[Camden]
It’s becoming more and more clear to me that Marco isn’t going to get himself caught, and that I’m going to have to go after him. The realization is heavy, a deep ache that settles in my gut, twisting uncomfortably. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want to be stuck in safehouses or looking over my shoulder when I get home, but I know, deep down, that it’s not that.
I want to kill him myself for what he’s done to Kendall. The anger is a sharp, electric pulse under my skin, coursing through my veins with every heartbeat. He’s broken her in many ways, and she seems dimmer after those nightmares-her face pale and damp with sweat in the dim morning light, her eyes darkened by the shadows of memories she shouldn’t have to carry.
He’s taken a bright young girl and handed her something to be afraid of, a constant, lingering fear. I hate him for it with a depth that surprises me.
It’s not because I have feelings for Kendall. That’s not possible. I don’t get feelings for women, but I do like to protect them. She’s my little sister’s best friend, so of course I want to protect her. Elora would be lost without her, honestly.
They’re like sisters.
As Kendall sleeps, her breathing soft and steady in the quiet of the room, I get up and pack all our things. The room is still, filled with the first soft glimmers of dawn seeping through the window blinds, casting faint, warm lines across the walls. I put away all her clothes, carefully folding each item as if it’s something precious, and pack some snacks for us along with the first aid kit that came in the original duffel bag. I feel a strange sense of calm-an almost methodical rhythm as I pack, like I’m in control of something, at least.
I want us to have a way out if we need it.
I call Dante and he picks up on the fourth ring, his groggy voice sounding faintly irritated, with a hint of the crackling, muffled noise of the city in the background.
“Why do you call me so early?” he groans, like he’s been dragged from a rare, peaceful sleep.
“I haven’t heard from you in two days,” I snap, the frustration bubbling up even though I know he’s probably been working day and night to get this sorted.
I can all but hear Dante’s scowl through the phone. “Well, there hasn’t been much to say,” he says, exhaling heavily. “They still haven’t caught Marco. There’s been no sign of him since we found the car.”
“Well, we need to figure it out,” I say, sighing, my eyes flicking back to Kendall. “I can’t be stuck here forever.” Her small figure on the bed looks almost fragile under the dim light, her face peaceful but haunted by whatever dreams Marco left with her.
“She can come here,” Dante offers. “Stay with me and Mia.” His tone is softening, almost as if he understands something I can’t admit to myself.
The suggestion catches me off guard. I could take Kendall home, have her stay with Dante, Mia, and Elora. I wouldn’t have to do this on my own, could let her be safe in someone else’s hands. But when I look over at her, sleeping peacefully, her hand curled around my pillow as if it offers some kind of comfort, I can’t bring myself to tell Dante that I’ll do it.
“There’s no sign of him at all?” I ask, needing a distraction from the strange weight in my chest.
“Nothing,” he responds. “I’ve got people staked out all over the Esposito place and as close as I can get to the Barones.”
“They’re protecting him?” My voice tightens at the thought, my jaw clenching.
“Not officially,” Dante sighs. “But yeah, they’re going to protect their own, keep him from getting caught, most likely.”
I curse under my breath, my fists clenching as I pace. The air feels thick, as if the walls are closing in on me. “So, in the meantime, we just have to wait it out?”
“Like I said, just bring her here,” Dante says, sounding exasperated. I can almost hear him shaking his head, like he’s wondering why I’m being so damn stubborn.
“I’ve got this,” I say, even though there’s a gnawing uncertainty creeping in. I don’t know if I do, but I can’t let anyone else handle this. Not when it comes to Kendall.
“What’s the deal, Camden? Do you like her or something?”
I scoff, trying to shove down the tightness in my chest. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just stuck with her, that’s all.”
I hang up and start to make breakfast, the sounds of sizzling eggs and bacon filling the empty silence, mingling with the faint smell of coffee. But Kendall doesn’t come out into the kitchen for a long time. When she finally does, her movements are stiff, and she just grabs her plate, murmuring a faint “thank you,” before heading back into the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.
I stand at the closed door for a long moment, my hand lingering on the doorknob. I feel the cool metal beneath my palm, but I can’t bring myself to turn it. I don’t know if she’s still upset about last night, about the dream she had that she wouldn’t tell me about-only hinted that it was awful, full of memories from that night.
We’ve been at the new safehouse for six days now, and I’m getting restless. The tension is building like a storm, the air thick with anticipation, like Marco’s shadow is lurking somewhere just beyond the door.
Finally, I put my hand on the doorknob and push it open, stepping into the bedroom. Kendall is lying down, the plate barely touched on the nightstand next to her. She stares at the ceiling, her expression distant, as if lost somewhere I can’t follow.
“I’m sorry that you have to be stuck with me,” she says softly, her voice almost a whisper.
“Fuck.” My gut twists with regret. She heard that? “That’s not what I meant, Kendall…” I trail off, feeling the weight of my words settle heavily between us. I know what it must have sounded like.
“Why don’t you just take me home?” she asks, her voice steady but laced with something that makes my chest tighten. “My father still has connections. He can call in some favors…”
I sit down on the edge of the bed, looking at her, searching for some way to explain what I don’t even fully understand.
“I want to see this through, Kendall.”
“Why? You don’t have to.” She says it stubbornly, pulling away slightly when I reach out, my hand brushing against her calf. Her skin is warm and soft under my fingers, and I don’t want to let go.
“I want to,” I insist, but she scoffs, rolling over onto her side, putting a wall between us.
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Camden. I know what this is.”
“Do you?” I ask, a flare of frustration bubbling up. “Because I sure fucking don’t.”
“You’re just having your fun,” she says flatly, the words like a slap. “And when we get back home, this will all be over.”
“You’ll be safe,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, not wanting to get pulled into a conversation I can’t navigate. I can’t deal with whatever it is I’m feeling. Not now.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice laced with sarcasm. “I’ll be safe. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” she adds, standing up and walking away, her footsteps soft but heavy with finality. She empties her barely touched plate into the trash, her movements precise, controlled.
I stand there, the empty silence pressing in around me as I watch her go, feeling the weight of everything I don’t know how to say.
Cazzo!!