Beneath

34 THE STORM

NOAH

The dark wind howls, the old Bronco's tires skidding on the snow-packed road. Flurries swirl in the headlights because the street's a fucking mess. I curse under my breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter. When I find her little house, the windows are dark.

I park and jump out, heading for door.

"Cam!" Once, twice, three times, each rap harder than the last. "Camila!"

No answer.

"Cam!" My voice cracks, the edge of panic seeping in. I press my ear to the door, straining to hear anything. "Camila!"

My forehead falls against the cold surface, eyes squeezed shut. The thought of her not answering—of her being gone, of something happening—tightens around my chest like a vice.

She left me.

And it's my fault—

The door swings open, and I stumble forward, the momentum carrying me right into her.

Her arms catch me, steady me, and for a second, I can't breathe. My head spins as I register her scent, that mix of coconut and something else. My hands find her waist, fingers digging in to prove she's real.

"Noah," she whispers.

I pull back just enough to see her face, her wide dark eyes searching mine. Her hair is slicked back. Her skin glistens in the dim living room light. She's in tight pink shorts and a bra. I think it's a bra. It's small and tight like a band.

"What... I was worried," I manage to say, my voice rough. "You weren't answering."

She pulls me inside, out of the wind and the snow, and shuts the door behind us. The soft hum of the heater is almost deafening, or maybe that's my heartbeat. The living room is the same—blankets draped over the couch, a faint scent of cinnamon lingering from some cheap candle—but feels distant, just like the girl in front of me.

"Were you...Are you working out?" I shake my head. "What?"

"You shouldn't have driven in this."

"I had to see you. Fox...Faro, and I just—I needed to see you. Do you need help? Something's wrong. Faro—do you know him? Did he do something to you? Talk to me or I'm going to go insane—"

The phone rings.

Cam flinches, then grabs her throat and moves to answer it. She picks up the receiver, her back to me, her voice quiet as she answers.

"Wait!" Cam suddenly shouts into the phone, her voice cracking with fear. "Just-Just hold on. No, please just wait. I'll come—"

I take a step toward her, but she's already hyperventilating, clutching the receiver.

"Mom!" she sobs, the sound so raw and desperate it makes my blood run cold. "Please don't hurt him. Please."

"Cam?" I say, but she doesn't hear me.

"Mom!" she chokes out again, her voice breaking. "Mom?"

She hangs up the phone with a trembling hand and stumbles down the hall, her movements jerky. I chase after her, my heart pounding in my chest. She rips open her closet door, grabs a hoodie and pulls it on. Sweatpants come next, her hands fumbling with the black drawstrings.

I take her hands in mine, trying to make her stop. She cringes away from me, like my touch is something she can't bear. Like I'm about to hurt her.

Like I'm about to hit her.

I feel a sick twist in my gut as I drop my hands.

"Cam," I whisper, my voice breaking, but she's already jogging to the living room.