Page 151 of Camp Bliss
This time he just flinches, but he says nothing.
Which is maybe the smartest thing I’ve ever seen him do. Because now that I’m venting, I’m on a roll, and I’m so pissed off right now, if I were the kind of person who were actually capable of murder, I think I could hatch a pretty solid plan at present.
I have a shed full of power tools and hundreds of acres. And I doubt there’d ever be anyone who’d come looking for my ex.
But as tempting as those dark thoughts are, I shove them aside. It’s enough to know I probably could kill him and get away with it.
So I don’t have to.
I heave a sigh and forge ahead. “After you’re clean, you can sleep on the couch in the lodge tonight. And I don’t want to see your face until eight a.m. tomorrow, so don’t leave this building before that.”
He stares at me, the only movement I see is his shuddering breath. But even in the beam of the motion light, I can see a look of unexpected hope in his eyes.
“Are we clear?” I ask.
He nods like a bobble head doll. “Y-Yes.”
My only acknowledgement of his assent is to stomp back up the steps past him to the lodge door. Muttering under my breath about my stupid conscience and lame personal ethics.
I switch on the lamp by the couch on my way to the bathroom. I grab a towel and a washcloth from the shelf, knowing that these are the ones Zach uses and hoping he won’t be too pissed at me for caving.
When I re-enter the open living area, Josh has stepped inside, and he’s taking in the space. The fresh paint. The new living room furniture. The rustic chic dining table and chairs we use for brunches. The chalk easel that announces the Happy Hour cocktail and brunch menu.
“What’s all this?” he croaks.
“Nope,” I clip because I sure as hell don’t owe him any answers, and I drop the towels on the corner of the couch. “I’ll go find you something of Zach’s to wear, and I'll leave it outside the bathroom.”
“Where is Zach?”
I just turn on my heel and march right out of there, Russell following like he knows better than to make me call him. When I get inside the fifth wheel, my hands are shaking. I gulp a few breaths and drag my phone out of my pocket.
It’s after eleven in South Carolina. I hope Zach is asleep. Because if he isn’t, I’m about to blow up his night.
Me: No big deal but call me when you’re up tomorrow. Gotta situation here.
I send it with a snort.Situation. Ha.
And then I raid the closet. Zach’s clothes smell like him. His T-shirts are soft, his jeans worn. I’ve felt them pressed to my skin when he takes me in his arms and kisses me. Touching them is merciless.
For a moment, I miss him so keenly, I almost drop to my knees. Locking down the swell of emotion, I grab a pair of Zach’s old sweats, a t-shirt I’ve never seen him wear, and some white socks. I leave Russell in the camper and make my way back.
I’m relieved to hear the shower running. I won’t have to see or speak to Josh until tomorrow morning. But my charity only goes so far. I find a notepad and pencil in one of the kitchen drawers.
I leave the note on top of an old blanket on the couch.
Don’t eat any of our food. Don’t drink anything but water. And don’t you dare throw up in here.
And then I leave, locking up the lodge behind me.
Zach doesn’t call or text back. I know because I sleep a total of zero hours.
ChapterTwenty-Three
ZACH
Shit.
I left my phone charging in the den last night, so it’s almost eight—seven for Greta—when I see her message.
