deep, guttural roar booms from me as I let the plate fly from my hands. The second it reaches the ground, it explodes.
Chloe places another plate in my hand and nods. “Again.”
I lift it up and start my downswing as I shout, “I hate you!”
Crash! The plate practically disintegrates.
She hands me another.
“You fucking broke me, you piece of shit! You deserve to burn in hell!” I scream and shout as the plate breaks apart and settles into the pile of shards on the floor.
Chloe continues to hand me plates, and every time I destroy a perfectly good piece of china, I shout at the ground and say everything I wish I could tell him. My rage fades by the time we get to the last plate, and sadness replaces it immediately.
Sadness, sorrow, unhappiness are emotions I typically fight to feel. Being mad is easier than being sad. Anger is an emotion that you can feel and process without feeling the vulnerability and rawness of despair. It is easy to stay mad at the world and live in rage at the bad parts of your life, but to open yourself up and feel the pain and loss and treachery this world tortures you with takes strength and bravery.
Chloe pulls me into a hug, and I sink into it, tired from the constant battle no one knows I fight.
“I can’t make him go away. I wish I could, Nikki. I wish I had a hit man on speed dial to take this burden off your shoulders.” She rubs up and down my back, and I burrow deeper into her hug as my tears stain her shirt. “But I can give you whatever you need and want. If you want to live in Hawaii for a year, let’s go. If owning a Lambo and a thousand dogs will make you happy, I’ll make it happen. I can’t give you that life back, but I can make this one everything you dream it to be.”
“Thank you,” I whisper and pull her in tighter. “Thank you.”
I owe her absolutely everything. She is my best friend, my guardian angel, my savior. She is the sole reason I have made it this far, and I can never thank her enough.
“Come on. I’ll make some popcorn. We’ve got a date with Christian Grey.” She pulls back and rubs my shoulders.
“There is no way I can enjoy watching a movie with this mess in here. You make popcorn and get the movie ready, and I’ll clean up.”
“You’re going to take a thousand dollars away from Gwen?” she challenges me.
“No, you are still giving her what you promised.” I laugh. “But I physically cannot sit still with this being here. If it makes you feel better, I can leave one piece.”
“Two,” she bargains for no reason.
Laughing at the stupidity of this, I agree, “Fine, two pieces.”
Walking over to the sink, I grab the broom and dustpan from the storage beneath it.
“I want extra butter and salt!” I demand as I sweep the plate fragments into the dustpan.
Buttery goodness fills my nose, and I work faster, needing to devour that popcorn as soon as I can.
Chloe brings the trash can over, and I dump the first scoop.
“What do you want to drink?” she asks.
It has been a while since I let myself get drunk, so let’s continue the fun of the night. “Whatever will get me drunk. Host’s choice.”
She clicks her tongue and winks at me. “You got it!”
She hurries away with new gusto, and I go back to my work. I like cleaning; it’s calming. Maybe it goes back to the fact that I like to control everything in my environment to prevent unknown circumstances. If the plates are cleaned up, no one can trip on them or step on one.
If I need to run out of this house for my life, I don’t have to worry about stepping on sharp plate shards.
When I finish dumping the last load into the garbage can, I remember the deal Chloe and I made. But I can’t bring myself to honor it. I can’t leave a mess without bone-chilling fear attacking me—a leftover emotion from Trey.
When I find Chloe in the living room, I’m met with her seventy-five-inch television, bowls overflowing with popcorn, two wineglasses, a bottle of orange juice, and a bottle of champagne.
She is on her phone and starts reading me the rules of the drinking game when I sit down next to her. “Take a sip when Anastasia puts a pencil or pen or other long object close to her lips. Take a sip when Ana bites her bottom lip. Take a sip when you see or hear the word Grey.”
I grab a handful of popcorn and start laughing. “We are going to be drunk in the first five minutes of this movie.”
“There are more.” She giggles and shares the rest with me, a few of which are phrases that Christian uses frequently. “Oh my God, this list is long. Basically, take a sip every second of the movie.”
“Perfect. I will be blackout drunk before we’re halfway through the movie.” I grin.
Chloe starts the movie, and we are already sipping on our late-night mimosas before the opening scene is over.
“You know we can go visit Cam if you want,” she offers as Ana fumbles with the pencil in the interview scene.
I know if I said I wanted to, we would be leaving tomorrow morning. I want to see Cam—I do. But I don’t know if I’m ready to take that leap yet. Guilt still twists in my chest every time we talk because I am keeping a secret from him—the truth of who I am.
“I’m not ready,” I tell her, trying to convince myself of it as well.
I will never truly be ready to trust someone again. But I want to try. I have to try. I know there are men out there who are kind and understanding. From what I’ve seen from Cam, he is one of those guys. But I will never forget that I thought the same thing about Trey. But it wasn’t until his claws were already hooked so deep into me that he showed me his true self. By then, I was trapped. I won’t be trapped again.
It’s confusing, you know, to develop feelings for someone again after what Trey put me through. I can’t help but compare everything Cam does to what Trey did. To look for the signs of hidden intent.
Part of me wants to be carefree, to take Cam for his word and trust him. Sometimes, I catch myself doing that. But the second I notice those walls slipping, they are reinforced at once. It is a constant battle of will I or won’t I—will I take a chance and let myself fall for Cam, or will I force myself to stay safe and alone?
“Okay, but tell me that doesn’t look a little fun,” Chloe says as Christian smacks the crop against Ana’s bare skin.
A lifetime ago, I would have tried almost anything during sex. But I don’t think I would be able to stop the panic that would attack me, watching someone lift that into the air with the intent of striking me.
“You have fun with that one, Chlo.” I tap my glass against hers as Ana bites her bottom lip.
The light buzz of alcohol begins to relax my muscles, and before I know it, the movie is almost over, and I’m eight mimosas deep and about to piss my pants. As I stand up to use the bathroom, it really hits me. I sway and stagger my way into the bathroom, and I pee for what feels like an hour before my bladder is finally empty.
I quickly wash my hands and dry them on a towel before finding my way back to the living room, where I find Chloe already passed out on the couch. I grab one of her throw blankets and lay it over her.
Getting comfy on the love seat across from her, I take my phone out and Google Cam Costello Nighthawks.
Images of my handsome Blue Eyes fill my screen along with links to articles, like “Hottest Hockey Players of the Year” by Buzzfeed and “Nighthawks Take Victory over the Wild, Four to One.”
Reaching over, I chug the rest of my mimosa and set the glass back down. Instead of reading these articles and looking at these photos, I do something sober me is going to regret.
I go to my Contacts and call Cam.
